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He goes still as a statue, yellow flares so hot his gaze burns where it touches me. “Owed me?” The words are soft. An eyebrow goes up. “You feel you owe me? How does that work exactly? How can you pay me back? What do I get in exchange for saving your mother’s life? For sitting with you during her treatments, holding you while you cried, calling you every night and hearing you cry yet unable to hold you, to soothe you the way you wanted me to…hmm?”
His hands are in his pockets, studying me as he leans against the window with Lake Michigan and clouds behind him. Those yellow eyes leave me so hot I tug my dress away without thought. His eyes flick to my breasts as they move with my deep breath. The air shimmers between us and finally I understand what it is, sexual tension.
Now I get what he wants from me. Whatever I think I owe him is nothing compared to what Milos wants. My stomach is twisting, my hands sweating but not in fear—in anticipation, in desire. Nodding, I stand. “Of course, I’m sorry. I—”
Milos shakes his head, his lips twisting bitterly. “Go home, Celia.” I’m dismissed. He walks past me back down the hallway. I follow. Fear that this is over—all of it over sends me after him No, I can do this. Iwantto do this.
His room is so dark I barely see him lying on the bed. “Leave, Celia. You come near me and I am not responsible for what I do.”
I don’t hesitate to step into the room. Words won’t come, I have none. Instead, I begin unbuttoning the dress. When it opens, I cringe, thankful for the dark. Yet somehow Milos sees me as he groans and rolls to sit up at the edge of his bed. Both hands come out and grasp the edge of each side of the dress, and he uses them to draw me to him.
Those large hands grasp me low on my thighs. There is that stinging electric surge that always jolts through me at his touch. Sliding his hands up, he leaves licks of fire everywhere they touch. I’m trembling at what his hands on me make me want,need. His hands stop around my waist, pulling me to him. My hands go into his hair, exhilaration filling me at the freedom to at last touch him.
He sighs. “God, the scent of you so wet, so needy is every fucking thing.”
The words, along with the way he runs his cheek over the soft flesh of my stomach, fills me with shame.
Milos tightens his grip, then suddenly I’m on my back with him over me. I can’t see a thing—it is only his hand I feel cupping my cheek. “Celia?”
Even though I think it’s a question he doesn’t give me time to answer, as his lips swipe against mine. The movement is slight, barely a whisper, so why does it feel like my lips are burning? Why do they draw my lips apart in a gasp at the shock of them against mine? As if my lips opening is an invitation, his are back and his tongue sweeping deep inside.
His kiss is nothing like what I expect. Far from demanding and savage, it’s gentle, almost tender as his velvet tongue discovers every inch, taking me deeper and deeper into desperate longing for more. The taste of him mint and alcohol floods into my bloodstream, the coolness of mint yet the burn of alcohol—intoxicating even as it invigorates my senses, making me desperate for more.
I’m lost in his kiss so totally I don’t even miss the air my lungs are greedy for. My need for him is more important. I don’t know where he begins and I end. And yet I crave more. I want to crawl into his skin and get lost in him. When his mouth leaves mine, pressing kisses along my throat, I ache from the loss even as air comes rushing back into thirsty lungs.
Low, throaty words of Russian wash over my skin in the wake of his kiss. I can’t catch them all…kraslvaya, nuzhhno.I can hardly believe he’s calling me beautiful, telling me he needs me.
I’m wearing one of the sets of bra and panties he bought me what feels like forever ago, but have lasted as beautifully now as they did when he bought them three years ago.
With a flicker of movement I barely feel the catch of my pink sheer mesh and silk bra open. All I know is his mouth is there—capturing a painfully tight nipple and sucking deep. A rush of liquid heat dampens my panties until I’m squirming in embarrassment. Milos reads me like a book, his large hand isthere,a finger tracing and finding how wet I am for him.
My head goes back in agony when he tugs my panties to the side and a thick finger slides up my weeping slit. I watch as he brings it up to his mouth. All at once I hate the shadows hiding him from me. The low moan of satisfaction rumbles through him. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life.
“Sweet as honey, more addictive than any drug,” he whispers. The big finger is there again, this time he swipes his wet finger over a hard nipple before tasting it with his velvet tongue. Cruel, his teeth nip the painfully sensitive skin. Yet as the sensation squeezes a yelp from my tight throat, it also sends another wave of wet heat to my panties.
Moving too fast for me to take in, he’s there between my legs, his big hands wrapping around my thighs, holding me open for him. He said he didn’t do this to women, I remember as shock rolls through me.
His wicked tongue is swiping up my slit over and over, driving me crazy from not sinking into me the way I need him to. My hands go into his hair, so thick and soft as silk, only for him to move off me when I do.
“Milos?” I moan. Worried I was like the other women who weren’t allowed to touch him, despite him going down on me when he told me he never did this with them.
“Be a good girl, Celia. No touching. You touch me and I don’t last five seconds before I want to come all over you.” The words are guttural, his accent as strong as ever, twisting the words and me into something erotic and addictive.
I want that. I want to push him past his control, to make him explode all over me, coating me with the essence of him…but not yet. I need him to finish what he started.
I give up his hair, desperate to please him. My hands dig into the comforter beneath me, needing something to cling to in order to keep from slipping off the world into nothingness. Finally he lowers his head again and I sob in relief as his tongue thrusts inside me. Deeper and deeper he fucks me with his tongue. I’m lost on the edge of the world. I feel it, so close, but I can’t see it. I can’t see anything except the sparks behind my eyelids as his tongue drives all thought from my mind, all I’m left with is feeling.
His tongue swipes over my clit and sends a shot of fire up my spine. Around and around his velvet tongue circles that tight bundle of nerves and no, no I need more give me more please, please. Milos isn’t listening, all his focus is on lapping at my clit soft, then strong, then a whisper of feeling until I’m hoarse, begging for what only he can give me.
Two fingers slide into me, oh god they are thick, yet I remember Milos is far thicker. At first I welcome them, but the deeper they go the more it hurts. He turns his wrist, and finds a spot that sends my back bowing off the bed.
With a rough growl that vibrates through my entire body, he suckles deep on my clit and pushes me over the edge of the world. Down, down, down I fall until I break the surface, plunging deep into an ocean of pleasure my lungs are so full no air can get in. I can’t breathe oh god I can’t breathe. His hand is around my throat, yanking me out from under the waves.
I surface to his mouth on mine, breathing into me, becoming my air, my everything. Suddenly his mouth is gone, he’s gone. I’m instantly cold.
He’s off the bed. The lamp on the bedside table clicks on. The light is low but gives off enough glow I can see him, even if most of him is still in shadow.
“I need to see you,” he says in Russian, but I finally understand him. “I need to see all of your luscious, beautiful body when you scream for me.” I don’t understand the next words—is he sayingdream, or something else? It doesn’t matter because he’s opening the drawer on the bedside table, pulling out a long sleeve of condoms.
