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Heat flared in her body as Dmitri’s physique filled her vision. Her fingers twitched to explore the valleys of his bare, muscular chest and smooth wide shoulders, and to slide her touch down his ripped abdomen.
Trying to control her desire to caress his flesh, she forced herself to recall what had happened and how she’d ended up in his bed. Looking away from the display of masculine perfection sleeping next to her, she caught sight of the clock on the bedside table informing her that it was three in the morning.
Oh, God, I fell asleep on him.
With full awareness, the memory of their incredible flogging scene and the huge-ass orgasm she wouldn’t forget anytime soon rushed into her mind. The last thing she remembered was their conversation after the scene, and . . .
“I’ve never felt so comfortable, so calm, or so centered with anyone as I do with you now.”
Tightness formed in her chest, and ice slid through her veins, removing any of the heat that seeing Dmitri half-nude had built. Cora had told her the D/s relationship was intense, but she hadn’t expected that. She never thought he’d make her feel so safe that she could bare her soul.
Dmitri had never made any promises and had stated their agreement well enough. She’d talked to him as if she held some sort of place in his heart. Her heart pounded in her ears as the awful memory of her crying in his arms returned with vengeance, the thought utterly mortifying.
He had agreed to be her Dom, to give her a scene to rock her world, not listen to her blubbering all over him. The arrangement had been to train her, and sharing her emotional state hadn’t been part of it.
Her pathetic emotions must’ve made him do things he normally wouldn’t have, but why was she in his bedroom? They weren’t in a relationship, and there was no reason for her to sleep in his bed. Cora had never slept over at a Dom’s house, or so Presley believed, since she’d never been away from home in the three months Presley had lived with her.
Dmitri’s arm was draped over Presley’s waist, and even now he wrapped her in the same safe feeling he had last night. He breathed heavily in sleep, and she couldn’t help but note that he looked kind of . . . cute. He’d been so dominant in the scene and commanded her with fierceness, making her tummy flip-flop, but she had the urge to kiss his
puffy lips.
Heck, no!
He wore black cotton pajama bottoms with the duvet tangled between his legs. Unable to help herself, she scanned the lines of his body, mesmerized by the view. He might look sweet while he slept, but she couldn’t deny that he was all delicious man.
No!
She yanked herself away from ogling him, even ignored how her instincts told her to stay. With gentle care, holding her breath, she lifted his arm off her waist and slipped out of the bed, immediately realizing—from the cool air brushing over her skin in intimate places—that she was stark naked.
Scanning the room in a quick sweep, she noticed her clothes were neatly folded on top of the red chaise with her shoes resting on the floor. She tiptoed toward her clothes, didn’t dare breathe, and gathered her items in haste.
She took a quick peek over her shoulder at Dmitri, who remained sound asleep. Light as a feather, she finished her escape, tiptoeing quietly through the room to the bedroom door. Gritting her teeth, praying it wouldn’t make a noise, she gently turned the handle. She couldn’t face him right now.
No wonder Steven had cheated. She was a basket case. Now Dmitri had seen it, too. Why couldn’t she have skipped the aftercare bit and gone home? Humiliation made her think only about getting the hell out of there.
Click.
The door whooshed open, and she bolted into the hallway in a second flat. Pulling the door closed behind her, she left it slightly ajar, not wanting to chance the noise waking him, then she hurried through the hallway.
With her clothes in hand, she hightailed down the huge wooden staircase and rushed past the dining room. Heading straight for his office, she said a silent oath in hopes that there was a phone where she thought she’d seen one that first night with Dmitri.
Once she entered his large office, her gaze skipped to the desk, and she sighed, so glad she’d been right.
Call a cab and forget this embarrassing episode ever happened!
Chapter Eleven
The next morning, Dmitri pressed his hands against the roof of his car and exhaled a controlled breath, glancing outside from the garage. Dark clouds sweeping across the sky matched his mood. He’d woken to discover that Presley had left sometime in the night.
He wanted answers, and he wanted them now.
Dmitri had never had a submissive behave so disrespectfully, and he wasn’t sure if his harsh reaction was for that reason alone or if it centered on Presley herself. His experience with her last night had warranted a deeper look, and instead of doing that, he was chasing her down with irritation burning his blood. How could she have logically thought her behavior was acceptable? Or that he wouldn’t lose his mind at what she’d done?
He opened his car door, dropped into the plush bucket seat, and started the engine. With a squeal of his tires, he tore out of the garage and booked it through the wrought-iron gates just as they opened. The engine revved beneath his heavy foot, and he cursed any red light that got in his way.
Las Vegas streets whipped by his window; he took the back roads to avoid the Strip traffic. He knew these streets well and pushed the car to excessive speeds in the industrial area, quiet on Sunday morning.
Within fifteen minutes, he rounded onto East Silverado Ranch Boulevard, in a neighborhood close to the Strip. He glanced down the row of houses, and when he saw number twenty-four, he pulled over at the curb.
