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“Do we?”
I turn my face away as he leans in. He laughs gruffly and starts kissing my cheek, smoothing one hand around to my ass as his kisses bring him closer to my lips. When I hear the moan, it takes me a moment to realizeI’mthe one doing it.
Each kiss is warm and sends pleasure pumping through me. I can’t fight it any longer. At the last moment, I turn, initiating the kiss, throwing my arms around his shoulders and squeezing against him. He groans, pressing his hand against my ass, massaging me as we sink closer together.
The sounds he makes are so hot. The groans and the grunts and the panting breaths between each kiss, like he can’t get enough of me. My core burns hotly as he slides his hand down my belly. My first thought is about my size, but then I remember what he said. So who cares if he touches my belly? I squeeze my thighs together to relieve some of the pressure.
“I can feel how hot and wet you are,” he growls in my ear. “Every day, I’ve wanted to kiss and touch you, watching you come over here. I tried to fight it.”
“Why?” I breathe heavily as his hand strokes up my tights under my skirt.
“Because you’re too good for me.”
“Stop saying that.” My stern tone becomes a moan when he presses on my leg close to my heat.
“It’s the truth,” he snarls, inching closer to my pussy. My underwear feels sticky. My clit keeps brushing against the fabric, sending urgent jolts through me. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me.”
“Am I?” I say, trying to sound innocent.
Then I can’t think. What am I doing? Why am I letting this happen? I might regret this. It could cost me my job if things go badly. When he pushes his hand down against me, I can’t protest. I can’t fight it.
“That’s it,” he says passionately, moving his hand even quicker when I shift my hips with him.
It’s like I’m not even the one who does it. It’s like there’s this other person inside of me, sexy and confident. The pleasure lets me forget everything else.
When he tries to slip into my underwear, though, I put my hand on his wrist, stopping him. It’s not because I don’t want him to, but this isn’t the most private place. What if one of the workmen forgot a tool and caught us?
He growls and rubs the outside of my underwear even faster, even firmer, with even more passion as though to prove a point.My hips start rocking quickly, grinding against him, chasing the pleasure, the heat. The explosion begins to threaten.
Without even meaning to, I push my face against his chest, burying my moans, breathing in his scent and his heat. His groans are so fast and fierce it’s almost likehe’sthe one about to explode. It’s like he’s getting hot by making me go wild with desire.
I move my hips faster, faster. Oh, hell. I want it so badly. The idea of keeping any semblance of control is just a joke. I want, need, need?—
Oh. My…
I bite down on his chest through his shirt, the orgasm making his fingertips feel like they’re burning, the motion of his powerful body intensifying the release. It’s like he puts all his strength into drawing the orgasm out, rubbing my pussy, wetness drenching me like my body is screaming at me to lie down, open my legs, and take him, but he doesn’t know the truth. No, I won’t let that thought in. I won’t think about it. I can’t.
Just the tingling between my legs, just my clit feeling like it’s throbbing and more sensitive, just my lips tingling and my entrance fluttering like I’m getting ready for him. Finally, it passes. I’m left panting, struggling to get a good breath.
Dimitri takes a step back. He must be able to read my confused expression because he says, “If I keep going, I’ll take you right here, Lia. I’ll strip off your clothes and slide my dick into that hot, tight, wet hole. I’ll fuck you raw. I’ll come in your curvy, mouthwatering body.”
I almost say,Do it then, but that would be a mistake. It would make him think I’m somebody I’m not.
“So,” he says, “let’s grab that bite.”
The subtext is clear as he stares at me: let’s get some food before he feasts on me instead.
“I’ll need to get changed,” I murmur. “I’m, uh… a little sticky.”
“We can swing by your place first or stop somewhere and get you some new clothes. It might be easier than driving all the way out there.”
All the way out thereis a good way to describe my apartment in the rundown neighborhood I can still barely afford. It’s usually two bus rides across Vegas, but sometimes it can be up to three, depending on the schedule.
“I don’t mind doing a little shopping,” I say.
“Good. Because I’m going to spoil you.”
CHAPTER 7
