Page 63 of Tell Me What you Think

She starts with the left nipple and Olga nearly cries out when the rush of pleasure courses through her body, shooting from her chest straight down between her legs.

"Maybe we'd be more comfortable on the couch," she suggests, breathless.

Marina nods and follows her, watching the curve of her bare back as she pulls her own sweater off on the way over. When Olga turns and sees her in just her bra, she goes completely still for a moment, burning the image into her memory, then decides she wants to see all of her.

"Take everything off," she says, and Marina almost comes just from hearing it.

"Do you like giving orders?" she asks, unzipping her pants while she steps out of her shoes.

"Maybe a little."

As the clothes disappear, Olga's eyes trace every inch of her body and Marina feels like a lit fuse, burning fast until the heat settles just below her belly. She's standing in her underwear under a woman's gaze, and Marina has never felt as desired by anyone as she does by her.

"The bra," Olga's voice comes out rough.

Marina doesn't take her eyes off her as she reaches for the front clasp and undoes it, letting the bra slide down her arms. She watches Olga swallow, the vein in her neck so full that she can almost see her pulse beating there, and she aches to press her mouth to it, to bite her neck, take her breasts in her mouth again, and nearly stumbles when she realizes how badly she craves to drop to her knees and run her tongue between her legs and find out what she tastes like.

"Tell me what you're thinking," Olga demands.

Marina blinks and wets her lips, then bites them.

"That you're wearing too many clothes."

"Liar."

Marina is caught off guard by this calm, commanding version of Olga.

"That's not it. Tell me what you're really thinking."

Marina closes the distance between them until she's right in front of her. Without her heels, they're the same height, and Olga's mouth is so close she could lick her lips without moving.

"That I want to devour you. That's what I'm thinking. So take off your damn clothes."

Olga fills her cheeks with air and lets it out in a shaky breath. The move has helped ease some of the anxiety, but not the flood of heat that's soaked through her underwear.

She kicks off her shoes with Marina's eyes on her every move, and slides off her pants and underwear at the same time, desperate for her to come closer. Marina doesn't make her wait—she closes the distance in a couple of steps, cups her face in both hands, and kisses her with the full force of the desire beating through her body, while Olga, without a trace of shyness, slides her hands up Marina's sides and cups her breasts from underneath, feeling their full weight.

"God," Olga murmurs as Marina's lips travel down her neck.

"What do you like? Tell me what feels best—I'll give you anything you ask for," Marina promises, her voice low and rough.

Olga stops, because she needs a few seconds to process this. Two years of wanting her, two years of imagining what it would be like, feeling like a depraved person every time she touched herself thinking about her and picturing a thousand things she'd do to her—and now Marina is here, naked in front of her couch, willing and hungry to give her pleasure.

"I want you to sit down and spread your legs."

Marina holds her breath as she looks at her, her pulse beating between her folds with an intensity that borders on pain.

"Okay."

She moves slowly, with that elegance of hers that makes her look like a goddess even naked. Marina turns when she reaches the couch, lowers herself slowly into the center, and spreads her legs, offering Olga something she's ached to taste for so long she doubts she'll get her fill tonight.

Olga walks toward her but doesn't kneel yet—she climbs up over Marina's lap, one of her legs slipping between Marina's, and kisses her while she starts to move in search of friction.

"Do you mind?" she whispers against her mouth. "I need to take the edge off a little. I won't be able to give you the attention I want if I don't release some of this tension first."

Marina doesn't answer in words. She shifts slightly toward her, puts her hands on Olga's ass, and pulls her against her thigh. Olga's gasps come immediately, and Marina swallows every one of them while she strokes her breasts. Olga's body starts to tighten, her stomach going rigid and trembling, and her gasps become ragged and broken while Marina decides she's enjoying this far too much. She wants Olga to come against her thigh, because the fact that just this is enough to get her there tells her how badly Olga craves her—and she wants to be wanted like that. She wants to be beneath her, and on top of her, and give her everything she asks for.

Olga's movements have turned fast and urgent and Marina stops kissing her because she needs to watch—she needs to see that gaze that's always so shy turned into pure fire as she comes against her thigh.