"I've never…" I trail off, embarrassed.
Understanding flashes in his eyes. "Never been with a man?"
I shake my head, my cheeks burning. "Sergei and I never… We were supposed to wait until after the wedding."
Something dark crosses Dimitri's face at the mention of his nephew, but it's gone quickly. "Then I'll be your first. Your only."
The possessiveness in his tone should bother me, should make me want to argue, to assert my independence. Instead, it sends a thrill through my body that I don't want to examine too closely.
He leans in and kisses me, and this time, there's no hesitation. His mouth claims mine with a hunger that steals my breath. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, and when I open for him, he deepens the kiss, tasting me, exploring me.
My hands come up to grip his shoulders, feeling the solid muscle beneath his shirt. He's so much bigger than me, so much stronger. At forty-two, he's twice my age, and there's something about that that makes my pulse race. He's not a boy fumblingthrough inexperience. He's a man who knows exactly what he's doing.
His hands slide from my face to my hair, tangling in the red curls and tilting my head to give him better access. I make a sound that's half gasp, half moan, and I feel him smile against my lips.
"That's it," he murmurs. "Let me hear you."
His mouth moves to my jaw, then down to my neck, and I shiver as his beard scrapes against my sensitive skin. He finds the spot where my pulse hammers and sucks gently, and my knees go weak.
"Dimitri," I breathe, not sure if I'm asking him to stop or begging him to continue.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, and the heat in his green eyes makes my stomach clench. "Tell me what you want, Alina."
"I don't know." It's the truth. I've never felt like this before, never experienced this kind of need. "I just… I want…"
"You want me to touch you." It's not a question. His hands slide down my sides, tracing the curves of my body through the simple white dress. "You want me to make you feel good."
"Yes." The word comes out as a whisper.
He reaches behind me and finds the zipper of my dress, slowly pulling it down. The fabric loosens, and cool air hits my skin. I should feel exposed, vulnerable. Instead, I feel powerful. Because Dimitri is looking at me like I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
The dress pools at my feet, leaving me in just my bra and panties. I resist the urge to cover myself, forcing myself to stand still under his gaze.
"Beautiful," he says, his voice rough with desire. "So fucking beautiful."
He shrugs out of his jacket and starts unbuttoning his shirt, and I watch, mesmerized, as more of his body is revealed. Broad shoulders. Defined chest. The eight-pointed star tattoo on his right pec that marks him as Bratva royalty. Scars that tell stories of violence and survival.
He's beautiful too, in a dangerous, masculine way that makes my mouth go dry.
When he's bare-chested, he reaches for me again, and this time when he kisses me, I can feel the heat of his skin against mine. His hands roam my body, learning my curves, and when he cups my breast through the thin fabric of my bra, I gasp into his mouth.
"Sensitive," he murmurs approvingly. His thumb brushes over my nipple, and pleasure shoots straight to my core. "I'm going to enjoy discovering all the ways to make you come undone."
He unhooks my bra with practiced ease, and then his mouth is on my breast, his tongue circling my nipple before he sucks it into his mouth. I cry out, my hands fisting in his hair, and he makes a satisfied sound against my skin.
My body is on fire. Every nerve ending is alive, singing with sensation. When his hand slides into my panties, finding me wet and ready, I nearly come apart right there.
"So responsive," he says, his fingers stroking me with maddening skill. "So perfect."
He lifts me easily, carrying me to the bed and laying me down on those soft blue sheets. He strips off the rest of his clothes, and I get my first full view of him. He's magnificent. All hard muscle and masculine power, and when I see how much he wants me, a flutter of nervousness mixes with the desire.
He must see it in my face because he pauses, kneeling on the bed beside me. "We'll go slow. I'll make it good for you."
Then he's kissing me again, his hands and mouth working in tandem to drive me wild. He removes my panties and spreads my thighs, and when his fingers find me again, I arch off the bed.
"That's it," he encourages. "Let go. Trust me."
He works me with his fingers, building the pleasure higher and higher until I'm trembling on the edge of something I've never experienced before. Then his thumb finds that sensitive bundle of nerves, and I shatter.
