Roman tilts his head to the side, and leaning back in the chair, he grabs my waist while his lips curl in a smug smile. “Nope.”
My eyes widen as he lifts me up and positions me above his hard cock then lowers me onto it. I gasp and clutch his shoulders, loving the way he fills me gradually. A moan escapes me when I feel him fully buried inside. Roman’s hands move lower, beneath my thighs, and he lifts me up then slides me down, impaling me again and again as I pant and hold tightly onto him. I’m not sure what turns me on more: the way his cock slides in and out of me, or the ease with which he handles my body as if I weigh nothing at all. He slams into me one last time and I come, hearing him groan, as his seed fills me.
“Everything okay?” he wraps his arms around me and presses me into his chest.
“Yeah.” I bury my nose into his neck, inhaling his scent. “I want random chairs to be put in every room. That bench-press machine you have can go.”
“You weigh half the weight I usually lift,malysh.”
“They say it’s more effective to work with less weight, but more often.”
“Do they?” His hands caress my back, gliding downward until they reach my ass. “I like that new workout plan. A lot,” he says and squeezes my butt cheeks.
* * *
The wedding is extremely boring. Tons of guests are milling around with glasses in their hands, chatting and fake smiling. I don’t know a single person here, so I spend most of the time people watching and commenting on the outfits to Roman. He always finds my babbling amusing. However, a few minutes ago he got stuck in a conversation about politics with some men, and I decide to leave him to it and go to sit at one of the tables.
I don’t have a problem with sitting alone, but it seems like some people think I do, because a couple of women sit with me and drag me into a tactless conversation about who bought what for the newlyweds.
“We couldn’t come with anything meaningless, you know,” a pretty blonde with pumped lips explains. “I’m sure they will enjoy the weekend at the spa. It’s a highly exclusive place. Please don’t ask how much we paid for the tickets; the amount was atrocious.”
“They will love it.” I smile.
“And what did you get them, dear?”
“An extremely ugly vase,” I say. “My husband insisted on it.”
“Oh, well, maybe your tastes differ. And which one is your husband?”
I look over to the group of men in the middle of the hall and smile. “The sexiest one in the room,” I declare.
“You are biased.” The other one, with a short red dress and red hair, laughs.
“Nope. It’s a fact.” I shrug.
They both turn to look at the mass of people like they are trying to guess which one would that be.
“The one in a brown suit, yes? The one with the glasses?”
I follow her gaze and see a shortish guy who’s rather handsome, and has an accountant feel around him. I smile widely. This will be fun.
“Nope. Try again.”
Next, she points out a man in a tuxedo. He’s kind of cute and has longish hair, but is way too thin. However, before I have the opportunity to answer, the blonde interferes.
“Oh my God, Sandra, is that Roman Petrov?” she exclaims and grabs for the redhead’s forearm. Nodding toward the crowd, she asks, “What happened to him?”
“I think Rory mentioned he had an accident a few months back,” Sandra whispers and turns to her friend. “I heard he got married.”
“No! Where is his wife? What does she look like? Is she Russian?”
I raise the glass to my lips to hide my grin and continue listening.
“I haven’t seen her. Probably tall and platinum blonde. That’s his type,” Sandra says.
“Well, she must be some harpy if she had the balls to marry him.”
“Oh, she is a harpy, believe me,” I throw in.