He releases my wrists, tugs the dress off and it pools at my feet.
I’m left standing in a white lace bra, matching panties, thigh-high stockings and high-heeled white pumps.
Stefan looks me over, makes a sound from somewhere deep inside his chest. He steps backward. It’s just one step, but it’s enough for me to breathe again. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath.
His gaze moves to the bra, to the delicate cups with the little red poppies on them. I remain still but my heart beats a marathon when he slides his knuckles over one lace-clad breast. My nipple hardens instantly.
He pushes against me and I feel him, feel his cock at my belly and the sound I make, it’s not like his. It’s not deep or threatening. It’s more of a whimper.
His expression doesn’t change as he slips his hand down over my belly and into my panties and when he cups my sex, my hands fly to his chest.
“Stefan!”
He watches me, and although I’m trying to push him off, I can’t budge him. His fingers begin their work and his eyes bore into mine and fuck, it feels good. What he’s doing feels good.
“I don’t…I think…stop.” That last word is so weak, I almost don’t hear it myself.
And if he hears it, he doesn’t stop.
Instead, he dips his head down and takes my nipple into his mouth, swallowing half my breast and I moan when he sucks, the lace rough, his mouth wet and soft and his fingers, God, his fingers.
A whimper catches in my throat and when he pulls his mouth away, I shudder at the loss, at the sudden cold. He straightens, leaning in closer, the scruff of his jaw rough against my cheek as he inhales deeply. He brings his mouth to my ear and his fingers are doing something to me and I don’t want him to stop.
“You’re wet,” he whispers.
When he takes my clit between two fingers and squeezes, I suck in a breath and my eyes close and I’m not pushing him away anymore. I’m clinging to him.
“You’re wet and I smell you,” he says, voice low and deep and I think his words become my undoing because he knows. He knows I want this. Despite everything, I want this. Want him.
He leans his face to mine and his lips brush my neck and his fingers, fuck, his fingers. I’m going to come.
“Stefan,” it’s a gasp and my knees are wobbling. They’re going to give out.
He must know because all of a sudden, he lifts me in his arms and he’s laying me on his bed and he’s dragging my panties off.
My legs hang off the edge and he kneels on the floor between them, pulling me to him, bending my knees back to look at me for one long moment before closing his mouth over my sex and devouring me whole. He’s sucking and licking and one hand moves upward, and when he takes my nipple and squeezes it, I cry out because I’m coming. I’m coming and I’m loud and desperate and the only word I seem to remember at all is his name. His damned name. Because I’m chanting it, breathless and out of my head and out of this world, I am chanting his name as I come on his tongue.
When it’s finished, when I can think, I open my eyes again, he straightens to his full height and wipes the back of his hand across his mouth.
I feel my face burn and draw my legs in.
He looks me over, and I’m grateful he doesn’t say anything. Just looks. Because in his eyes, I see what he thinks. He’s conquered me.
And he has, hasn’t he?
He walks away and I sit up, watching him. From the bottle on the table across the room, he pours himself a tumbler of whiskey. He turns to me, drinks, watching me.
“Come here,” he says.
I have a choice to make. I can let him own this night, or I can take it from him.
“Gabriela. I said come here.”
And so, I make my choice.
I get to my feet. I’m naked but for my bra and stockings but I hold my head high as I walk to him and, without a word, I take his glass and I swallow the contents.
He’s obviously surprised. One corner of his mouth curves upward and I set the glass down and wipe the back of my hand across my lips.
“Are you going to play games with me all night?” I ask, steeling myself, my voice strong. “Or are you going to fuck me?”
He grins, studying me. He unbuttons the top buttons of his shirt, pulls it out of his pants and undoes the cuffs before pulling it over his head.
I let my gaze wash over him the way his does me. No, worse.
I look him over like he’s a piece of meat.
And I like the feeling.
I lay my fingernails on his hard chest and drag them down, meeting his gaze while I undo his belt, the button of his pants. I pull his zipper down a little, just enough to slide my hand inside and I keep my eyes locked on his as I cup his hard cock and squeeze.
I smile when Stefan sucks in a breath.
“I love that you call my name when you come,” he says. He’s trying to take it back, take back the night.
But I won’t let him. “I like coming.”
His grin widens. “Dirty girl.” He takes my face in his hands, holds me as he brings his mouth to my ear and licks the shell of it. “I like dirty girls,” he whispers, then takes the lobe between his teeth and when he draws it out, I feel it in my core and hear myself gasp and I want him. “I like doing dirty things to dirty girls.”
I bring my mouth to his and kiss him. Almost. It’s more a snapping of my teeth to taste the metallic taste of blood.
He moans, licking his own blood off his lip, and watches me as he slides his arms downward. He circles my wrists and it’s like we’re dancing a well-coordinated tango as he walks me backward to his bed. When the backs of my knees hit, I let myself drop down.
Stefan looms over me and I watch him strip off the rest of his clothes and fuck, he’s beautiful, all hard muscle and power, his cock thick and ready and I’m not sure how I’m going to take that inside me.
When he’s naked, when he’s given me a good look, he sets his knees on the bed, lays his weight on top of me. He’s heavy but it feels good.
“Why do you hate me?” I ask when he drags my arms over my head and holds them there with one of his.
“I don’t hate you,” he says, sliding his other arm down to open my legs. He pushes one thigh up. “I want to make you come again. I want to hear you call my name like that again.”
I feel him then, at my entrance and that’s when I falter. That’s when I hesitate. I tug my arms, but he tightens his grip. Grins.
“You don’t own this night, Gabriela. It’s mine.”
“Fuck you.”
His grin is hungry and predatory. “I will fuck you. Just make sure you say my name again,” he starts as he pushes the head of his cock inside me. “Scream it when you come on my dick.”
He releases my wrists and I look between us, at it, at him and I try to push up, push away, but he’s too big and too strong and he cups the back of my head and brings my face to his and kisses me, our eyes open, his hand fisting my hair.
“Stefan,” I say it. I say his name as he pushes into me, stretching me.
It hurts. And it’s going to get worse. I know it is. He’s too big and he’s not being gentle.
“Stefan,” my voice sounds panicked.
He leans closer to me and my hand curls around the back of his head, fingers weaving into hair, pulling it hard.