When I gripped his shaft, it jerked against my palm. I leaned in to kiss him, but he pinched my chin.
“Can’t hold my cum! Look at me, ángel. Keep me here.”
Keep him? Entranced by this man, I nodded and pumped his length.
His hooded gaze bored into mine. He never glanced away. Not even when he emptied his lungs on a bellow. Not even when I felt the first lash of his scorching semen across my chest.
His massive body quaked uncontrollably, a prisoner to my hand. Eyes gone wide, I milked his cum over and over, till my tits were drenched and it dripped from my swollen nipples.
Next time it’d go between my lips.
Once his yells died down, he repeatedly grated something in Russian. Prosto rai? He shuddered, stilling my hand.
Reality returned by degrees. Dmitri Sevastyan came on my tits. Cold-as-Ice Vice had humped a strange guy’s palm and got a very filthy cum shot. I released his dick and quickly tugged up my panties, as if that would lessen what I’d done.
When he helped me stand, I whispered, “I can’t believe I just did that.” I nearly buried my face in my hands. How had I lost control like that? Toward the end, I hadn’t had a single thought about the con.
He hissed in a breath when he tucked his semihard cock back in his pants. I expected a player’s disdain, the zip-up and the casual, “Yeah, I’ll call you.”
I deserved nothing less.
Yet Dmitri seemed even more interested in me. “Let me help you, moy ángel.” He wetted a cloth and reached for my chest, then hesitated. “I never want to forget this sight.”
I gasped when he rubbed the cloth over my sensitive nipples, cleaning his warm cream. Voice rumbling, he said, “This will get us right back to where we were.”
To me frantic for sex? I took the cloth from him. “I can do it. I’ll be right out.”
Out. With everyone else. After what I’d just let happen?
The entire penthouse had to have heard us.
His brows drew together. “You want me to . . . I’m to leave?”
What a confusing man. He’d been all blistering need and steely command in the throes, but now he seemed unsure. In a quiet rasp, he said, “I don’t want to let you out of my sight.”
I bit my lip. “I’m kind of wearing your DNA right now, so do me a solid, huh?”
He canted his head, as if trying to gauge my reaction. “With reluctance.”
CHAPTER 7
After washing, redressing, and twisting my hair up again, I checked my appearance in the mirror. Other than my flushed cheeks, I didn’t see any outward evidence of what we’d done. But I was still feeling my jackpot of an orgasm—and those shooters.
I drew a steadying breath, looped my purse over my shoulder, then opened the door.
Dmitri stood directly outside. A hank of jet-black hair fell over his forehead as he stared down at me.
My cousin had tried to describe this very look; I realized why he’d had so much trouble.
Dmitri Sevastyan’s expression was half longing, half dark possessiveness, as intense as everything else about the Russian. “Was that too much? I want you to be comfortable with me.”
“I’m just a little . . . overwhelmed. I’m gonna slip out.” I really didn’t want to say good-bye and how nice to meet you to all of them right now.
“I understand. I will see you home at once.” He fished his phone from his pocket, texting even faster than Pete. “We can leave through the doorway at the end of the hall.”
Minutes later, we’d arrived downstairs and a sleek Mercedes limo was pulling up to the VIP entrance. This private drive was shielded behind the Calydon’s gate—so barbarians like my family couldn’t get in.
A nondescript brown-haired bodyguard opened the door for me, asking for my address. I muttered it, and Dmitri helped me in.
Then he sat beside me.
I blinked. “I thought you’d just see me off.” Good God, this was going to be the longest fifteen-minute ride of my life.
In reply, he reached for me, pulling me across his lap—as if he couldn’t get close enough to me. So much for a player’s disdain.
His body heat and scent lit me right back up again. My ass still tingled from my spanking. Blush. “You keep putting me on your lap.”
“Why should I not?” The question wasn’t rhetorical. He was genuinely curious.
I didn’t have an answer for him, so I just sighed.
In a low tone, he said, “I have . . . difficulty reading others. Did I do too much?”
“Of what?”
“Are you angry that I came on you?”
My eyes widened. Okay, then, let’s talk sex. I dragged my mind back to business. I needed to ignite his desire for a future encounter, while planting some good-girl seeds. “When I felt your cum, I loved it. My first thought was that it would go between my lips next time.”
His lips parted on a breath. “Victoria . . .”
“But I’ve only known you for a few hours. I worry I gave you the wrong idea. I don’t behave like this. Ever. I made it to twenty-four with only three notches in my belt, and those experiences were vanilla.” I’d enjoyed my ex’s linebacker physique and had gotten off with him more times than I hadn’t. But, yeah, sex with Brett had been relatively tame.
“Did anything else make you uncomfortable?” Dmitri asked.
“I don’t know about being spanked. About . . . BDSM.” I liked things simple. From what I’d seen online, BDSM seemed to be all about props and wardrobe and power dynamics. As if I didn’t have to deal with those three things enough when conning.
“Can’t hold my cum! Look at me, ángel. Keep me here.”
Keep him? Entranced by this man, I nodded and pumped his length.
His hooded gaze bored into mine. He never glanced away. Not even when he emptied his lungs on a bellow. Not even when I felt the first lash of his scorching semen across my chest.
His massive body quaked uncontrollably, a prisoner to my hand. Eyes gone wide, I milked his cum over and over, till my tits were drenched and it dripped from my swollen nipples.
Next time it’d go between my lips.
Once his yells died down, he repeatedly grated something in Russian. Prosto rai? He shuddered, stilling my hand.
Reality returned by degrees. Dmitri Sevastyan came on my tits. Cold-as-Ice Vice had humped a strange guy’s palm and got a very filthy cum shot. I released his dick and quickly tugged up my panties, as if that would lessen what I’d done.
When he helped me stand, I whispered, “I can’t believe I just did that.” I nearly buried my face in my hands. How had I lost control like that? Toward the end, I hadn’t had a single thought about the con.
He hissed in a breath when he tucked his semihard cock back in his pants. I expected a player’s disdain, the zip-up and the casual, “Yeah, I’ll call you.”
I deserved nothing less.
Yet Dmitri seemed even more interested in me. “Let me help you, moy ángel.” He wetted a cloth and reached for my chest, then hesitated. “I never want to forget this sight.”
I gasped when he rubbed the cloth over my sensitive nipples, cleaning his warm cream. Voice rumbling, he said, “This will get us right back to where we were.”
To me frantic for sex? I took the cloth from him. “I can do it. I’ll be right out.”
Out. With everyone else. After what I’d just let happen?
The entire penthouse had to have heard us.
His brows drew together. “You want me to . . . I’m to leave?”
What a confusing man. He’d been all blistering need and steely command in the throes, but now he seemed unsure. In a quiet rasp, he said, “I don’t want to let you out of my sight.”
I bit my lip. “I’m kind of wearing your DNA right now, so do me a solid, huh?”
He canted his head, as if trying to gauge my reaction. “With reluctance.”
CHAPTER 7
After washing, redressing, and twisting my hair up again, I checked my appearance in the mirror. Other than my flushed cheeks, I didn’t see any outward evidence of what we’d done. But I was still feeling my jackpot of an orgasm—and those shooters.
I drew a steadying breath, looped my purse over my shoulder, then opened the door.
Dmitri stood directly outside. A hank of jet-black hair fell over his forehead as he stared down at me.
My cousin had tried to describe this very look; I realized why he’d had so much trouble.
Dmitri Sevastyan’s expression was half longing, half dark possessiveness, as intense as everything else about the Russian. “Was that too much? I want you to be comfortable with me.”
“I’m just a little . . . overwhelmed. I’m gonna slip out.” I really didn’t want to say good-bye and how nice to meet you to all of them right now.
“I understand. I will see you home at once.” He fished his phone from his pocket, texting even faster than Pete. “We can leave through the doorway at the end of the hall.”
Minutes later, we’d arrived downstairs and a sleek Mercedes limo was pulling up to the VIP entrance. This private drive was shielded behind the Calydon’s gate—so barbarians like my family couldn’t get in.
A nondescript brown-haired bodyguard opened the door for me, asking for my address. I muttered it, and Dmitri helped me in.
Then he sat beside me.
I blinked. “I thought you’d just see me off.” Good God, this was going to be the longest fifteen-minute ride of my life.
In reply, he reached for me, pulling me across his lap—as if he couldn’t get close enough to me. So much for a player’s disdain.
His body heat and scent lit me right back up again. My ass still tingled from my spanking. Blush. “You keep putting me on your lap.”
“Why should I not?” The question wasn’t rhetorical. He was genuinely curious.
I didn’t have an answer for him, so I just sighed.
In a low tone, he said, “I have . . . difficulty reading others. Did I do too much?”
“Of what?”
“Are you angry that I came on you?”
My eyes widened. Okay, then, let’s talk sex. I dragged my mind back to business. I needed to ignite his desire for a future encounter, while planting some good-girl seeds. “When I felt your cum, I loved it. My first thought was that it would go between my lips next time.”
His lips parted on a breath. “Victoria . . .”
“But I’ve only known you for a few hours. I worry I gave you the wrong idea. I don’t behave like this. Ever. I made it to twenty-four with only three notches in my belt, and those experiences were vanilla.” I’d enjoyed my ex’s linebacker physique and had gotten off with him more times than I hadn’t. But, yeah, sex with Brett had been relatively tame.
“Did anything else make you uncomfortable?” Dmitri asked.
“I don’t know about being spanked. About . . . BDSM.” I liked things simple. From what I’d seen online, BDSM seemed to be all about props and wardrobe and power dynamics. As if I didn’t have to deal with those three things enough when conning.
