“They probably do—some of them saw the furniture deliveries,” he replied as he reached the bottom of the stairs.
He was completely unbothered, but he had always been shameless about his exploits.
“You’re not embarrassed, are you?” he asked with a smirk.
“No,” I said immediately and walked past him.
“Eager to have that ass whipped,” he said, chuckling behind me.
I said nothing. Denial was pointless and any reaction would only make him worse.
He reached out and opened the door. I stepped inside and the metal door slammed shut. The lock engaged.
“Strip.”
A single word that raised goosebumps on my arms and dried my mouth.
I reached for the side zip on the emerald dress he’d picked out this morning.
“Slowly,” he said, moving behind me.
While I tugged on the zipper, his hands moved to cup my breasts.
“So beautiful,” he whispered, curling his fingers around me.
I cleared my throat and tried to focus on removing my dress. He took over, pulling the zip down in a single motion before he dragged my hair away from my neck to unbutton the dress. He knew I wasn’t wearing anything underneath.
“I missed pounding your little ass into the mattress this morning,” he said, prying my dress open before dragging it down my shoulders.“I went into the office thinking of when I could leave to correct the issue.”
It had been a little disappointing to wake up alone. The tragic part was that I’d been happy to see he’d taken the time to lay out my clothes, as he had been doing ever since I came back.
The dress slipped to my waist and he chased the material to work it past my hips. I needed new clothes.
His lips brushed my shoulder. Then again. And again.
Hot breath wafted against my neck before he worked his way upward. His fingers curled around my throat, anchoring me to him.
“Moya ozornitsa,” he whispered.“I could bet my empire that your cunt is wet for your husband. No?”
“If you know, why ask?” I said, rubbing myself against the front of his trousers to feel that he was hardly unaffected himself.
“So mischievous,” he said, turning me around.
One hand fisted my hair as he yanked my head back and the other rested on my spine. His lips closed over mine. There was no soft embrace—only the pain of his grip in my hair and his hand pressed into my back holding me flush against him.
He didn’t wait for me to open. He forced his tongue into my mouth with a heavy breath. I gripped the lapels of his jacket and thrust my tongue against his. The kiss became a battle.
Hot. Wet. Messy.
I leaned into him, rubbing my bare breasts against him, slipping my hand down to trace the length of his erection. So long and hard—I worked my hand up and down to feel every curve beneath the expensive material of his suit.
His hand moved lower until he held a handful of my ass, thrusting his hips to the rhythm of my hand.
His movements became erratic and he gripped my neck before he paused between kisses. Licking my lips before kissing again only to stop and push his tongue back in. Slow then fast.
The taste of smoke and vodka filled my mouth—warm, sharp, entirely him. His stubble began to drag against my skin and I felt the burn of it spreading from my lips to my jaw. The scent of him was cologne and something darker underneath—cigarettes and cold air. I felt it in the way his grip tightened. In the way his mouth refused to be gentle even when it slowed.
I held myself open for him.
