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Erin froze. Until her sister had lent her that book last year, she hadn’t even known what the word ‘dominatrix’ meant. She wondered if he was expecting some kind of souped-up sexual performance from her. Yet here was she—not a virgin, but very nearly. Did she come straight out and tell him that?
‘You know,’ he said, filling the silence, ‘the suggestion wasn’t supposed to make your eyes widen with horror. That is not what a man intends when he wants to have sex with a woman.’
‘I don’t want you to be disappointed.’
His hand still wrapped around her ponytail, he steered her face towards his. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’m not very...experienced.’
‘Some men might consider a lack of experience to be a positive advantage.’
‘And are you one of those men?’
He shook his head. ‘Not now, Erin. I know how much you love to talk, but now is not a good time to discuss my sexual preferences.’ His expression changed. ‘Because every time you react to one of my remarks, you jerk your head back—causing your hips to slide over mine. And as a result, my erection is getting stronger by the minute—a fact which cannot have escaped you, zvezda moya.’
No, of course it hadn’t escaped her. She didn’t need to be experienced to realise just how aroused he was. She could feel the unfamiliar ridge pressing hard against one of her thighs and she told herself that now was the time for her to get off the divan and suggest putting more distance between them, not less. Because surely that was what any sane person in her position would do.
‘We aren’t supposed to be doing this,’ she whispered as the finger which had been at the base of her neck began to slide slowly downwards.
‘This?’
She forced herself to say it. To say it as it was and not how she’d like it to be. ‘Sex.’
His finger stilled in its tantalising journey towards her breast. ‘Do you want to stop?’
She closed her eyes, as if blotting out the distraction of his face could help her come to the right decision, but even that didn’t help. She wriggled and shook her head. ‘No,’ she breathed.
‘So stop analysing,’ he instructed. ‘And take off my clothes.’
Dimitri could feel her trembling as she unclipped the waistband of his jodhpurs and heard her unsteady rush of breath as she eased down the straining zipper. He shifted uncomfortably on the divan, trying to focus on something other than his body, trying to slow down the race of his own desire—because he could never remember sexual desire feeling quite so potent, nor so dangerous.
As she began to peel the jodhpurs down over his thighs he forced himself to remember that, for all her supposed sweetness and innocence, he couldn’t trust her. He’d put Erin Turner in a different category from any other woman he’d ever known, and he was a fool to have done so. Because she wasn’t different. She was exactly the same. Selfish. Calculating. Single-minded. She hadn’t even given him a chance to get to know his son, or to see whether he’d changed, because it hadn’t suited her to do so. And because children were nothing but pawns in the lives of women. How could he have forgotten a truth as fundamental as that?
His anger had made him even more aroused—something he hadn’t thought possible—and he enjoyed the darkening of her eyes as he breathed out a series of instructions to her. ‘Go over to my wash bag and find my condoms. No, let me put it on—you just concentrate on taking off your dress. Mmm... That’s better. Now your panties. And your bra. And then climb on top of me and take me inside you. Da. Just like that. Oh, God, Erin—just like that.’
With his hands on her narrow hips and her small breasts positioned perfectly for his delectation, he watched as she came very quickly. And so did he. Too quickly, perhaps. He could have carried on having sex with her for hours and already his desire was returning with an intensity which took his breath away, but he forced himself to roll to the other side of the large divan—as if putting distance between them was the only sensible thing he’d done all day.
‘What did you mean?’ he asked, when eventually his breathing was steady enough for him to make himself understood. ‘When you said you weren’t very experienced?’
Her eyes were wary as she looked at him—like a small animal who had inadvertently wandered into a hostile domain—and she shrugged, as if embarrassed.
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘It does,’ he contradicted.
‘Because you say so?’
He smiled. ‘Precisely.’
She began to play with the ends of her hair. ‘You’re the only man I’ve ever had sex with.’
