Then he kisses me, and I melt completely against him. His hands move from my face to my hair, and I feel the locks come loose as he pulls the pins out one by one. My hands unbutton his jacket, then move to push it off his shoulders. When it falls to the floor,I move to the edge of his waistband and start pulling at the shirt tucked there.
“The dress,” he growls against my mouth.
“Buttons. Zipper,” is all I can manage.
His hands find the back, unbuttoning it, each one deliberate, hurried, the pace of a man wanting and having an obstacle between him and his deepest desire. After the fifth one, I feel his frustration growing, “Turn around.”
I turn.
His mouth finds the curve of my neck as his hands work. I feel the warmth of his breath, the touch of his lips on my skin, the light nips of his teeth against my neck. I reach for the nearby side table, gripping the edge as my legs go weak, and I have to close my eyes as the sensation overwhelms me.
“Krasivaya,” he murmurs.
The dress loosens, then falls away, and he turns me back around, looking at me with that all-consuming look he gets.
“Victor,” I whisper.
“Zdes’. Ya zdes.”
He picks me up, kissing me as he walks us down the hallway to the bedroom. Setting me down on the bed, standing in front of me, I watch as he unbuttons his shirt, then loosens his tie before pulling them both off.
“Hands behind you,” he orders. His voice dropped low, that gravely voice doing something to me that no one else has ever done. “And keep them there.”
I put my hands behind me.
“Good girl,” he says.
What follows is educational at best, and overwhelming at worst. The complete attention of a man who is both hurried and relishing the moment all at once. He leans forward, hovering over me, his eyes dark with desire, and my breath catches.
“Ty moyo,” he says, his mouth moving to my throat once more. While his hands work to secure my hands with his tie. He pulls back enough to look at my face, kissing me harshly, before nipping my lip.
“Moya,” he says again.
“Yours,” I repeat in English.
He flips me onto the bed, face down, hands still secured behind my back, and I hear the metallic click of his belt buckle and the soft thump of his pants hitting the floor. I try to look over myshoulder, but his hand settles on the flat of my back, holding me in place.
“I’ve been waiting for this moment a long time,” he says. “Stay.”
The prideful part of me wants to object, but the curious woman within, the one who wants to know him, to discover what it’s like to be on the receiving end of his meditations, is stronger. So I relax and stay. Swallowing hard in anticipation.
“Good,” he says.
His fingers run halfway down my back before he curls them and lets his nails dig into my skin. Not enough to hurt, just enough to make goosebumps rise across my arms. The sensation is delectable, and my toes curl involuntarily in response.
“Victor,” I murmur.
“Shhhh.”
My next protest falls quiet with a whimper when he smacks my bare ass, the unexpected impact causing me to jump. I like it, despite the surprise, and I bite my lip, waiting for what comes next.
He spends the next few minutes exploring my exposed skin, with his teeth, his lips, his fingers, his tongue. Each touch drives my need to a higher level. His teasing is both exciting and frustrating as he strokes me softly.
“You want more?” He asks in that low, gravely tone that makes me wetter than anything.
“Yes,” I say. My voice is full of need.
“Yes what?”
