She shook her head and rubbed her breasts on his chest, aching for the touch of his hands or mouth. Why was he doing this? Why wasn’t he distracting her the way he was so good at?
The movie’s theme song started playing on the TV: “Dance with Me.”
He groaned and dropped his head onto her shoulder. “I hate this song.”
Despite the desire incinerating her from the inside out, Natasha laughed. “I love it.”
He scowled at her. “You would.”
“Hey, I was the target audience when this came out. Teenage girls.”
His eyebrows rose. “You saw it when it came out?”
“Of course.” Three times.
His eyes roamed her face, his scrutiny so intense, she had to look away and watch the big dance number.
“Tell me why you’re not sleeping even though you’re tired.”
She shut her eyes. Why was he pushing this? They never talked about real life stuff. “You’re so stubborn.”
“I prefertenaciousorpersistent.”
“Tryannoying.”
He nudged her with his cock and her eyes flew open. “Tell me.”
“I’m stressed, okay?” she snapped. In retaliation, she clamped her thighs around his hips and did a body roll that had him moaning.
He nipped at her shoulder. “About the apartment? I told you, you can stay here as long as you need.”
“The apartment, the money—” She stopped short of saying “my mother.” He didn’t need to know all that. “And I can’t stay here that long. I have to be out beforeThe Dance Offstarts filming. You know that.”
He shrugged and pressed his face into the curve of her neck, nibbling along her collarbones. It was suspicious that he didn’t answer, but with his mouth on her, she didn’t give a shit about anything else.
“It’s time for the sex scene,” he murmured against her jaw.
“What?” The word was a gasp, a prayer, a plea.
His tone held amusement. “In the movie.”
“Oh.” Her gaze flew to the screen, where young Dimitri fisted his hand in the back of his t-shirt, pulled it over his head, and flexed his abs. The absurdity of the situation hit her. She’d seen him do that move at least a dozen times. And here he was now, years later, seducing her during the sex scene of his own movie.
She almost laughed. But then he finally kissed her and she didn’t care how ludicrous this all was. She just wanted him.
His kiss was as domineering as the rest of him. His lips commanded obedience, yet his tongue soothed when his demands were met. His hands possessed her, traveling over every inch of her skin, stoking the flames and making her desperate for more of his touch.
Yes, touch me,she wanted to say.Touch me everywhere and never stop.
Whenever they came together like this, a litany of pleas and demands and requests played through Natasha’s head. But she never said them out loud. She couldn’t let him know how much she wanted him, how much she craved his touch, his attention, his . . .
Don’t go there.
She shut off her thoughts, sank into the moment with him. Her gasps matched Greta’s on screen, and she wanted to know if they’d fucked off-screen, all those years ago, but didn’t ask.
“Take these off,” he said with a growl, tugging at her sleep shorts. It took some fancy maneuvering, since they were on the sofa, but he stripped her of her shorts—and panties—in record time.
This was going faster and further than she’d expected. “What are you—” His mouth cut off her question; one fingertip stroked between her folds, and she had her answer.
