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Oh, boy do I.
I nod. “Yes.”
“Open.”
My lips part and his thumb slides in my mouth.
Holy moly…
I suck on it as a low groan leaves his throat as he watches me. Knowing that I’m turning him on spurs something else in me. I want to be daring… I want to be his good girl…
I gently bite down on the pad of his thumb and his jaw ticks as his eyes heat.
“Fuck,” he mutters.
He cups one side of my face and before I know it, I feel his lips along my jaw, my neck… He’s muttering in Russian as his other hand draws circles on my inner thigh. So close, yet so far from between my legs… where I really want him.
By the time he’s pressing his forehead against mine, I’m panting, and so is he.
He grips my chin and then our lips meet. It’s like electricity.
I open up for him and he groans when our tongues meet. It’s slow but passionate and so full of promise.
His hand moves to my shoulder as he works his way down my body, then he settles a hand on my breast and I almost jump off the couch.
He pulls back. “Too much?”
I’m not a virgin… other men have touched me before… but none like this man have. His touch is so sensual. So erotic.He’s not quick to get any of this over with, and my heart beats rapidly at the thought.
I grab him by the lapels of his shirt and pull him back. “Not at all.”
I feel his smile against my lips as we kiss again. His hand cups and squeezes my breast as our mouths explore. His fingers still skate dangerously close to my wet center, but I figure teasing me until I combust might be part of his repertoire.
When we break free, his lips skate down my jaw again, then my neck. When he nips my pulse point slightly, I moan as I run my hands up his forearms.
He’s warm. His arms are muscular and strong. I’ve never wanted anything like I want this man.
He reaches my clavicle and both his hands cup my breasts through my dress. I need my clothes off... now… I need him to touch me…
His fingers work quickly, freeing the button at the back of my nape holding my dress together, then I feel his fingers brush down my skin to lower my zipper.
Oh, god.
I wore my best black, lacy underwear. It’s not La Perla but it’s still decent.
He lowers the top part of my dress until it flops down and I free my arms from the sleeves.
His eyes lower to my breasts. He can see them already — my nipples peeking through the black mesh. He says something else in Russian, it sounds a lot like a swear word…
He cups me again, moving his head and begins to suckle me through the material.
“Khristian,” I moan, my hands clutching his shoulders.
“Does that feel nice?”
“Y- yes.”
God. I must be so vanilla to him, but he’s not treating me like I’m a total lost cause.
