A Virgin for His Prize(36)

He’d brought her to a mind-shattering climax, quickly followed by another.

And still, she wasn’t going for the scarves right now.

He sat beside her, running the silk over her body, bringing forth shivers of sensation she made no attempt to stifle. “A year ago, you would not have hesitated.”

“I know.”

“So?” he prompted, clearly expecting her to change her mind.

It was that confidence that coalesced at least a partial understanding of her hesitancy for that type of game right now.

“Maybe I trusted you more before you offered my father’s sobriety only to turn around and threaten it, or before you threatened to take advantage of my best friend’s desire to protect me from her dad.” Romi wasn’t accusing, or trying to pick a fight, just stating the facts.

And maybe the fact he was trying to blackmail her into his version of marriage bothered her more than she’d realized. She didn’t accept that he was a monster, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t hurt her with his single-minded view of the world and insistence of having his own way.

In fact, she was pretty sure he could.

The silk pooled on her stomach in a pile of fabric so light she barely felt it.

Frowning, he ran his hands down her body in a move that seemed wholly unconscious, hurt he probably didn’t even realize was there shadowing his gray gaze. “The one has nothing to do with the other.”

That hurt gave her hope, but didn’t sway her certainty that she had hold firm on this. “You are too intelligent and understanding of human nature to believe that.”

“Dorogaya, your pleasure is my top priority.”

“You’ve never used that word before,” she said because she’d rather focus on that than his claim. A claim she believed, but was not the point. “What does it mean?”

“Sweetheart.”

“So, more intimate than milaya?” She hoped she’d pronounced that right.

“Yes. Why? Does it matter?”

“You know it does.”

His use of this new Russian endearment was no coincidence, but was it by design or necessity to satisfy the poet in his soul?

He nodded, acknowledging that it did matter. “You do not wish me to use the scarves?”

“No.”

“I have never used them with another woman.”

She liked hearing that more than she would ever admit. “That isn’t why I don’t want to use them right now.”

“You do not trust me.”

“I’m not sure.”

“You are punishing me.”

“I don’t think so.” But she wouldn’t give an unequivocal denial because she wasn’t sure if she wasn’t. At least a little.

He studied her measuringly for several long seconds before scooping up the silk, his fingers brushing over her abdomen with a clearly deliberate movement. “We will leave the restraints in the drawer for now.”

“Okay.”

“You know you only ever have to say no if you want me to stop doing anything.”

“I believe you.” They’d never needed a safe word.

Romi had once asked him if he ever played that way and he’d told her sex was not a game to him.

Despite the undeniable sensual games he played, she believed that. He wouldn’t want a safe word because to Maxwell Black, respecting the word no was as important as keeping his word.

“I will know you trust me when you pull them out.” And there was that hurt again, but he seemed no more aware of it.

She nodded, her throat suddenly gone too dry to answer.

He took the blue silk away and part of her regretted it, but not enough to stop him.

If her refusal bothered him on a conscious level, it didn’t show. His erection had not flagged, his expression as filled with primal desire as ever. He came back to her, but didn’t blanket her with his body as he’d done before.

Instead, he leaned over her to adjust her hands above her head, one clasping the other wrist. “Okay?” he asked.

She jerked her head in affirmative. “Mmm-hmm.”

“Keep them there.” It wasn’t a question.

She answered anyway. “All right.”

With a gentle, but inexorable touch, he separated her thighs, opening her in unambiguous familiarity. She was his. “You are so very lovely.”

“Thank you.” Her voice was husky. So strange. So not like her usual perky tones.

He brushed his fingers through the curls at the apex of her thighs and she jolted. Who knew her hair could be sensitive, but did that feel good? It felt amazing.

He leaned down and breathed in deeply. “I want the fragrance of your desire.”

“Um, okay,” she practically whispered. She felt like maybe she should be embarrassed, but there was no room for that kind of reaction between them.