“Yes.”
Her throat moves. Then, very slowly, she looks down at my hand on her tit and smiles. It’s small. Dangerous. Almost disbelieving, like she’s just discovering this part of herself and likes it more than she expected.
“I think I liked it.”
That’s the end of whatever restraint I had left.
I shove the torn fabric farther down and take her nipple into my mouth. She cries out, fingers tightening in my hair as her back arches. I suck hard, then drag my tongue over the tight peak, feeling her whole body answer me. Her thighs clamp around my hips, and my cock presses against her through my trousers, thick and aching.
“Yaromir,” she breathes.
I lift my head only long enough to look at her.
Her dress is ruined. Her hair is loose. The emeralds are still around her throat, heavy and perfect against flushed skin.
I catch the other side of the dress and pull again. Another seam tears.
Anya’s breath catches, but she doesn’t stop me. She watches my hands destroy the dress with a look on her face that goes straight to my blood.
“I’ll get you ten more,” I say.
She reaches for my shirt, tugging at the buttons with shaking fingers. “I don’t care.”
Good. Neither do I.
I kiss her again, rough and deep, while she works my jacket off my shoulders. It hits the floor. Her hands move to my shirt next, clumsy at first, then desperate. One button pops loose and skitters across the table.
She freezes for half a second. Then she laughs under her breath.
A real laugh. Breathless. Wild. It nearly ruins me.
I help her with nothing. I let her undress me because I want to see the look on her face when she does it.
When my shirt opens, her hands flatten against my chest. Her gaze drops to my skin. Her fingers move over me slowly, over old scars, muscle, heat. She looks at me like she wants to touch everything and doesn’t know where to start. There’s only hunger in her face.
I tear the last of the bodice down, put my mouth back on her breast, and make her say my name again.
She says it like she’s angry the word belongs to me.
“Yaromir.”
My mouth closes over her nipple, and I suck until her fingers dig into my shoulders. Her back arches off the table, her tit pressed into my mouth, the other filling my hand. I squeeze, thumb dragging over the hard peak, and she makes a sound that goes straight to my cock.
She’s learning quickly.
I kiss down the center of her chest, over the rise of one breast, then the other. Her skin is hot under my mouth. Her breaths come short and uneven, each one catching when my teeth graze her nipple or my tongue circles the tight little peak.
“You like your tits in my mouth,” I say.
Her face flushes. “Don’t say it like that.”
I lift my head. “Like what?”
“Like you know.”
“I do know.”
To prove it, I take her other nipple between my lips and suck again, harder this time. She gasps and jerks against me.
