by Misha Bell
His face goes taut. “You sure?”
Instead of an answer, I lead him into the living room and open the suitcase again.
Like one of Pavlov’s dogs, I’m already salivating at the promise of more orgasms.
“I almost forgot.” Vlad takes out a small bundle of lacy cloth from his pocket. “You left this in my bathroom.”
Holy crap. I forgot my underwear at his house and didn’t even realize it.
Cheeks going nuclear, I snatch the panties out of his hand. “Sorry about that. Had to leave in a rush and all.”
“About that.” He steps closer, his eyes impossibly blue behind the lenses of his glasses. “I hope you’re okay.”
Okay? What is he—oh. All the warm fuzzies leave me as I recall last night and the way he so abruptly pulled away.
“Was it because I looked like a freak?” I blurt.
His brow furrows. “What are you talking about?”
“We kissed. You pulled away. You thought I looked like a freak, right?” I gesture at my fake eyebrows.
His expression shifts from confusion to unmistakable desire, his lids lowering as his eyes sweep hungrily over my body. Stepping up to me, he cradles my face in his broad palms. “Fannychka…” His voice is rough velvet. “You’d be beautiful without a single hair on your head.”
Oh. My. God. If I were a computer, system error messages would be blaring through my speakers. As is, my heart hammers, and every hair on my body stands on end, as if an electric current is running under my skin.
I. Am. So. Turned. On.
“You had vodka in your system,” he continues without letting me go. “And I—” He takes a deep breath. “I want your mind clear when you beg me to fuck you.”
Wow. Now the computer would explode.
I was not expecting to hear those words come out of his mouth—and now that they have, the images dancing in my mind are beyond X-rated.
And hot.
So scorching hot that I seem to have lost my tongue.
“Beg?” I finally manage to squeeze out.
A cocky grin tugs at his sensual lips. “I guess you can also just ask. Nicely.”
“Nicely?”
“Good enough,” he murmurs and dips his head, slanting his lips across mine.
Holy overactive ovaries. Now I feel like someone has taken the little bits of the exploded computer and began putting the pieces back together, paying special attention to the erogenous zones.
The kiss is hungrier than the one last night.
More primal.
My knees start to feel weak.
He must notice. Still kissing me, he backs me toward the couch, and as I plop backward onto it, he leans over me, lips brushing my ear as he murmurs roughly, “I wanted to bend you over the table at Starbucks when I first saw you.”
Error. Error. Hormone overload. Speaking functions compromised. Reboot required.
Losing my head completely, I ball his shirt in my fist and drag him on top of me.
The coiled muscles press firmly against my body.
We resume kissing.
My hand slides through his thick, silky hair.
He nibbles on my lip.
I suck on his tongue.
Steam collects between my skin and clothes. I want them off, so I begin to unbutton my shirt.
He leans slightly back, pupils dilating impossibly wide.
I slip out of my top.
He rips his shirt clean off, sending buttons flying like bullets across the room. Left in a white t-shirt, he strips that off too.
Video buffer overrun. Graphics card overclocked.
Vlad must spend serious time at the gym. That or his body was sculpted in ancient Greece. The hard-quilted muscles gleam with beads of sweat, and I want to lick them all off.
He unbuttons my bra, releasing Pinky and the Brain from their prison.
“Beautiful.” He cups Pinky, and my nipple practically stabs his palm.
Can you go crazy from lust? I need him inside me so much I think I might scream.
Kissing his neck, I slide my tongue over his pecs, down the washboard abs and lower, toward the landing strip of hair below his navel. At the same time, I unzip his pants.
Holy hell.
Dracula is almost bursting out of his underwear.
Vlad kicks off his pants, then peels my jeans off.
“You okay?” he asks, eyes hooded.
I pull down my panties in my reply.
After this, I dare anyone to call me unadventurous.
“Beautiful.” His voice comes out guttural, caveman-like.
He straddles me, his naked skin rubbing over mine.
I can’t believe this is happening.
He kisses my neck, then sucks on my nipple before languidly dragging his tongue over my belly and lower. And lower still, with mind-numbing, teasing slowness.
After what feels like forever, I feel his warm breath on my sex.
Division by zero. File not found.
He gives it a probing lick.
I cry out.
Belka’s squishy Space Age material has nothing on his swirling, clever tongue. So clever, it should get an honorary PhD from Harvard.
The pressure builds.
I knead my hands in his hair, arching up as the pressure grows unbearable, intensifying with each passing second.
With a loud moan, I blast apart.
He looks up, primal male satisfaction written all over his beautiful face. “More?”
“Lie down.” My words come out boldly, almost like a command. There’s no room for shyness in the desire gripping me.
He gladly obeys.
I pull down his underwear, unleashing Dracula.
Input device driver error. Allocate more space.
Cautiously, I give his shaft an ice cream lick.
He twitches in response, urging me on.
I slide all of him into my mouth, jaws stretching to the limit.
“Fuck,” Vlad grunts above me.
Taking that as encouragement, I make a circle with my tongue.
And another.
After a third, he pulls away. “I don’t want to finish like that.” His voice is hoarse, his breathing uneven. “I want to be inside you. Assuming you’re ready for that.”
Ready?
If I don’t get him in me, I might die.
There’s just one problem.
“I don’t have a condom.” I glance around the living room as though looking for the latex fairy.
His eyes roam ravenously over my body. “Me neither. This whole development is a little unexpected.”
I dart a glance at his erection. “You said you’re clean.”
His breath hitches, voice roughening further. “You did too. And you’re on the pill.”
“So are you. I mean, I am on the pill. The only one on the pill.”
Ugh, why am I babbling? And flushing again?
Instead of responding, he lifts me up and manhandles me until we switch places, with me sprawled on the couch and him on top, Dracula against my belly.
His lips slant over mine once more, and as I return the kiss, I feel his wicked fingers enter me.
Whoa.
I gasp into his mouth as he locates my G-spot with a precision Glurp would be jealous of, then gives it a light rub.
I come undone with a scream.
Eyes heavy-lidded, he brings his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean. “Delicious.”
His fingers leave a gnawing emptiness that needs to be filled.
Time to take my daring to the ultimate level.
I wrap my hand around Dracula and slowly guide him into me.
Input device connected. Error. Reboot imminent.
Vlad’s face looks strained as I take him in by small increments, letting my muscles adjust.
Okay. I can take him. I was worried for a second.
“You okay?” he grunts when Dracula is rooted as deeply as he can go.
I manage a small nod.
I moan.
He speeds up.
My nails dig into his back.
The thrusts intensify, yet it’s not enough.
I crave more.
Harder.
Deeper.
Sliding my hands to his glutes, I arch up, impaling myself as I tip over the edge.
My toes curl as I scream his name.
As my pelvic muscles tremble around Dracula, Vlad grunts in pleasure. I feel him harden, and then there’s the warm sensation of his release—which brings me to yet another climax.
“Fuck.” He hugs me tight, his chest heaving against mine. “That was remarkable.” Realizing he might smother me, he pushes up on one elbow.
Smiling into his face, I rub my nose against his, channeling my inner guinea pig. “Merely remarkable?”
“Amazing. Mind-blowing.” He grins. “Better?”
“A good start.” I wriggle out from under him and jump to my feet. “Keep talking as you join me in the shower.”
Giggling, I run into the bathroom, and as he chases me, he peppers me with enough positive adjectives to fill a thesaurus.
Once inside, I set the shower water to a comfy temperature and get under the stream.
He looks me over hungrily, then steps in, taking up all the freaking space.
Before I can object, he begins to lather me sensuously.
Okay, I guess all is forgiven.
Once I’m squeaky clean, I return the favor, covering every one of his copious muscles with soap.
“You know,” I say as I lather his washboard abs. “If I wanted to be mean to my kid, I’d call her or him Six.”
He grins. “Six Pack. That is pretty wicked.”
When the shower is done, we wrap ourselves in towels and return to the living room.
“Your shirt is toast.” I kick the buttonless mess with a bare foot.
He shrugs. “I can wear the t-shirt.”
He’ll actually look casual for a change? The universe just might implode.
Seeing him with that towel turns me on again, and my newfound boldness shows no signs of abating.
“What should we do now?” I ask, glancing at the suitcase.
Did Dracula just stir under that towel?
Vlad smirks. “What did you have in mind?”
“There are toys we haven’t tested yet.” I fake innocence by batting my eyelashes at him. “I, for one, think that’s an oversight that needs fixing.”
He unwraps his towel to reveal Dracula ready for action.
Insatiable much?
I love it.
Giddily, I choose a toy to use on him—and bring him to another climax. Then he returns the favor many times over since there are more female-oriented toys.
Countless orgasms later, we run out of toys, and my stomach growls.
“How unladylike.” I spank my belly before wriggling into my underwear and jeans.
“We better feed the beast.” He takes out his phone. “What are you in the mood for?”
“Pizza?”
He nods approvingly. “One of the best places in the country is just a few blocks away.”
The thin crust pizza is out of this world, and we devour it over beers and a good conversation. Among other things, we learn each other’s ages—he’s thirty-two to my twenty-four—and when each other’s birthday is, a topic that leads into a discussion about our mutual skepticism regarding Zodiac signs.
When our dinner is done, we feed the other beasts—Oracle and Monkey.
Once our pets are happy pigs, Vlad and I cuddle on the couch and watch The Matrix. As the movie plays, I try not to think about the implications of what’s just happened and just enjoy the moment. Because if I do think about it, I will freak out.
Because I just slept with Vlad.
With my boss’s boss.
The computer will definitely crash if I go there.
Instead, I focus on the movie. We say our favorite lines together with the characters and, in some rare cases, complain about something we think could’ve been done better.
For example, why did the machines use humans as batteries when guinea pigs would’ve required a much simpler virtual reality prison to keep them content?
“I think the original reason the machines needed humans was as a computational substrate,” Vlad says. “That seemed too complex of an idea for the general public, so it was dumbed down to batteries. Or maybe it was just product placement.”
I grin at him. “I bet you’re right.”
“This always bugged me,” he says when Trinity quips the classic “Dodge this” line and shoots the agent in the head. “Given how fast the agents can move, she wouldn’t have had the time to finish the words before he’d have thwarted her.”
I vehemently shake my head. “When a line is that cool, you need to just relax and not overthink it.”
He laughs and we finish the rest of the movie without comments. Then we stream the sequels, complaining more often as we do.
“I should head out,” he says when the credits on the last of the trilogy roll on the screen.
Still on my bravery high, I say, “If you want, you can stay here.”
Turns out, he very much likes the idea of staying, so we make our way to the bedroom, where I promptly end up on all fours.
“That was even better than before,” he murmurs huskily when we’re both just limp noodles on my bed.
My oversexed grin is goofy. “You know, if we were guinea pigs, you’d officially be the dominant one after that.”
His chuckle morphs into a yawn.
“Spoon me.” It comes out bossier than I planned, but he grins and does it.
Before I know it, I fall asleep like that.
Cuddled securely in his arms.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I feel warm and cozy and only partially awake.
Sometimes sleep is like a computer reboot for my brain, and this morning, this is truer than ever—I’m certainly having thoughts that have hidden in my subconscious until now.
It’s insane how close I feel to Vlad.
Also—and maybe this is me being delusional—I feel like I know him. Know the real him, not the Impaler mask everyone at the office fears.
In fact, in barely no time at all, I’ve begun to feel that the two of us fit together like a set of nesting matryoshka dolls.
I grin as I think back on us cuddling on my couch. It was the best evening I can recall having. And the sex was the most mind-blowing of my life.
In fact, I might’ve had more orgasms yesterday than the entire year prior.
Most importantly, I’ve never felt this kind of connection with a guy. My longest relationship was Bob, and in the year we dated, I don’t think I knew him this well, or felt like we fit this well, or enjoyed the intimacy, or—
Shit.
Could I be falling for Vlad?
A jolt of adrenaline banishes the remnants of drowsiness.
Falling for him could be a disaster. He might not feel the same—and he’s my boss squared.
Crap.
I actually slept with the head of the company.
If anyone found out, they’d accuse me of sleeping my way to the top—or into the development department. And what if I do get moved or promoted for a reason other than merit?
Ugh. These would’ve been good things to consider before taking off my panties. In my defense, he had his shirt off by that point, and I’m only flesh and blood.
I open my eyes.
Vlad isn’t in bed with me.
Forget the boss angle. My fear now is that last night meant nothing to him.
The scent of something fried and delicious reaches my nostrils.
I jackknife to my feet.
Maybe Vlad isn’t gone after all?
I sprint to the bathroom to make myself presentable.
Interesting. I have a five-o-clock shadow. In the eyebrow area—not my cheeks. The temporary tattoos are
holding on too, but given this growth spurt, I won’t need them in a few days.
Teeth brushed and makeup applied, I put on some clothes and rush into the kitchen.
It is Vlad.
His back is to me, and he’s only wearing pants.
Those back muscles make him look like a rower or a swimmer.
Drool forms in my mouth, only in part due to the smells of the fried goodness he’s working on.
He should cook completely naked next time.
Wait, no. That could expose Dracula to hot oil burns.
I loudly clear my throat.
He turns around. “Ah. The sleepy kitten has risen. When I got up, I accidentally made a lot of noise, yet you didn’t even twitch.”
I grin. “I’m not a light sleeper.”
He nods at the pan. “I hope you like your eggs over easy.”
Over easy?
Is that subliminal messaging? Is he saying we’re over or I’m easy?
He quirks an eyebrow. “A frown at my egg choice? How about I take this batch, and you tell me how you want yours done?”
Did I frown? Crapo. “Scrambled, please.”
“Very American. Sit.” He gestures at the table.
I obediently plop down next to a chair that has a man’s shirt draped over it—a shirt with buttons that are attached, meaning it’s not the one from yesterday.
“Where did you get a change of clothes?” I ask.
“Ivan brought it, along with the groceries.” He turns back to the stove. “There were cobwebs in your fridge.”
Great, Ivan knows Vlad stayed here.
Actually, Ivan, being his driver, would know either way.
Still, my cheeks warm. Though I’ve never done the walk of shame, I bet it feels a little like this.
He makes small talk as I drum my fingers on the table, debating if I should just flat-out ask him what he thinks is going on between us.
I should.
And will.
Any moment now.
His back is turned. That makes it easier, doesn’t it?
Nope.
Not happening.
I must’ve used up all my boldness and bravery yesterday.
Mouth watering beyond reason, I watch as Vlad slaps the contents of the skillet on a plate, then cracks another egg, puts a little bit of milk in, and stirs.
