I took him again.
This time his fingers closed, and the sound he made wasn’t careful at all.
I worked him with my mouth and hand, learning the weight of him, the pulse in the thick vein underneath, the way his abdomen tightened when I used my tongue just below the crown. He tasted like heat and salt and the edge of losing control.
His head tipped back.
For once, Vadim looked like a man who had forgotten the room had doors.
I drew off him. “Look at me.”
His eyes opened.
The heat in them almost knocked me backward.
I took him into my mouth while he watched.
His curse came low and filthy in Russian.
I didn’t know every word. I understood enough.
Heat slipped low through me, wet and immediate.
His grip tightened in my hair. “If you keep doing that, I will come.”
I stroked him with my wet hand. “Is that a warning?”
“It is a plea.”
I went still.
Vadim looked down at me, chest moving hard.
A plea.
From him.
Something inside me softened and caught fire at the same time.
I rose to my feet. My knees shook, but not from weakness this time. Vadim caught me around the waist and lifted me before I could decide where I was going.
The room turned. My back hit the bed. The robe fell open under me.
Vadim came over me, huge and hot, one knee spreading mine with a pressure that made soreness and need twist together.
His mouth took mine.
I tasted him between us.
That should have embarrassed me. It didn’t. It made me lift my hips.
He groaned into my mouth and slid one hand down my body. Not gentle enough to pretend. Not rough enough to hurt. He cupped my breast, thumb dragging across my nipple, and I gasped against his tongue.
“There,” he said against my mouth. “You like knowing what you do to me.”
I arched when his hand moved lower. “Maybe.”
“No maybe.”
