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My pulse starts to race. I should be alarmed. I’m not. A rush of heat floods my body, a shot of pure arousal that goes straight to my core. “I know a bluff when I hear it.”
“Do you?” He pulls a tissue from a conveniently placed box and wipes his fingers clean. “But you’re right. I am bluffing. This is a bad idea. You’re a virgin. Your first time should be on a soft bed somewhere, with candles, rose petals, and romantic music.”
“I’m not a virgin,” I retort. “You thought I’d follow my father’s edict? For what? So that Aldo Caruso could auction off his pure, chaste daughter to the highest bidder? My first time was in the back of a car with an American tourist who was leaving town the next day. It was hurried, rushed, and if I’m being honest, not very good, but it was mine. Freely chosen, and for my own happiness, not for the good of my family.” I kick off my heels. “This would be the same.”
“Hurried, rushed, and not very good?” There’s an expression in his eyes I don’t know how to interpret. It looks likeadmiration,but that can’t be it. That’s just wishful thinking. “You flatter me.”
“Freely chosen,” I counter. “And for my own happiness. Just one night, but for me alone.”
His voice turns amused. “Not for you alone, lisichka.” He pulls me to him, my back pressed against his chest as he kisses my neck. “Tell me what you want. I’ll start. I want to tie you to that bench and feast on your sweet little cunt.”
I could count on one hand the number of people who ask me what I want. A sad truth of my life. A shiver of pure lust runs through me. “I want that too.” I swallow back my nerves. This isn’t some young and eager tourist; this isn’t a hasty fuck in the back seat of the car. I’m in a sex club with Andrei Sidorov. A man who, by all rights, should be my enemy. A man that I know everything and nothing about.
A man who sets my body on fire with one touch.
“I want to suck your cock.” It’s good that I can’t see his face, otherwise I might never get the courage to continue. “I don’t want you to be gentle. I want you to ravage me.”
He growls deep in his throat. “It’s not a good idea to say these words to a man like me, lisichka. It’s not a good idea to offer me everythingbecause I might take it.”
I pull away from him, and he lets me go. I turn around, facing him, and slowly unzip my dress, letting it fall to the floor in a pool of fabric. Underneath, I’m wearing a red lace bra that leaves very little to the imagination and a skimpy red lace G-string.
He inhales sharply. His eyes sweep over me, and I feel his gaze like a touch. “Here are your safewords,” he says. “Red if you want me to stop. Yellow, if you want me to slow down and check-in. Got it?”
I nod.
“I need your words, Mira.”
“Red to stop.” His gaze is on me, predatory and possessive, and I can’t think straight. I can’t breathe. The very air around me seems electrified. “Yellow to slow down. I’m not an idiot. I’ve got it.”
Hemoves.In an instant, he’s onto me, pushing me against the wall. He cages me in with his body, pinning my wrists over my head with one hand and wrapping the other around my throat. “Is this how you dress for a poker game?” he demands, pushing a knee between my legs. “Who was this for? Moretti? Del Barba? Guerra?”
My heart jolts, and my pulse pounds. “You forgot Dante, Gabriel, and Lola,” I taunt. “Maybe it was for one of them.” It’s probably unwise to push Andrei, but I can’t make myself stop. There’s a predatory gleam in his eyes,and I love it.“Or maybe I dress to please myself, not some man.”
He takes in my pebbled nipples and the goosebumps on my skin. “Or maybe,” he suggests silkily, “you dressed this way for me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
He gives me a maddening half-smile. “Let’s find out.” He lets go of my throat and slides his hand down my body as if it belongs there. He pushes my panties aside and thrusts his fingers into my pussy. Then he laughs, soft and knowing. “You’re drenched, Mira. Your words might be telling me one thing, but your body is sending me a very different message.” He licks my juices off his fingers, slowly and deliberately, and then he lifts me up as if I weigh nothing and sets me down on the bench. “Delicious.”
He unhooks my bra, yanks my panties down my hips, and proceeds to tie me down as promised, swiftly and efficiently. Cuffs lock around my wrists and ankles and attach to the legs of the bench. Thick leather straps go around my waist and hips, holding me in place. When Andrei’s done, I’m spread-eagled on the bench, unable to move.
“And now,” he says, rich, male satisfaction saturating his voice. “I feast.”
He squeezes my aching breasts and rolls my nipples between his fingers. I inhale sharply. “Harder,” I beg. “Please.”
“Did I give you permission to talk?” he demands.
“I wasn’t aware I needed it,” I respond snarkily.
That’s a mistake. Andrei’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Open your mouth,” he orders. He wads up my panties into a makeshift gag and shoves them into my mouth. “Perhaps that’ll remind you to speak only when spoken to, Mirabella.”
A gush of wetness greets his words. Oh God. I’ve always known that kink got me off, and I’ve fantasized about Andrei dominating me from the day my father called me into his study and told me he was arranging my marriage to the heir of the Sidorov Bratva.
But this is better than my fantasies. Outside this room, Andrei is polite, courteous, and impeccably well-mannered. Here? Here, he’s demanding and cruel and a little scary. Call me insane, but it’s the biggest turn-on in the world.
“Can you breathe?”
“Yes,” I mumble around the fabric. The advantage of my barely-there panties is that the gag doesn’t stop me from speaking; it’s just a reminder I’m not supposed to. If I need to, I can still safeword.
