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 Paxán’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.” Paxán 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.