He covered my mouth with one of his hands, muffling my screams. He slipped two fingers between my lips, treating me to my own juices. "Suck," he ordered.
My head fell back and I sucked in delight, imagining those fingers were his cock. Under his sharp thrusts, I began to orgasm. I screamed, I sucked, I never wanted it to end.
Clenching, spasming, each wave brought unbearable pleasure--and a frenzied hunger to be filled. . . .
When I was too sensitive to take any more, he pulled back and pressed my knees toward my naked breasts. With me rocking back against the wall, ankles on his shoulders, he yanked my panties to my thighs, baring me. Gaze locked on my swollen flesh, he fisted himself, masturbating that big cock.
Neck straining, arm muscles bulging, he grated, "Watch me come on you." He was aiming between my legs. The idea of him ejaculating there made me melt all over again, my pussy quivering and contracting as he watched--
"Fuck, woman, I see you!" Choking back a yell, he began to spurt heavy ropes of cum.
When scorching semen lapped against my sensitive lips, I moaned, spreading my legs in welcome.
Between gnashed teeth, he hissed, "My greedy girl wants more?" He squeezed his cock, and another ribbon lashed my mons. Over and over, he pumped himself until his shaft was spent, pulsating but empty. . . .
Dazed, wanting to kiss him, I reached for him.
But he pushed my hands away. "Ah-ah." He palmed me between my thighs--and began slathering his seed into my flesh.
Why? What? How could that be so sexy? As ever, I had no idea what he would do next. Though my arousal had renewed with a surge, I sat docile, allowing him to coat me.
After working my panties back into place, he used his whole palm to give the sodden crotch a good slap--which made me buck for another. With that same look of masculine satisfaction, he said, "You'll feel me tomorrow."
Wicked, sexy, domineering man. I couldn't imagine another male could excite me as much as he did. I needed to wrap my arms around him, to whisper in his ear how he drove me crazy.
But he simply zipped up and turned to go, to leave me like this. "Better focus your attention on someone you can actually manipulate. Speaking of which, have fun with Filip tomorrow."
When he reached the door, I gave my head a clearing shake. "That's all you have to say?"
Without turning around, he said, "Do not ever tease me again. I only play games when I make the rules."
"Rules, Siberian?" Now that I wasn't stupid with lust, I didn't love his domineering self. "You can make them, if only to watch me break them."
"If you tease me again, pet, you will not enjoy the consequences." He left me, shutting the door behind him.
Note to self: Tease Sevastyan at earliest opportunity, investigate "consequences."
In that closet, still warmed--and wet--from his attentions, I decided two things:
Aleksandr Sevastyan had to be my first lover.
And I'd let him think he made the rules.
CHAPTER 16
"You're Sevastyan, right?" I said with full-on sarcasm when I ran into him downstairs a week later. "Didn't I see you in the closet the other day?"
Since then, I'd made zero progress with my Sevastyan-pops-cherry plan, a plan that had since been retired. Which was only to be expected since he refused to talk to me, aside from superficial greetings.
He raised a brow at my comment, falling into step beside me as I made my way to Paxan's study.
I frowned at him. For the last seven days, we'd never been alone. He'd always been close by--yet achingly distant.
The morning after the maid's closet, I'd awakened smiling again, looking forward just to seeing him. I'd called Jess and told her all about him, about everything. She'd focused on one detail: "Nat, you've still got your skin tag?" I'd assured her not for long, my friend.
There'd been a bounce in my step as I arrived for breakfast.
Only to find Sevastyan was back to his aloof self, barely acknowledging me. While my body had still been feeling the aftereffects of what we'd done, his mind had checked out.
I supposed if he'd thought what we'd done on the plane was bad, then shoving me into a closet to have his way with me must have been awful in his mind. I'd tried to get him alone, endeavored to get him to talk to me. Nothing.
Disappointment had settled over me. During this lull, my disappointment had begun to feel a lot like anger.
I'd lived without Sevastyan for seven nights. I'd conceded defeat. My infatuation had faded.
It had! "Do you need something?" I asked him in a cool voice. Now he was going to pay attention to me?
Though he was dressed like a dream--dark gray slacks and a formfitting black cashmere sweater--he looked like he hadn't slept for days. "You and Kovalev are getting along well," he remarked in a neutral tone.
"He's easy to get along with." Paxan and I had been like two peas in a pod, appreciating the same jokes, enjoying the same books and food.
Growing closer every day.
Sometimes we spoke English, sometimes Russian. In both languages, he was sly and witty, and we often laughed to tears. Being with him was almost opposite to how it'd been with my dad. Though I'd never doubted he loved me and Mom, Bill Porter had been a quiet man. He and I used to work on his tractors, passing the time in companionable silence.
It was just as comfortable with Kovalev, only different.
Every morning, we played chess in an open-sided pavilion down by the Moskva River. Sevastyan remained in the background, usually on the phone conducting business, body tense, gaze alert for danger.
The security threat--which no one would talk to me about--obviously hadn't lessened.
Now Sevastyan told me, "You're easy to get along with as well."
Was he for real? "And how would you know?"
He hiked his shoulders. "I see you with him."
Sometimes when Paxan and I would laugh at something, I'd notice Sevastyan regarding us. At first, he'd appeared surprised. Now he would gaze at us with a satisfied look on his face.
Yet at other times I'd catch him surveying me with an expression that was far from satisfied--and it intensified more each day. I felt as if he was awaiting something. From me.
Like a hunter preparing to strike.
Even Filip had commented on it. "When you're not looking, he watches you like a stalker."
I'd scoffed, "A stalker would actually give me the time of day if I asked for it."
Yet something was building in Sevastyan, like a bomb clock ticking a countdown. But a countdown to what?
"Are you settling in?" he asked.
Was he going to query me about the weather next? I stayed him with a hand on his arm. "What's up with the small talk, Siberian?" I almost got the impression that he was trying--in his taciturn, enforcer-type way--to chat me up. When he peered down at my hand, I released him.
"Do you like it here?" he asked, his voice droppin
g a notch. "Enough to stay?"
We'd stopped in front of a rain-slicked window. Outside, fall rains drizzled. There hadn't been a break in the weather since I'd gotten to Berezka. Shadows from the drops coursed over Sevastyan's face, filling me with the mad urge to kiss each one.
Inner shake. "Why do you and Paxan and Filip get to leave, but I don't?"
He scrubbed his hand over his chin. "Because if anything happened to you . . . We simply can't take chances. You're so eager to leave?"
"Well, I have to admit I was getting stir-crazy whenever Paxan had to work--I'm not used to all this free time." Or this much energy. I'd been in desperate need of an outlet when Filip had suggested laps in the Olympic-size indoor pool. Every day, we went together. "But Filip has been doing his best to keep me occupied."
Those muscles on the sides of Sevastyan's jaw bulged. He took a step closer. As ever, tension brewed between us. I glanced up at his eyes, only to find his gaze on my lips.
"I told you to be wary of him."
"But not why." Once I'd shut down my manalyzing, I'd grown comfortable with Filip. Unfortunately, I felt nothing more for him than friendship.
Why couldn't I fall for a guy like him? He said whatever was on his mind, was easygoing, and acted like I hung the moon.
The opposite of Sevastyan.
If I were with Filip, I wouldn't have felt the just-in-case need to brush up on the finer points of BDSM, studying everything from corporal punishment to orgasm denial to dom/sub rituals.
Sevastyan had talked about obedience and discipline; was he interested in the lifestyle, the equipment, the paraphernalia?
Punishment bars and floggers, handcuffs and canes, nipple clamps and ball gags.
Recalling the way Sevastyan had slapped my ass, I'd watched online videos featuring grown women stretched over men's laps, spanked like they were wayward creatures in need of correction.
I'd been indignant and outraged!
I'd pictured Sevastyan forcing me across his lap for a similar chastisement; he'd once threatened to do exactly that. And as soon as I'd finished masturbating, I'd been indignant and outraged all over again!
Until I'd masturbated a second time. But that had been before I'd conceded defeat.
"What are you thinking of?" he asked me, his gaze riveted to my face.
I realized my breaths had shallowed, my cheeks heating.
He put his hand on my wrist, touching me with that live-wire grip. His brows drew together, until I could almost imagine he was about to kiss me.