“Yourself,” I said. Then I trailed my fingers down, settled them at the apex of her thighs, her sex scorching through her thin panties, the fabric drenched.
I stroked my fingers back and forth, watching her as her breath deepened, feeling the wetness as it gushed from her.
“And you’re scared of how much you want me,” I said.
I kept stroking between her thighs, kept watching her as she breathed even harder, saw the faint sheen of sweat break out on her skin, felt the faint shudder of her pussy clenching.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” I said, latching my other hand against her hip to hold her in place. “Do that, and I leave you here. You’ll be mine in name only, but I won’t see you again. Just say the word, Daniela, and you’ll be rid of me.”
My cock was stone, and I would have traded anything to be inside her, but I didn’t press. When she looked up at me with hooded eyes, I froze, knowing that this moment would change everything.
“You’re not wrong,” she said.
Nine
Daniela
After I spoke, I watched him, the part of me that could still reason afraid that he would follow through with what he’d said, leave me here alone, not ever having the chance to fulfill that desire that had thrown me off balance.
That was what I should have wanted, what I had told myself I did. He’d given me the opportunity to prove it, had given me the chance I had thought I so desperately wanted, that I had hoped for.
But I hadn’t been able to make my mouth form the lie. His fingers between my legs driving me to distraction were a part of it. But there was more. I acted on facts, tried to calculate the best move, but some part of myself that I couldn’t name told me that if I didn’t admit the truth, I would regret it for the rest of my life. And I couldn’t risk it, couldn’t risk not ever having him.
He continued to stroke between my thighs, his fingers gliding along my slit, thumb putting just enough pressure on my clit to make me want more. I couldn’t say that out loud though, so I shifted, dropping my hips down to increase the pressure.
Sergei’s hand on my waist stopped me, and I bit my lip to keep from crying out in frustration. I lifted heavy-lidded eyes to his and saw the knowing smirk there.
“Bastard,” I muttered.
He laughed. “I’ve been called worse, but never by anyone more beautiful,” he said. “Now take your shirt off.”
He pulled his hand from between my thighs, forcing out yet another moan, this one of disappointment at the loss of his touch, and then stepped back, staring at me.
“I…”
I lifted my gaze to the door, the now absent door. Sergei followed it and then grabbed my arm and led me down the small hallway and to my bedroom. He closed the door and then stood in front of me, eyes dark with desire as he watched me.
“Take your shirt off,” he repeated, his voice huskier now, deep.
I started to burn with embarrassment, but I reached for the hem of the T-shirt, lifted it up and over my head, and then let it drop. Then, after a breath, I met Sergei’s eyes.
Desire, deep and dark, lit them, and I heaved out a deep breath, unable to do anything in the face of his reaction. I’d made love before, but I’d never had someone look at me so intently, caress me with their eyes. But Sergei was doing so now, letting his gaze trail against my collarbones, down my large breasts, lingering at my nipples, which I knew were pulled tight, hard little buds because of the cold air and Sergei’s heated gaze. Down further over my rounded stomach to rest between my thighs, the place I wanted him to be.
My sex clenched tight, fluttered around emptiness that I wanted him to fill.
“Panties,” he said, his voice even lower now, sounded almost as if he had to fight to push the word out.
I understood.
My entire body trembled with desire that was as shameful as it was strong, the want for this man making me incapable of thinking of him as an enemy or as the man I’d been forced to marry. Here, now, all I saw was the man I wanted inside me.
Fingers trembling with the force of my need, I hooked them in the waistband of my panties and pulled until they fell down to pool around my ankles. My sex was wet, getting wetter with every second, and I knew that Sergei could see the evidence of my desire because my thighs were coated with it.
He stepped closer, pushed a finger between my thighs. I moaned at the touch of his calloused fingertip against my most sensitive skin, moaned again when he began to stroke me, working that fingertip through the moisture that flowed from my pussy freely.
His huffed-out breath drew my attention and I looked up, saw the self-satisfied smile on his face. That gave me the urge to open my eyes, face him, not be so blatant with my need, but his rough finger against my clit took that ability away.