“That’s funny,” I breathe. “You’ve done a great job pretending I don’t exist. And suddenly you feel the need to watch me?”
When he pulls back, the movement is decisive. His hand drops away, skimming down my throat, over the swell of my chest. I try to catch my breath.
“I’ve spent years,” he murmurs, “learning to restrain myself. All for you, I think, Alyona.”
The words settle in my stomach, heavy and suggestive, and before I can talk myself out of it, I lift my hand and touch him. It’s small, almost nothing; my fingers brush the front of his shirt, just below his collarbone. But the reaction is immediate.
His breath stutters, barely perceptible, and his eyes darken in a way that makes my pulse spike.
Oh.
The realization hits me all at once, heady and exhilarating. He isn’t untouchable or immune. Whatever control he prides himself on, it fractures under my touch, and the power of that sends a rush of confidence through me I’ve never felt before.
“I thought men like you had boundaries,” I murmur, hand lingering, tracing the line of his lapel. “Or is that just my father’s rule? One you seem to be breaking.”
“Alyona.” He says my name like a warning, low and rough on his tongue. The sound of it makes my skin prickle. I should stop. I know that. Instead, I lean in closer, my voice dropping.
“You’re hiding this from him, aren’t you? That you come here and watch me. Do you like to watch, Mr. Baranov?”
The moment breaks in a way I didn’t expect. Anger roils like a storm across his features, twisting his upper lip. In one swift movement, he turns me, pressing me back against the brick wall. It’s jarring enough that the shirt Devin brought out earlier falls away, leaving my bare tits against the cool brick.
His mouth is at my ear, his voice a dark whisper. “I don’t want to watch you with other men.” Slowly, his hand comes around to my front, palming and hefting my breast as if he’s weighing the consequences. Or savoring them. “I don’teverwant anyone to lay a finger on you. You’re mine, Alyona Demsky.”
He rocks his hips into my ass, the length of him hard and hot, earning a gasp from my lips. How is he soready?Did I really do this to him?
“If it was up to me,” he continues in that dark, sultry voice, “you would never step foot in here again.”
A shot of defiance goes through me, straightening my spine. But Kazimir only handles me more roughly, one hand on my hip and the other on my throat as he tips my head back, lips ghosting along my shoulder.
“I come here and watch you, Alyona. I watch the way your body moves. I see the way you fake it for them, laughing politely, giving them your attention. But I can promise you, it wouldn’t be fake with me.”
His hand moves from my hip to my waist, ghosting against my belly. Somehow, without my fuzzy mind noticing, he’s already unzipped the back of my skirt and now his fingers dance down to my panties, snapping the elastic in warning.
“No polite smiles.”
Two massive, rough fingers ghost over my clit.
“No pretending you don’t want to be there. If I have you, Alyona, you’ll be thinking only of me. And the things I’m doing to you.”
With one hand tightening on my jaw, his other plays my clit slow and sensual. Teasing until my knees are shaking and my panties are soaked. Each ragged breath I take drags my tits against the brick, the feeling rough and too much and somehow not enough all at once.
I let out a whimper, unable to stop from rocking my hips back against his throbbing dick. I can feel the heat of him through our clothes, how badly he wants this, and my mind is drunk on adrenaline and lust and thinkingWhy shouldn’t we?Completely ignoring the fact that it’s 2 a.m. on a main street in Savannah, cars passing by slowly, completely exposed as he inches me toward an orgasm that I know I won’t forget.
“You’re mine,” he breathes, suddenly slapping my pussy, the cotton rubbing harshly over my clit as I cry out.
“Even if I can’t have you, Alyona, you’ll always be mine.”
Without another word, he dips two fingers under the elastic, into my soaked slit as his thumb strokes my oversensitive clit. The orgasm rushes over me like an ambush, every part of me shaking as Kazimir crushes me against the brick wall, holdingme up with one hand between my legs and an arm wrapped just under my breasts.
“Yes,” he slurs, voice like warm honey as I gush over his fingers, “yes,lyubimaya,darling, you’ll never forget this. Never.”
It’s a promise and a threat all in one, rocking me toward another climax at just howwrongthis is and how badly I want it.
When it’s over, I’m shaking, my legs weak, thoughts scattered. It feels addictive. Forbidden.
Kazimir steps back first, straightening my clothes with careful, almost reverent attention. The button of my skirt is invasive, pulling me out of the lust-heavy trance.
When I turn his face is unreadable. He doesn’t say another word.
