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Her teeth went down on her lower lip, making them fuller as she peered at me from under thick dark lashes.
“Probably nothing,” she hummed. “You know more about me than I know about you. I only know what the papers say, and, in my opinion, that’s not sufficient. I should have sufficient information about the man who whisked me away in the back of a van.”
I chuckled, unable to hold it in. Her words had a slight slur around the edges, but her consciousness was sharp and as clear as ever.
“We didn’t use a van from Los Angeles to Moscow.”
Another shrug. “Van...private jet.... What’s the difference? I’m here, aren’t I? You got what you wanted.”
Her finger lingered on my neck, taking its time to trail every foreign symbol inked on my skin. My skin sang, and I wasn’t sure how much longer I was willing to contain the roaring flame that burned inside me.
I snatched her wrist and glared. “Go to bed, Freya.”
“I like it when you call my name.”
She moved her fingers to my lips.
Innocent eyes, puckered lips, gentle touch. My erection strained hard in my briefs until I thought I would burst from pent-up frustration.
“If you keep talking, I’m going to do something that we’d both regret.”
“Something like what? Forcing beef stroganoff down my throat?”
A mental picture of my cock in her mouth made me even harder.
“Fuck beef stroganoff. If I start with you—”
“I want you to just start.”
Goddammit, woman.
My last thread of restraint snapped, and I cupped the back of her head and brought her lips to mine. They were much softer than I’d constantly imagined—much softer and tasted sweeter. My head grew hazy, feeling lost in her scent. Her eyes closed, and she sighed into my mouth, placing her hands on my chest to keep her balance.
“You haven’t begged.”
It was a growl against her mouth—a subtle hint—and the sudden light in her eyes said she remembered. My words from days ago hung in the air between us.
Soon, Freya. Very soon, you’ll be begging me to touch you.
Her cheeks turned rosy, and she chewed on her lip. Despite being tipsy, she fought an inner battle with her pride. “Nope. You’re not going to make me beg.”
“Cocky much?”
“Egor….”
“Then, maybe I should stop kissing you.” I started to move away, and her eyes bulged in panic.
“No! I mean, I, um…. Just don’t go yet.God,this is messed up,” she mumbled under her breath and swallowed. “Please.Please, kiss me.”
I smirked. “That’s a good start. What else?”
Her gaze fell to my lips, and she threw her arms around my neck. “Um, please make…make love to me?”
My gaze darkened. “I can’t do that, Freya.”
“Oh.” Her sudden bashfulness left me intrigued. “Then, do whatever you can. Just…don’t let this stop. I like this. I can’t explain it, but I—”
“You should stop talking now.”
