by Lana Sky
But he’s already behind me. His fingers plunge beneath my skirt, and a vicious sound rips from his throat.
Again, I’ve forsaken any panties, a fact that he takes advantage of with a swift, deliberate thrust of what feels like his thumb.
Holy crap. My startled moan rings out. This isn’t like how he touched me before. Gone is the mocking, persistent wall. His finger trembles with barely concealed restraint. Like it’s taking everything he has in him not to rake with his nails. Shove inside me. Grip. Mark. Hurt.
The worst part? Something sick inside of me kind of wants him to.
“Are you going to just tease me again?” I wonder mockingly. “Fuck me half-assed and then kick me to the curb?”
He goes rigid, and I chuckle in triumph, scooting away from him.
“I thought so. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a real fuck waiting to be experienced—”
He grabs me hard, shoving me face down against the leather. Panic prickles through my nerves, but a stronger emotion keeps the fear at bay for now. Excitement.
The hands wrenching up the skirt of my dress aren’t polished and mocking anymore. They ruthlessly feel along my skin, palming my ass. I hiss in irritation when they withdraw only to…
Thwack! My eyelids flutter as fire sears through my left cheek—the kind of pain caused by only one act.
“D-Did you just spank me?” I question through clenched teeth, horrified. As if in apology, his palm cups me again, smoothing over the stinging flesh. He withdraws…only to assault the same spot again. Harder—definitely a spanking.
My mouth waters at the realization, my knees buckling. Throat rasping, all I can think to say is, “Do it again…”
He doesn’t. Instead, he must grab a chunk of my hair, using it to yank my head back. I whimper as the pain sears through my scalp. It actually hurts.
It hurts so good.
Sweat mists my skin as I arch my hips, seeking out more contact. Touching. Anything. Disappointed when he doesn’t deliver a single caress, I scoff, my laughter harsh.
“Are you going to fuck me with your wall up?” I taunt him, rolling my eyes up to the ceiling—the only thing I have a clear view of from this position. “Sorry, Vadim. Been there. Done that. Got the postcard and it wasn’t all it was cracked up to—”
“Merde.” The foreign word rips from him as he tests me with his thumb, finding me dripping. “You enjoy this?” he mutters, his voice rasping with confusion.
Enjoy? My brain takes that word and runs with it, translating it from brooding billionaire speak to English—won. Trapped. Conquered.
I made him come here, to a venue he seems to hate, run by a brother he loathes. I’ve reduced him to this—a creature ruled by lust, too far gone to hold back. He’ll take what he wants.
I whimper at the telltale hum of a zipper being undone. The hiss of shifting fabric. Then I feel him pulsating against me, and my brain threatens to turn off for good.
“I thought I’m not your type,” I tell him spitefully, even though he feels so good I almost hate myself for trying to deter him. He’s a delicious conduit of heat, prodding my lower lips, feeling thicker than before. Intimidating. One experimental buck of his hips forces him a fraction inside me, drawing a groan from my mouth. But when he thrusts for real, I can’t silence a scream.
He goes deep, lacking his previous restraint. His next thrust is even harder. Ruthless.
It’s everything I never knew I wanted, and my brain can’t cope. I go blank, drugged on the sensation as he manipulates me like a rag doll, driving in so fiercely my teeth chatter with the violent motions. Somewhere at the back of my mind, I know he’s snarling in frustration, spitting out a mixture of English and that other mysterious language.
While my mewling, throaty cries easily overpower him.
“Is this—” His hips slam into me, rocking my body against the back of the couch. I have to scramble like I’m trying to crawl over it, just to find enough stability to push back, ridding every stroke he has to give. “What—” Another thrust. “You wanted?”
A punishing thrust nearly robs me of my voice. Gasping, I answer him mindlessly. “Yes, yes, yes. So good. More, more.”
I stimulate my inner muscles to grip him hard, testing his resolve. If anything, the challenge seems to spur him into snatching my hips, yanking me into him. Groaning, he works to shove past each rippling, grasping contraction. His cock swells, sowing friction that has my toes curling in my heels.
I think my brain explodes.
The next thing I know, an orgasm is tearing through me so strongly I can only grit my teeth and ride it out, wave after brutal wave. Even in my daze, I sense the moment he seems to pull back. Come to his senses. Try to reassemble his wall before it’s too late.
“No!” I wiggle my hips shamelessly, humping him like some porno star. “Come in me, please, please, please.”
He swipes his hand over my lower back—hesitating? Then he grips me hard, his nails sinking in. All I can do is seize the edge of the couch and hold on as he bucks into me, grunting. Groaning.
Then he shudders, and it’s like I can track the tension building within him, riding up his cock and finally exploding from him in reckless, ruthless waves.
And it’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever felt. Tears spill down my cheeks, my grin wild, my laughter shrill with triumph.
But then, somewhere within the come down, I realize…
I just fucked a human switchblade.
Chapter Nine
I don’t know how we got here. Here being my hotel room, I think. I barely remember leaving the club. Entering a fancy red sports car. Having someone practically drag me into an elevator. Then, stripping my clothes and frantically trying to undress someone else—who stubbornly refused to remove more than his suit jacket and undo some of his shirt buttons. We stumbled into the bedroom afterward, and…
Hmm. Everything’s starting to blur and run together—but who cares?
I now have two glasses of wine, one in each hand. A beautiful man lies beneath me while I straddle him on a massive, luxurious bed. It’s heaven on earth, even if a part of me whispers that it’s a lie.
“You’re mean,” I tell Vadim seriously. So sexy and so mean. “What you did was really mean. I shouldn’t even be talking to you!” I lift my arms in indignation and wind up sloshing wine over the sliver of his chest bared by his partially undone shirt. Oops. Before a single drop can stain the tailored cotton garment, I lower my mouth to his pec and lick him clean. All better.
“Mean,” he echoes, sounding amused once more. He stares up at me, his gaze crystal clear. I doubt he’s taken a single sip of the wine he procured for me. No matter. That just means there’s more for me.
“Yes!” I nod. Then I giggle. “Spanking me was very mean, but in that case, you have my permission.”
“I should do more than spank you.” He’s frowning, his gaze distant. “My brother rarely speaks to me,” he adds, gripping my hips to steady me while I continue to bounce in place. “Never has he reached out genuinely. Not once. This morning, he sent you a present—well, I’m sure his fiancée had a hand in it, but your name is on the box.”
“Presents?” I perk up and scan the room. “Where?”
He nods to indicate a glass table positioned near the windows.
With a giddy squeal, I shimmy to the edge of the mattress and allow him to assist me by taking my wine glasses. Staggering on jellied legs, I find a beautifully wrapped package complete with a small handwritten note.
Thank you for the thoughtful gifts, someone had written. Francesca and Maxim.
I marvel at the simple gesture. Maxim may be scary as hell, but maybe there is some hope for him yet? At the moment, I’m tipsy enough to give even the Devil himself the benefit of the doubt.
“How sweet!” Feeling like a kid on Christmas morning, I rip into the package and gape at the present within. “Oh! It’s so pretty.” And luxurious too—a beautiful ruby-colored shawl made of silk. I dra
pe it around my shoulders and find something else tucked within the box. “They sent you something as well.” I lift the navy colored piece of fabric and unfurl it, revealing a very nice tie. Lurching to my feet, I spin around only to find Vadim behind me. He eyes the strip of fabric as though it’s poisonous.
“So skeptical you are.” Giggling, I loop the tie around his neck only to instantly regret the finished effect. “Blue is so your color,” I tell him, annoyed at that fact. Navy enhances the depth of his gaze, making his eyes seem even more intense than usual. No fair.
“Do you make a habit out of manipulating people into giving you what you want?” he wonders grudgingly.
I bristle at that. “Not uh! It’s the first rule of engagement.” I lift my finger, about to school him on the proper gifting protocol, otherwise known as social norms. “Never arrive to a party without a gift for the hosts. Always shower them with adequate compliments. And…” I trail off, frowning as my thoughts turn fuzzy. “Something about always asking for seconds, even if the food tastes like ass, I think. Can I have my wines back, please?”
He frowns, so surly. “I’m starting to wonder if I should cut you off...”
I gasp in mock horror and snatch one glass right from his hand. “Never! I’m free, and no one can tell me what to do, remember? Not even you. It’s on my list.”
To prove it, I skip over to the window and admire the view of the city outstretched below, like a smattering of diamonds. If I stand at the right angle, I can make out my reflection—tall, butt-naked, swaying in the shadow of a larger, more enigmatic figure.
“Come here.” I beckon Vadim until he reluctantly steps forward, and then I sigh. “We look so sexy together.” And we do. Fire and embers. Light and dark. “What a shame that you’re so mean.”
“Why shouldn’t I be?” he counters. His hand smooths over my hip, and I arch into the contact. Then he stiffens as if he realizes only now what he’s done. Touch me of his own free will.
“Mean?” I prod before guzzling from my wine. I resurface pleasantly buzzed and add, “Because it’s mean!”
“In my world, you learn quickly that it’s better to be on your guard,” he muses. His words nuzzle the nape of my neck, and he’s even closer. “People seek out others only to gain something they want. I’m just prudent enough to ensure that more often than not, I get my desired win first. Consider that my version of a list. The first rule is to always anticipate the selfishness of others. The second someone believes they have what you seek, they own you.”
It sounds so cutthroat. So darkly sexy.
“I didn’t want anything from you,” I point out, draining my glass. “I mean, I did, but mainly I wanted to do things to you. Sexy things. You wouldn’t let me.”
A low hum resonates through his chest, and I suck in a breath, nearly dropping my empty glass.
“Will you let me do them now, I wonder?” With a mischievous grin, I slink around, grinding my body into his, relishing the stern, impassive reaction. His obvious restraint makes the thrill so much better than what I figure Geoff’s lust would inspire. Lust is boring. But Vadim? He’s unpredictable, proven to snap once pushed to his breaking point.
So I push, bracing my hand on his chest to urge him back, back, back until he has to sit on the edge of the bed, staring up at me with a questioning gaze.
“I wanted so badly to suck you off,” I announce, licking the rim of my glass for emphasis. From the corner of my eye, I watch him tense, his nostrils flaring, eyes narrowing. Holy crap. My inner thighs clench, and I fight to ignore the reaction. “I wanted to take you deep,” I add, intrigued as his breaths quicken in response. “So deep. I wanted to practice all the new skills I’ve read about. It wouldn’t have been perfect, but I’m sure it would have been good.” I’m still violating my wine glass shamelessly. I lick all the way around the rim and then swirl my tongue through the opening while holding his gaze. “Your size is impressive, but I’m sure I could have deepthroated you.”
He sits forward, flattening his hands over his knees, his legs parted ominously. “Kneel.”
A thrill of excitement runs through me so quickly I almost fan myself. Instead, I turn my back to him as I consider complying or crawling into bed and waiting for my hangover to kick in. All it takes is one look at him in the reflection on the window for me to bend—slowly—and set my glass on the floor.
When I stand and face him again, he’s still wearing the same hard, unreadable expression. But as I sidle over to him, a muscle in his jaw quirks.
“Kneel?” I parrot him innocently. “Like this?” Stopping short just beyond his reach, I sink gracefully to my knees, my head bowed. When I gather the nerve to peek at him, he’s unmoving, his eyes flashing. He’s too proud to even command me.
But there’s a distinct bulge tenting the front of his slacks, too tempting to resist, my pride be damned. I crawl to him, licking my lips in anticipation. When I finally come close enough to reach for the fastenings of his pants, he doesn’t shy away.
Trembling with the anticipation, I unwrap him with far more care than I did my present. I peel the fabric back slowly, all while squeezing slightly to test the hardness lurking beneath.
He grunts, sounding pained. His clenched teeth betray that he’s trying his damned hardest to suppress any noise at all. I’m not so composed.
“Gosh,” I murmur, once his cock is freed. “So, so pretty. So beautiful.” I kiss the smooth, bulbous end for emphasis—and I think Mr. Vadim nearly comes out of his skin.
That’s all I do at first—feather kisses up and down his length, the more of him I coax free. I even tease the ends of his piercing. He has his own unique taste that I find myself craving, tainted with remnants of me. Should be gross in theory, I suspect. In reality…
“We even taste good together,” I murmur to him, in case he was wondering. What a shame he can be such a dick. Mournfully, I flick my tongue along the underside of him, testing the give of the largest, pulsating vein surging beneath. I think I could come from this alone—exploring him lazily, drunk off both sex and wine.
But now it’s time for the finale. I honestly don’t know where to start—the women in pornos make it look so easy. Letting impulse guide me, I part my lips around the crown and swirl my tongue. But then it’s like the second my mouth closes over his shaft, instinct kicks in.
An electric impulse jolts down my spine, guiding my movements. Slow at first. Then harder, using my hand to pump his length where my mouth can’t reach. He hardens darn near instantly, thickening to make even taking his tip a struggle.
But I’m eager to keep going. Try harder. Please him as much as humanly possible. Because when he moans…
A choir of singing angels couldn’t compare to the sound. Nothing else in the world could ever come close to this man, grunting in pleasure, fisting his hands through my hair like he’s losing his mind just as rapidly as I am.
“Merde,” he swears throatily. “Je n’ai jamais... Fuck.”
Spurred on by the reaction, I lunge into him, taking him further. More. Deepthroating him isn’t an option, but maybe one day. I could learn to let him in, down my throat—and the mere idea of it sets me off like a match striking gasoline.
My fingers jab between my legs, seeking out my clit as I suck, caressing him with my tongue, urging him in wordless moans.
And then it happens. He goes rigid, his fingers practically tearing out my hair. His cock jerks against my lips, and then I feel it. Taste it.
His release, coming so quickly, he couldn’t hold back even if he tried.
Holy, freaking crap.
My eyes roll into the back of my head as I work to swallow. But it’s too much. He is too much. Excess dribbles down my chin, speckling my tits, and I’ve never felt filthier. And it feels so, darn, good to be filthy with him. Better than good.
And I could cry with the conflicting emotions washing through me as I back away from him, gasping for air. “See how good it can be when you give me what I want?”
I tell him accusingly. “I give you what you need…”
Something he might contest, I realize once I meet his gaze. Rather than dazed with ecstasy, he looks so…angry. Furious, even. Color paints his elegant cheeks, tightening the corner of his mouth and enhancing the darkness of his irises.
Abruptly, he stands, letting his pants fall down to the floor. One by one, he kicks his legs to shed the garment completely, then he advances and palms my skull, sinking his fingers through my hair. A gentle tug warns me to rise along with him, craning my neck back. He forces my head near his, his breath fanning my lips. Tension builds the longer his dark eyes scour mine.
The good thing to do would be wait and see. But I can’t. His nearness feels so darn tempting. I’m the kid in the candy store all over again. Straining his grip, I stand on tiptoe and brush my lips over his. Again. He frowns, resisting me as I nudge his more firmly, urging them apart. Thinking quickly, I flick my tongue along his lower lip. Success. He opens his mouth, nipping me in return, and…
It’s sin.
Kissing him is a new realm, so different from the sex. He can shield himself from me, even while railing my brains out. But like this? I’m poking through a crack in his wall when we’re like this. Eager to explore, I palm both sides of his head and wiggle my hips into him. His hair feels like silk, his body perfection. My brain swims, overheating, oozing out of my mouth as mindless nonsense.
“You feel so good,” I murmur against his parted lips. How can anyone feel so good?
But it’s as if my excitement flips a switch in him. Bam! His wall goes up in record time, forcing me to withdraw completely or risk having my tongue sliced in half by the falling action. His jaw hardens against me, his head cocking, that cold expression returning.
“You hate when I praise you,” I point out, waggling my finger at him in disapproval. Bingo. His gaze darkens, withdrawn, and mistrustful. Sighing, I flounce away from him and dive onto the bed.
