‘Why so tense?’ he asked.
‘I’m not used to functions like this,’ Alina said, but did not explain that neither was she used to being in the arms of someone as incredible as him. Despite her bravery as she’d got ready, he’d made sure she’d got that message that this was work as he’d dropped her at the employees’ entrance. She was trying for professional now but her body happily forgave that humiliation as her nipples throbbed beneath her silk dress and the tops of her thighs ached for attention from the man she kept half at arm’s length.
The woman who had made the speech danced past them with her partner and Demyan wanted to tap her on the shoulder, to ask how, how did she stand there and admit things like that, how did she now dance and smile and laugh? Instead, he pulled Alina in closer and felt her resistance, and he held her there, his mouth to her ear as if to hush her protests.
Yes, she protested, but silently and only for a moment, her body tense at first but then she came to terms with the male dragging her deeper in. And then she accepted, leaning into him, and Demyan exhaled at the small compliance, his hand, moving a little lower than her waist.
He rarely danced, perhaps one, and then bed.
Dancing was boring, but now he wasn’t bored.
They danced, because if they didn’t the night ended, if they went back to their seats or took a drink or stopped then it ended, and Demyan didn’t want to end it just yet.
He told her again she looked beautiful but he confused her again because it was in Russian.
‘What does “tiy viy...”?’ she couldn’t remember the rest.
‘It means you need sticking plasters over your nipples,’ Demyan lied, but he could feel the mouth near his cheek stretch into a smile.
‘Only when you’re around.’
God, he was hard and this dark horse didn’t mind in the least—she’d even made a small joke.
‘You’re working me too hard.’
‘What happened to shy?’
‘I don’t know,’ Alina admitted.
He was used to eager women but that wasn’t the word he’d used for Alina.
Willing.
Not that word either, Demyan thought as his hand slid over her silk-clad bottom and his face moved in front of hers. ‘What does malleable mean exactly?’
‘Flexible,’ Alina said.
‘No,’ Demyan said, as a vision that wouldn’t help matters flicked into his head.
‘Impressionable?’ Alina offered.
‘No...’ Demyan shook his head. With two languages at his disposal he couldn’t place the word he’d use to describe her.
‘Persuadable?’ Alina smiled.
That would be me, Demyan thought, because right now he could scrub ‘no virgins’ out of his rule book and bed her and bed her and bed her.
Beddable.
That was the word.
Breakable.