He bent his body to hers, pressing his hard-as-hell cock against her side. She didn’t move. Just waited. He’d never known her to be a font of patience, but in this, for this moment, she’d found plenty. He couldn’t help but hope that held weight. Import.
She’d come to rest with her arms over her head, as if posed. In the dim light, her lips were little more than gleams. He traced the shine of her mouth with his thumb. So small and delicate. So easily hurt, no matter her toughness and determination. The power she burned through, whipping through life, always belied her size. She came off seeming bigger. Taller. More powerful. In reality, she was fragile. Beneath the rough push of his thumb, the flesh of her lower lip was tender.
And her knee.
That sickly twist when his grip had slipped.
Lizzie always pulled herself up from bad bumps and missed lifts, but not from that one. She was, in truth, surprisingly breakable—especially under his hands. Yet he didn’t have it in him to pass up the chance to have her. He’d been waiting too long, riding on nothing but tenuous hope.
Her tongue snuck a quick lick at the pad of his thumb. The wet heat seared his skin and snapped him back to their dim living room. His thoughts flew away like a murder of crows, dark and cawing.
“You live to tease me, little one.” His voice was rougher beneath the tense weight in his chest.
“Hmm,” she purred in her throat. Her smile deepened. “Never noticed that before.”
“What is it?”
“Your accent. It’s thicker. Like before a competition.”
“This is surprising to you?”
“Surprising, no. But I like it.” She stretched her arms overhead. “Staid, stoic Dima. Nothing ever affects you.”
Plenty affected him. All his tidy strategies, his silent ambitions. Too much to explain. Every fraction of his future included her. Moving on without her was like contemplating chopping off his feet. If she couldn’t agree with his plans for Devant, he’d just come up with another. And another. Until recently, however, she hadn’t offered any hint of sharing those crazy hopes. She hadn’t even come to see him dance. Until that night. When she’d pushed him to the edge of sanity and his cold, deep control by riding some Texan stranger.
No, better to keep the impossible locked away until Dima could get it right. Make sure everything worked out.
She was motionless, watching him, as if waiting for him to make his decision. That decision was easy—so easy, when touching her was possible.
He hardly knew where to start. So much beauty and temptation. Every inch of her deserved his full attention. He’d even crawl inside her brain and start over again, from the inside out. The day he actually figured out what was in that head of hers, he’d retire from dancing and become a guru on women. None could be more complicated than his Lizzie. None could be more perfect.
“You believe nothing affects me? Let me correct you.” He tucked his fingertip behind her ear, into the delicate divot there, where her skin was tissue thin. “Seeing you riding Paul… ‘Affected’ is hardly the word.”
“You could have said something. Done something. Kissed me.”
“I did, remember?” He touched two fingers to the exact spot where he had kissed her, right on her forehead. “Just like I always do when saying good night.”
“You could have stayed,” she said, the words nearly a whisper.
“And wank in the corner while you played with your new toy? No, thank you.”
“I would’ve liked to watch you.”
Dima dipped his chin and inhaled. Emotion and control and need churned until he couldn’t think straight. She was twisting him into knots. “I can smell him on you,” he finally said.
The sugared scent of luxurious bath products, that was Lizzie. She could spend longer in the shower than any person he’d ever known. Tonight, cloaked in the smells of a nightclub and sex, an element of spice clung to her sleek skin.
He bowed over her, keeping one hand at her waist. She couldn’t go anywhere. If she tried, he might turn into some feral version of himself, all teeth and growls and furious possessiveness. Holy mother, his world was narrowing to nothing but her. He flattened his other hand on the arm of the couch. The deep breath he dragged into his lungs was scented with both Lizzie and Paul—so heady and strong that he groaned.
“You don’t seem to mind,” she said.
“I find I don’t.”
She arched her spine, pushing her breasts higher. He trailed his index finger along her collarbone, down to the thin material between her tits. The satin of the dress was nothing compared to her skin.
“I’m not surprised his scent’s on me.” Her eyes drifted to dark slits and she smiled, sweet and sly. “He was all over me. In me.”