Page 85 of The Beast of Moscow

“Most,” she said.

“And a few have been?”

“Very good teachers.”

The hint of a smile curved the edge of his lips, and as he nodded like he was satisfied with the extent of his careful prodding about her prior sexual experience, he reached for the bottle again. By the time he had gulped down a good inch of the liquor, she’d nearly finished closing the distance to his chair.

At his feet, she kneeled again, using her legs to rest on and keeping her hands in her lap, like she had done in the middle of the floor.

Vaslav watched her.

Seconds ticked slowly by.

“Did they treat you that way, maybe, because of who you are?” he asked, then. “Because they were not the kind of men who could afford to treat you otherwise?”

Vera shrugged, all too aware of his stare drawing a hot path down her chest, over her breasts, and then lower to the waistband of her plain white cotton panties. “I thought we were done with careful questions?”

Vas lifted his brow. “Did I ever say we were?”

“You didn’t say we weren’t.”

“Vera—”

She let out a sigh, glancing away from him to the window where the shades were wide open. She couldn’t see the tower in the distance—the lights had finally been shut off for the evening, and she wouldn’t see it lit up again because tomorrow, they’d be gone.

“Probably because of my father,” she admitted. “Almost everyone I’ve dated publicly has been vetted or warned or threatened—or some various combination—and I’ve not found a nice guy yet that knows what to do when a woman climbs on top and tells him to choke her and call her a slut, you know?”

“Nice guys have morals, Vera.”

She heard what he didn’t say.

I’m not one of those.

His finger, tapping a beat to the top of the sidewall of the bucket chair, stopped, and the lack of noise drew her attention his way once more. It came as a surprise to her to find him still watching her.

“And what’s a little degradation between friends, hmm?” he asked.

Vera lifted a bit higher, then, enough that she could reach for his thighs still covered by the towel wrapped around his waist. She felt the way those firm, solid muscles in his strong thighs clenched when her fingernails dug in harder.

She wanted a good grip, that’s all.

With her breasts grazing his bare knees, and her chin tilted up so when he looked down, their faces lined up, she wondered what he saw there. Did he like that she was willing to get on her knees? That she could be sweet and submit; that she could pretend as if her thumb weren’t resting along the ridge of his erection outlined under the towel?

“Is that what we are, Vas? Friends?”

“We’re certainly not lovers.”

She pulled back from him, just enough to draw her steady, slow hands lower on his muscular thighs. “Not yet.”

He dragged in a breath, and she heard the way it caught once in his throat. “Right, not yet. Did you figure out why I wanted you to crawl?”

Of course, she did.

The second he said it.

“You wanted me on my knees.”

“I do like the view,” he returned just as easily, flooding her gut with heat from his domineering attention. “How long will you suck me?”