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Ivan leans back in his seat and groans. “Fuck me, I need a drink.”
I watch as he presses something and as if by magic, a small bar appears out of nowhere and he seizes the bottle of vodka and flips off the cap, drinking long and deep before gasping with relief.
“Ivan.”
I speak his name in my best school mistress’ voice.
“Yes, miss.”
He grins, flashing his sexy smile that makes me strangely weak at the knees.
“There are labels for men like you and places you can go to for help.”
“I doubt that princess.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. My friend Rochelle’s father is an alcoholic too and is a member of alcoholic anonymous. Perhaps we should book you in. I mean, the slippery slope and all that, just saying.”
I settle back in my seat and cross my legs and don’t miss the tortured look he throws me as he runs his gaze down the length of them. Muttering a low ‘fuck me’, he takes another gulp, making me roll my eyes.
I stare out of the window and sigh. “I don’t suppose they have a cup of tea somewhere in this magic cave. I’m gasping.”
“I doubt it.” Ivan says, sounding exhausted.
“Water then.”
“Help yourself. I’m not your servant.”
He is irritable and I don’t even understand why because if anyone has the right to that title, it’s me, so I lean forward and grab a bottle of Evian that is lovely and cold and as I remove the cap, the car swerves and before I register what’s happening the cool liquid spurts into his lap, resulting in a steady stream of angry Russian words to pour from his mouth.
As the car turns again, I fall onto him and for a moment, I don’t register where I am but soon realize to my horror I am face down on his crotch.
His laughter makes me pull back and, my face burns as I shout, “You told him to do that on purpose.”
“Don’t be so ridiculous. You see, princess, if you want to suck my dick, it can be arranged.”
“I’m a little too late for that because it appears as if you’ve done the job yourself already from the looks of things.”
I smirk when I see the dark stain covering his crotch where the water found its mark and I can’t resist laughing hysterically at the fury on his face.
I soon stop laughing though when, without warning, he reaches out and grabs me and I’m hauled across his wet sodden lap and find my dress around my waist. Before I can scream, he runs his hand across my silk covered ass and groans loudly. “Fuck, you were sent to me by Satan himself.”
The fact I like his hand on my skin makes me fall silent because this is turning me on to something I wasn’t expecting. His touch is gentle as he gently strokes my skin, causing my breath to hitch and my legs to tremble.
Then, without warning, he pulls down my dress and spins me around, so he is holding me like a baby and with a guttural moan, he dips his head and kisses me so hard, I lose my mind. As I reach up, I tangle my fingers in his close-cropped hair and pull him in harder and deeper, so it becomes a frantic clash of tongues, licking, biting and probing, just desperate for a taste.
He pushes me back and his hand runs the length of my legs, reaching underneath the dress and resting on my inner thigh and I am almost panting with lust as I physically ache for him to go further. His fingers hover against the fabric and then push it aside, his thumb caressing my clit, causing me to groan out loud. I am physically panting for him. I will do whatever he asks because I have never experienced anything quite like this and as his finger enters my wet pussy, I bear down on it with all the morals of a prostitute.
He sucks at my neck, and I gasp, arching my back, desperate to be closer than him and suddenly, like the bottle of cold water that fell, he pulls back and says in a ragged breath, “No.”
In one swift move he pulls my dress down and pushes me back into my seat, running his fingers through his hair with distraction.
“No.” My voice quivers and I feel so rejected as he raises his eyes to mine and says roughly, “I can’t, it’s not right.”
“Fine.” I turn away, the tears smarting behind my eyes as I deal with the rejection and I’m surprised when a rough hand finds mine and he says gruffly, “Look at me, princess.”
Reluctantly, I do as he says and my heart flutters when I register the lust burning in his eyes, telling me he feels the same.
“I can’t be that man.”
