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The look of satisfaction on his face transforms into victory.
The test is over. The results are indisputable.
He’s won.
Offering me a hand, he says, “Come with me.”
This is moving faster than I anticipated—we still have a lot to talk about—but I’ve already made the decision. What’s the point of delaying the inevitable?
Reaching out slowly, I place my palm in his. He folds his warm, dry fingers around mine and leads me to the staircase in the foyer. He climbs the steps confidently, like a man who knows he’ll be obeyed.
My surrender doesn’t come without a price. Shame and wounded pride squeeze my chest as I follow him into the bedroom. My only consolation when he turns me around and pulls down the zipper of my dress is that he’ll make me forget.
“I want you,” he says roughly, kissing the arch of my shoulder.
I close my eyes, focusing on the sensation of his lips on my skin while blocking out everything else.
He unclasps my bra with efficient, economical movements. A soft click later, the cups give. The temperature in the room is comfortable, but my nipples tighten as the fabric falls away. I stand dead still as he pushes the sleeves of my dress and the straps of my bra down my arms. I don’t even dare to breathe. When the dress pools around my waist, he cups my breasts.
The feel of his warm, hardened hands on my naked skin is almost too much. I utter another gasp when he rolls my nipples between his fingers until they extend. Tipping back my head, I steal a glance at his face. He’s watching the work of his hands, teasing me with light caresses by drawing infinity patterns around my nipples. He writes invisible words on the tops, sides, and undercurves of my breasts until my clit is swollen and throbbing with need. Too soon, he flattens his palms over my ribcage and drags them over my belly. I bite off a moan when he slips them under the dress.
Dipping both hands inside the elastic of my underwear, he pushes it down along with the dress. The fabric makes a rustling sound as it hits the floor. I’m left standing naked in front of him, his thin pajama bottoms the only barrier between us. He emphasizes that fact by pulling my back against his chest and letting me feel the hot, hard cock between his legs.
“Katyusha,” he whispers, placing his hands on my hips and turning me to face him. “Tell me you want this.”
It’s not my desire as much as his need to hear the words that makes me give him the truth. “I want you.”
I’ve scarcely uttered the words before he dives for my lips. The earlier tenderness is gone. He claims my mouth with a kiss that devours. Gripping my jaw between the splayed fingers of his broad hand, he walks me backward to the bed while he eats my mouth as if he’s starving for my lips.
My knees fold when the backs of my legs hit the mattress. I plop down onto the edge. He comes after me without breaking the kiss, pushing me down at the same time as he crawls over my body. Pinning me down with his fingers locked around my jaw, he tangles our tongues with the fervor of a deprived man. Breathing hard, I trail a hand over his chest, dragging my fingers through the coarse hair. A moan escapes my lips when he diverts to my neck and trails kisses over all the sensitive spots along the arch.
Catching my wrist, he guides my hand to his cock, showing me what he wants. I oblige, stroking his length through the cotton of his pants before squeezing my fingers around his girth. His flesh is hard and hot. Unable to resist, I slip my hand underneath the elastic and close my fingers around the thickly veined velvet skin. A groan reverberates in his chest.
He gives me another second to catch my breath before he goes back to kissing my lips while I work his pants over his hips. Supporting his weight on one elbow, he lifts his hips to help me finish the task. Finally naked, he stretches out on top of me, pressing the lengths of our bodies together. He’s hard in all the right places, the personification of virile strength. I need the promise he presses between my legs, but I also need so much more. I need him on more than a physical level.
My jaw aches from our almost violent kissing when he tears his lips from mine to drag them over my body. He doesn’t pause at my breasts or at the dip of my navel. Instead, he slides down my body, kneels on the floor, spreads my thighs, and goes straight for my pussy.
