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“Fuck you,” I gasped, lifting my hands to press against his chest and push him away. He flinched slightly, grabbing them in his and stretching them up over my head. Pinning them to the wall, he gripped both of my wrists in one massive hand and held me there.
“You go to that club tonight, you’ll do it with the memory of my fucking name on your lips,” he murmured, touching the bare skin of my knee with his free hand. He inched my skirt up my thighs, making me squirm in protest.
That wandering touch skimmed over the fresh wound on the inside of my thigh, pressing on it until a zap of pain went through my flesh. He cupped me through my panties, groaning when he felt the heat of me against him. All I could do was stare, watching his dark eyes narrow while he studied my face for a reaction.
He tugged them to the side, baring me to his touch as he slid his fingers through the wetness that seemed to gather the moment he was near me. He groaned, slowly working two of them inside me and pumping them shallowly.
Sinking his teeth into his lower lip, he stared at my mouth like he wanted to devour me but couldn’t. Like I could be his entire world if he only allowed it to happen.
His thumb brushed my clit, circling it with uncoordinated, inexperienced motions that felt amazing simply for the fact that it was him. All the while, he watched my face. Memorizing my gasps and what made me tremble for him.
Learning my body.
“Come for me, Butterfly,” he ordered, and I arched my back to shift the angle of his fingers inside me. His fingertips brushed over my G-spot, drawing a startled gasp from me as he moved them harder. Faster.
I tugged down on my wrists, wanting to touch him. He read the look on my face. “You can’t touch me,” he said. “But apparently I can touch you.”
“Scar,” I begged, my hips writhing as they sought out that last bit of pressure I needed for my release. He gave me what I needed, grinding the heel of his palm into my clit until I saw stars and tumbled over the edge.
“Good girl,” he murmured, laying a chaste kiss to my forehead as I tried to come back to reality. He pulled his fingers free, drawing them into his mouth to suck them clean while I fought to remember my damn name. “Stay home, Irina. You won’t like what happens if you don’t,” he ordered, turning for the door and leaving me to catch my breath alone.
Oh, fuck that.
