Yes. . .
When he broke the kiss to let her suck in air, he whispered in her ear. “What kind of host would I be if I didn’t put you to sleep?”
Kind of him to offer. Except now she didn’t feel sleepy. Sensation zinged through her body. With his thumb on her clit and two fingers plunging inside her, he played her with skill and determination. The weight of his body pressing her into the sofa anchored her in the moment, and his kisses drove all thought from her mind. Thank god.
And there was the dirty talk.
Yeah, babe. Take it. Feel it. Don’t think about anything else. You think too much. Let me make you feel good.
Were you going to touch yourself during this scene? Isn’t the real thing better than a movie? You’re living the fantasy.
You work so hard, I want to help you relax.
When she snapped at him to shut up, he only laughed and shoved her tank top up to drag his tongue over her nipples. In retaliation, she stuck her hand down his underwear and grasped his hot length, wanting to feel his hardness as she came. He groaned and doubled his efforts.
It was too much and never enough. They stripped off their remaining clothing and rolled on the sofa, naked, their sweaty skin sticking to the leather and each other, their movements knocking cushions to the floor. He was like a man possessed, obsessed with making her come, but every time she got close, he backed off. When she whimpered, he laughed and returned to the task.
Through it all, the need to have him fill her taunted her from the edges of passion. Why the hell had she told him no sex? This was everything. She begged with her whimpers, with her hand on his dick, trying to yank him closer to her slit.
The infernal man only laughed and pushed her hand away. Then he put his mouth on her and drove her even higher. With lips and tongue, he broke her apart and put her back together countless times until finally,finally,he let her explode.
The orgasm rolled through her, wiping her thoughts and satisfying everything except her need for more.
As she was coming down and thinking about how to shift her body to get his cock inside her, the end credits rolled, along with the theme song. Dimitri’s body shifted over hers and his lips touched her ear.
“You see how well I treat my houseguests?”
She froze. Wait, houseguests? Was he referring to other women? Her skin broke out in goosebumps. She pulled back and stared at him. He blinked, like he realized what he said was shitty, then covered it up with a smile and gestured at the TV.
“I mean, I can’t have ladies staying under my roof turning to cheap copies of the real thing.”
Natasha stared at him as aftershocks from her explosive orgasm ravaged her body. Her heart pounded even as her limbs chilled at his words, at his smug, self-satisfied smile. Had she heard him correctly?
Normally, an orgasmic experience like that left her boneless and sleepy. But his words elicited a bolt of adrenaline, a fight-or-flight response, and she scrambled out from underneath him. Snatching up her clothes, she blurted out, “Thanks, I think I can sleep now,” and ran naked from the room.
The shocked look on his face followed her all the way back to the guest room she dared not think of ashers.
Nothing about him or his home was hers. Playing house like this was a game to him, nothing more than a pleasant diversion. She was one of many. Maybe he’d even done this before—helped a desperate woman by letting her stay with him. Her heart would be ruined if she ever allowed herself to expect anything more from him. She couldn’t read any deeper meaning into his actions, no matter how caring he seemed at times.
Beyond an easy screw, he didn’t care about her. He never would.
It was her mother all over again. Every time she thought she was getting closer, catching a glimpse of real emotional connection, it was snatched away from her, and she was reminded of the truth.
She just wasn’t good enough.
After pulling her pajamas back on, Natasha climbed underneath the covers again. Tonight sealed the deal. No sex, and she must avoid him at all costs.
12
It started with a bra.
Just one bra. Not even a super expensive one, because even after the boob job, Natasha was still only a C-cup.
“You should buy it,” Lori said, peeking past the curtain into Natasha’s dressing room. “It’s pretty.”
Natasha turned in the mirror, checking herself out from multiple angles. The lacy black demi-cupwaspretty, and her cleavage looked phenomenal. Just wearing it made her feel better about life.
And, okay, she wondered what Dimitri would think of it, too. Her plan to avoid him was a success, and she hadn’t seen him in three days. What she hadn’t counted on was her own desire for him. She missed his dark scowl and flashing grin, the woodsy, citrusy scent of his cologne, even his corny jokes. But especially his touch. Damn him.
