She grabs my wrist.
I stop.
Her breath comes fast. Her eyes search mine, nervous and wanting at once.
“Tell me no,” I say.
She does not. Instead, she releases my wrist.
That’s enough.
I lower my mouth to her breast and kiss the bare skin there. Her whole body tightens. I tug the dress lower with my teeth and close my mouth over her nipple.
Anya bites down on a sound. Her hands dig into my shoulders.
“Yaromir.”
I do it again, slower this time, tongue dragging over her until she arches into me.
The car hits a smoother road, the motion making her press harder against my lap. My hand grips her ass under the coat, holding her where I want her, and she shudders when my cock pushes up against her through the layers between us.
Her perfume mixes with the heat of her skin. Her breast fills my hand. Her nipple is wet from my mouth, hard against my tongue, and the small broken sounds she tries to swallow make me want to tell Viktor to drive around the city until morning.
Then the car slows.
Anya freezes. I lift my head. For one second, we stare at each other, both breathing hard.
The car stops.
Viktor’s voice comes through the partition, perfectly neutral. “We have arrived.”
Anya’s eyes go wide with horror.
I almost laugh.
She scrambles off my lap, nearly catching her heel in the dress. I catch her waist before she falls. “Easy.”
“Don’teasyme,” she hisses. “You just had your mouth on my breast in the car.”
“You kissed me first.”
“That’s not a defense.”
“It’s a fact.”
She glares at me while fixing her dress with trembling hands. Her nipple still shows faintly through the silk. I reach out and adjust the fabric myself. She goes still.
I fasten the hidden clasp at the neckline, smooth the dress over her chest, then draw her coat back into place. My fingers brush her skin once more than necessary.
Her breath catches. “Stop,” she whispers.
“I’m helping.”
“You are making it worse.”
“Yes.”
She looks at me like she wants to kill me.
