The next thing I knew, she was swaying her hips against mine, and then she turned in my arms, her back pressed against my chest, and moved to the music like water.
This wasn't happening. Couldn't be happening. Elena Lebedev was now purposely pressing her ass against my painfully hard cock.
“What are you doing?” I growled into her ear, my hands instinctively finding her hips, digging into the stretchy material of that damned dress.
“Dancing,” she replied, throwing her head back at me to be heard. “Isn't that what we're here for?”
I should have pulled away, remembered why I had taken her in the first place, knowing how falling for her would only thwart my plans. But her body was a narcotic to mine, and each roll of her hips against mine eroded any and all self-control.
I found myself unable to stop my hands from sliding around to her stomach, pulling her more firmly against me.
She let her head fall back against my shoulder, exposing the elegant curve of her throat.
I was drowning. I was burning alive. She was someone I had no right to want but couldn't bring myself to step away from.
I told myself it was the alcohol. The few drinks she'd had, the one I'd knocked back at the VIP table while watching her dance. That's all this was—liquid courage and bad decisions. Butwhen she turned in my arms to face me, her pupils blown wide with desire, I knew that was a lie.
Her hands slid up my chest, around my neck, fingers tangling in my hair as she pulled herself closer. “Stop thinking so much,” she said, reading my tortured expression.
“You don't know what you're asking for,” I warned, even as my hands roamed down her back to cup her ass.
“I think I do, going by what nearly happened at the boutique today.”
And just like that, the moment I’d refrained from speaking about earlier now came rumbling back between us, screaming to be acknowledged, shrieking to be heard, demanding to be completed.
The music shifted to a slow, sensual beat like the Universe sent a sign.
Elena's body moved against mine, her hips grinding in a way that left no doubt about what she wanted. Each movement sent sparks of pleasure shooting up my spine, my cock straining painfully against my pants.
My control was slipping, thread by thread. I told myself this was wrong—that I was taking advantage of her when we were both clearly drunk. But the way she looked at me, her practically clear eyes burning with the same hunger I felt, made those protests hollow.
“I've seen how you look at me,” she whispered, her lips close to my ear, her breath hot against my skin. “When you think I'm not watching.”
That was it, and the last thread of my restraint snapped. I could no longer hold back. I was in literal pain from how every atom in my body wanted to touch her skin, feel her taste. Ilowered my head, and she gasped and met my gaze as I cupped her face in my hands. She rose on those little tip-toes, met me halfway, and the next thing I knew, I crashed my lips against hers, swallowing her gasp of pleasure.
For one heart-stopping moment, she stilled, and I thought she realized this was a mistake. Then she melted against me, her lips parting, inviting me deeper.
I kissed her like a man possessed, like I'd been drowning and she was oxygen. Her mouth was hot and sweet, tasting faintly of wine. I slid my tongue against hers, carved her teeth into memory, felt the ridges in her flesh.
And dear god, how she kissed back. She was ferocious, mewling and moaning into my mouth, arching her back so she could feel my cock against herself. She threaded her fingers through my hair, pushed against it to bring me closer, to leave no space unfelt.
I backed her against a nearby column, partially hidden from the dance floor, and pinned her there with my body. My hands found the hem of her dress, slipping underneath to stroke the bare skin of her thighs.
“Gastone,” she gasped against my mouth and widened her legs, allowing me to feel her inner thighs.
I buried my face in her neck, kissing, nipping, sucking at the pulse point below her ear. She arched against me, her hands pulling at my shirt, seeking skin.
God, how bad I wanted her. I wanted to rip off every cloth and finally see those luscious curves with my own eyes, without any barriers.
“Not here,” I managed to say, though it took everything in me to pull back even an inch. “We need to leave. Now.”
Her eyes were dazed, lips swollen from my kisses, and though she looked disappointed, she nodded.
“Yes,” she nodded, her voice shaky. “Home.”
I took her hand, pulling her through the crowd toward the exit. Outside, I signaled to my driver, who was waiting nearby. The car pulled up, and I all but shoved Elena into the back seat, following her in and slamming the door behind us.
The moment I had the partition put up, Elena was in my lap, straddling me, her dress riding up her thighs. I grabbed her ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh as I pulled her against my erection. She moaned, rolling her hips, creating a delicious friction that made my eyes roll back.
