“That was then.” He pressed her wrist more firmly against the padded armrest. “Now, I’m about to make you come so hard that I hear your scream without a door between us.”
“Do you promise?”
“I do.”
If it took everything in him, hours of attention, he’d wring a scream from that beautiful mouth. It was everything he wanted, to inhale her satisfaction like the air he breathed.
Her grin wavered. Not so bright. More…confused. “You’ve never broken a promise to me.”
“I’m not about to start. Open for me, little one.”
She parted her knees so that one brushed the back of the couch. Her wet lips bloomed open. Dima shuddered in tense anticipation. He delved a finger between them before tasting. Her essence exploded across his tongue in a burst of sweetness and spice.
Wrapping his hands around her hips, he boosted Lizzie off his lap and pushed her up. Either surprise or long reflex kept her rigid, as if preparing for a lift. He positioned her just as he wished: half-sitting against the arm of the couch. He grabbed her knees and tugged. Her hips angled toward him. The swish of her skirt dropped back between her legs, but he flicked it away.
Dima settled on his stomach, stretched along the couch. The upholstered softness offered no satisfaction when he pulsed his hard cock. Not enough resistance. Soon, but later.
He didn’t start with small licks to warm them up. No point. That wasn’t what they wanted. Instead, he claimed her. All taking. All demanding. Lizzie arched deeper and cried out. He locked his mouth over her dripping cunt, drank her deep, delved his tongue into her mysterious secrets. He would make those secrets his.
At first the acrid tang of latex masked her true taste. It only took a few laving moves before a different, sweeter flavor emerged. Lizzie, soft and true. All for him. He licked her clit until he found a rhythm that made her squeal and writhe.
“Harder, God. Please.”
Although he sank two fingers into her sheath, he kept his movements slow. He didn’t give her the pressure she needed and even pulled back until she whimpered. After one more slow lick, he lifted his mouth.
“Who am I?”
The question roiled up from some dark place—the place that demanded more than the thrill of sex. Claiming her body wasn’t enough when that would fade with the last pulses of her release. After all, Paul had done that much. Dima was her partner and he would take what was his.
She tugged on his hair, trying to get his mouth back where she wanted it. “Please…”
But he wouldn’t be distracted. Not yet.
“Tell me who you’re with, Lizzie. Tell me who’s licking your cunt.”
Chapter Five
She’d thought his nickname was silly when they first met. Her thirteen-year-old laughter and reflexive, “It sounds like a girl’s name,” hadn’t been well received. He’d maintained a stoic snit for their whole first week of practice. Not the most auspicious beginning. Since then, she’d probably said his name a couple dozen times a day. It chimed more often in her head, as she assessed the world through his gaze and layered it over her own.
As Lizzie answered his question, she felt as if she’d never shaped its sound before. “You, Dima. You’re licking my cunt.” She couldn’t help her pout. “Or, you were. Do continue.”
He stared at her with those gorgeous, molten chocolate eyes, so soulful and perceptive. “When we dance, who leads and who follows?”
“What?”
The two fingers in her pussy shoved deeper. A sudden burst of sensation grabbed her breath, although he gave her nothing harder—nothing like the rough release she needed to blow away all this confusion.
“You heard me, Lizzie.”
“You lead and I follow.”
“All the time?”
She swallowed. “Sometimes I try to lead.”
“When you do, what happens?”
A humiliating reminder of their first junior pairs competition was not what she’d had in mind. Skirt up. Fingers in. Tongue at work. She should’ve come by now. He never let things just happen.
At that first junior pairs competition, only three months along in their young partnership, she hadn’t trusted him. She’d tried to lead. Each turn, each grip, each step went wrong. Everyone had been disappointed, including their coach and both sets of parents.
None of that had mattered. One look at Dima’s blasted, exhausted face and she’d regretted her behavior. All of his disappointments had shown so clearly for the first time—the feelings he kept tucked inside a mind that had barely learned enough English to order a cheeseburger. Even so, those feelings had only slipped free for a moment before he closed off his expression and walked to the dressing room.