To break through defenses. To extract truth.
And the truth her body shows me is undeniable. She responds without reservation or fear, with no calculation or self-preservation.
My own body demands more. To touch her breasts. To bend her over. To sink deep inside her. To feel the wet clench of her around my cock. To take her over and over, until she’s hoarse from screaming my name.
But that’s not on the menu. Not today.
For now, I content myself with coaxing out her pleasure.
Shifting from her clit, I plunge my tongue inside her and establish a steady rhythm.
Her legs continue to tremble. A sign that I’m doing things right.
I grip her tighter, keeping her steady as I increase the intensity of my assault, alternating between thrusting inside her and flicking her clit.
Her head falls back, exposing her throat in the ultimate display of vulnerability.
The sight floods me with possessiveness.
“Alexei!” My name on her lips is half warning, half plea.
She’s broken. Totally at my mercy.
I don’t relent. Instead, I drive my tongue deeper, forcing her body to the point of surrender.
When her orgasm hits, she goes rigid. A cry rips from her throat. She screams my name again.
The sound of my name on her lips, the feel of her body spasming, the way she surrenders all control to me…it’s a wonder my lungs continue to function.
Her fingers tighten in my hair, hips jerking as she rides out the storm. I work her through each wave, each aftershock, until she pushes weakly at my shoulders. Limp and languid, she struggles to hold herself upright.
Raw satisfaction surges through me as I kneel at this woman’s feet.
She’s mine.
Chapter 28
Aurora
The bell over the door of Maison de la Voile rings as we enter, the delicate jingle too refined to fit my new reality.
Five days. Five days since Alexei claimed me as his fiancée to save my life.
Five days of planning and preparing for this test.
Because that’s what this is. A performance for an audience that can smell lies like a bloodhound scenting deer.
I smooth my sweaty palms against the sides of my new dress and force a smile as a fortysomething woman with a shiny black bob greets us.
“Hello, I’m Pamela, the owner of Maison de la Voile.” The sultry interest in the gaze she sweeps over Alexei prompts a jealous twinge in my stomach. “You must be Alexei. Welcome, and please come in.”
She knows who holds the cards.
The boutique gleams with wealth. Crystal chandeliers cast prismatic light across ivory walls and plush ivory carpet. Mannequins are draped in silks and laces that cost more than my rent. Everything screams money and taste and an entirely different world.
Varied, colorful fabrics are showcased against floral and gold wallpaper. It reminds me of the inside of a high-end music box, only crowded with products and open sitting areas.
Not the kind of place you can just waltz into and browse from the rack.
