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I cried out, my fingers that had been fisting the blanket moving to grip his big, hard shoulder. My nails dug in as he placed his whole mouth over me. He explored thoroughly, drawing even more wet dew from my sex, dew he loudly lapped up as he grunted and groaned. Unbelievably, he seemed to be loving this as much as me.
No one had ever even touched my pussy before, let alone eaten me like this. And eating, that was what Aris was doing. He was savoring, enjoying, drawing out the erotic pleasure until my back bowed and I left crescent shaped marks in the muscle of his shoulder.
He did the most extraordinary things with his tongue, his fingers gently fondling my soaked lips.
“Oh!” I undulated to the slow, exquisite rhythm he set. “Is it supposed to feel like this?”
“Mmm,” he murmured, the sound vibrating to my carnal soul.
He was thorough and noisy and talented and very, very capable.
The coiling sensations tightened, something that would snap and send me careening into the universe.
Suddenly, I became scared.
Whereas before I’d been gripping and caressing his shoulder, I started to beat at him. “No. Aris. Stop. Stop!”
He pursed his sexy lips and tugged at the explosive little nub of my clit. “Haven’t you ever come before?”
I had but never like this. Not this hard. And only by my own fingers.
Aris would obliterate me.
I moaned so loud when he licked the whole flat of his tongue up my sex, but then I tried to draw my thighs together. “You said you wouldn’t force me—”
“I’m not forcing myself on you, Roya. I’m giving you something that is going to blow”—he exhaled across my clit—“your”—he slipped a finger inside my clenching pussy—“mind.”
That was what I was afraid of . . .
And then he replaced his finger with his tongue, gently thrusting inside as I started to convulse.
One experience with this specific man, and I’d never be the same again. I’d never, ever be content with the terrible loneliness of my life.
Then all thought ceased and all fight fled because Aris wouldn’t stop until I surrendered. Surrender I did when he pumped his thumb around my clit while he increased his tongue-thrusts inside of me.
My throaty yell was probably his name, the wild waves of my climax cascading over me. I pulsed and writhed, his tongue swirling inside of me. And the entire world went blazing white, pleasure curling all the way to my extremities.
I barely mumbled something afterward, becoming aware of the very tender kisses Aris dropped over my shuddering flesh on his way up my body. He recaptured my nipples then settled himself on top of me. He sealed his mouth over mine, feeding me what had to be my own sweet essence along with his tongue.
When I sighed softly into the kiss, he pulled back, his ocean blue eyes crinkling.
“You are fucking splendid, Roya.” He reached beneath me, cupping my bottom and squeezing.
Just that quickly, he had me spinning again.
A moment later, and he lifted off of me though.
The bed dipped as he resituated himself.
I’d never felt so, so languid . . . until I tried to move my arm and the chain rattled again.
“Aren’t you going to let me go now?” I turned my head to look at him.
“Nyet.” Reclining next to me on a propped-up elbow, he created a sexy tableau of utter male strength, and he seized all my attention again in an instant.
My gaze swept down his nude form, and I couldn’t believe he was still hard. Or hard again.
I quickly looked away.
“You’re staying just as you are.” But he gave some slack to the chain so I could at least move my arm.
I wondered if there was enough give that I could wrap that damned chain around his thick neck, but in truth I was too sated to try to kill him.
Aris Volkov was incorrigible. What he’d done—snatching me up and effectively kidnapping me—was unforgivable.
Yet, when he wrapped himself around me in all that hard, male warmth and draped a blanket over us, I was transported to a nirvana-like state.
The lights went out, and there was just us, breathing in the dark. I thought I felt his lips brush across my hair and then the nape of my neck, but if he’d kissed me, the touch was as light and fleeting as a butterfly’s wings.
I shivered.
“Are you cold, my prinkípissa?” The deep rumble of his voice ghosted close to my ear, and he tightened his embrace around me.
Cold?
How could I possibly be cold while a gorgeous, completely naked man folded himself around me?
“No,” I whispered. “I’m not cold.”
“Good. Get some sleep. I haven’t decided what I’m doing with you tomorrow yet,” he said in a dark undertone.
Not even that vague threat was enough to make me snap at him.
Exhausted by the events of the entire night, I started drifting in and out of sleep.
In my dreams, Aris appeared in flashes. The manner in which he’d looked at me, with intense, nearly brutal male desire . . . He was nothing I’d ever encountered before, and this captivating, cunning, controlling man had finally flamed a desperate desire inside of me.
Disrupting the illicit thrill of those dreams were thoughts of my detestable father. He kept all the women in his large family in the dark. His multiple wives had been the result of marriages of convenience to cement business deals or royal relationships. His many female daughters were merely a commodity to be dealt out in the same way. That certainly didn’t mean I was ignorant of the shady underside of royal business or palace intrigue.
Like many Arab men of his class, he considered females lesser. Our worth only in our bodies, nothing to do with our minds. Our talents best used in the bedroom once an approved husband, a perfect alliance, could be solidified.
I knew now that my father had not approved of Aris. He’d gone so far as to double-cross the Russian Bratva boss.
Aris had been used, as I would be.
Perhaps that was all we had in common.
The tumble of thoughts and intermittent dreams made my sleep less than restful. When I woke fully, I gathered it was much later than I was used to. Blinds had been opened and bright sunshine spotlighted the bed upon which I lay, alone.
I kept still, blinking the sleep from my eyes. In that stillness, I heard the sound of murmured voices in the penthouse. I recognized one throaty feminine tone in particular.
Yasmin was here. She meant something to Aris, whereas with me he blew hot and cold. And when he was cold, he became icier than the streets of St. Petersburg in winter, or so I imagined.
Icy until a hot flare ignited his eyes, threatening to set me alight.
