My core clenched in response, an aching need rising inside of me, and I moaned.
More, closer.
“Shhh.” The gentle scrape of his teeth against my pulse point drew a sound from me I didn’t recognize—needy, desperate.
He cupped my breast through my shirt, his shirt. Rolled my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “I got you.”
He kissed me again while he pinned me with his hand on my throat to the bed.
The weight of his body, his hand lightly choking me, should have felt threatening, but instead, it was strangely grounding, a solid anchor in a storm of sensation.
He ground against me, and I welcomed every thrust.
He opened one button after the other and pushed the shirt open, his eyes darkening as he took in my naked body beneath. He moved his hands across my skin with unexpected gentleness.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, reverence in his voice as he traced the curve of my breast with a calloused finger.
I reached up to tug at his shirt, suddenly desperate to feel his skin against mine. He understood, sat back just long enough to pull it over his head before returning to me. The sight of his bare chest—muscled and marked with scars and oh so many tattoos—sent a jolt of heat through my core.
He was unbelievably exciting and breathtakingly handsome.
He leaned down, pressed his body against mine, skin to skin. I gasped at the contact. The heat of him seemed to burn through me, igniting something I’d kept carefully controlled for far too long.
Ivan moved his mouth from my lips to my jaw, then down the column of my throat, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses that made me arch beneath him.
“Please,” I moaned, not even sure what I was begging for. More. Less. I didn’t know.
“Let me hear you,” he murmured against my skin. “I want to know what makes you come apart.”
His words made me clench and simultaneously sent a fresh wave of heat through me. No one had ever spoken to me like this, with such raw honesty about their desire—and mine. Nobody had ever demanded to hear what I liked. It was intoxicating.
His hands and mouth seemed to be everywhere at once, learning my body with methodical thoroughness, discovering places I hadn’t known could bring such pleasure.
Each touch, each kiss, each nibble—his eyes were watching me. Every action was both question and answer, a conversation without words, as if he was eager to learn my responses.
He pulled my leggings off me agonizingly slowly—one leg at a time, following his hands with his mouth, kissing the bare skin he’d just uncovered until he reached the arch of my foot and kissed me there. But he kept his eyes locked with mine. The whole thing was one of the most sensual things I’d ever experienced.
“Lift your hips for me, Shorty,” he whispered.
I followed his command, and he pulled my panties off, never looking away from my eyes, until they were gone.
When he again spread my legs and slid his fingers up my thighs, and found me wet and ready, the look on his face was one of primal satisfaction. “So responsive,” he growled, his accent thickening with arousal. “So perfect.”
I trembled beneath his touch as he worked me with devastating precision. He teased my slick folds with his fingers, and when he circled my clit, I cried out, trembling.
He brought me to the edge before backing off, again and again, like a sadistic little player.
Until I was writhing beneath him, begging him to let me come.
Which was apparently what he’d been waiting for. “Let go for me, Shorty,” he commanded, his voice a rough caress while he circled, then squeezed my clit once more. “I’ve got you.”
And this time, he didn’t back off.
When release finally crashed over me, it was with an intensity I’d never experienced before. I cried out, my body arching off the bed as waves of pleasure washed through me, leaving me trembling and disoriented.
While I recovered, Ivan got up.
I opened my eyes at the rustling and watched him get rid of his jeans and boxers. God, he was sexy like a Roman god and hung like a horse.
