I respond without thinking, like my body is remembering what my mind has forgotten about wanting him.
His tongue slides against mine, and I moan into his mouth. The sound should embarrass me, but nothing about this feels wrong, even though everything else in my life feels as though it’s built on lies.
He breaks the kiss to trail his mouth down my neck, and I arch against him instinctively.
“We should slow down,” he mutters against my throat, even as his hands shove my straps down.
He’s the one losing control, not me.
“Should we?”
“You’re vulnerable right now. Scared from the nightmare.”
I laugh breathlessly. “You think I’m the vulnerable one here?”
His hands still on my collarbone. “Enlighten me.”
“I mean, you look at me like you’re afraid I’m going to disappear.”
His body stiffens. He pulls back to meet my eyes. “Maybe I am.”
The honesty surprises me. This isn’t the smooth criminal who intimidates waiters. This is someone unguarded and uncertain.
“Then don’t let me.”
That ruins the last of his control. His mouth slams back against mine while his hands push my nightgown down around my waist. When his palms cover my breasts, I whimper and press into his touch.
He works over my body like he’s memorizing every inch, his mouth following the path his hands have mapped. When he takes one nipple between his lips, I thread my fingers through his hair and hold him against me.
His other hand works my remaining breast, and he rolls the nipple between his fingers until I’m writhing beneath him.
The combination of his mouth and hands sends heat straight between my legs, and I feel moisture gathering there.
“Please,” I breathe.
“Please what?”
“Touch me. Everywhere.”
His hand slides lower, over my stomach and down to where I’m already aching for him. When his fingers find me through the thin fabric of my panties, I buck against his touch.
“You’re soaked, kotyonok. I barely touched you.” He growls it, more threat than praise. “Do you even know what you’re doing to me?”
“Show me.”
He strips away my panties with one jerk and settles between my thighs. The first touch of his mouth makes me cry out and grip the sheets. He starts slow, broad strokes that make me tremble, then focuses on my most sensitive spot with devastating skill.
“Dmitri,” I gasp as my hips lift toward his mouth.
He responds by sliding two fingers inside me while his tongue circles and teases. The dual sensation makes me cry out, and my back arches off the bed. He works me with ruthless expertise, dragging it out until I’m trembling on the edge.
“That’s it,” he murmurs against me. “Let go for me.”
He adds a third finger, stretching me while his mouth works magic. The pleasure is so intense it borders on pain, and I can feel my orgasm building like a storm inside me.
“I’m going to?—”
“Not yet,” he says, pulling back just enough to deny me release. “I want you to take your time falling apart around my fingers.”
