Billie and the Russian Beast - Theodora Taylor Page 0,8
this time slowly. And look me in the eye.”
I do as he says, forcing my eyes to look straight into his as I awkwardly remove the pajama shorts. Is this really happening? Am I really stripping naked in front of someone I just met? While looking him in the eye?
Yes, I am.
And instead of feeling sick to my stomach, a dark ache pools in my belly. Like an invisible cord tightening inside of me.
“You are wet. Visibly,” he says when I’m all the way naked. “No, krasotka, do not stop looking at me. That is order.”
An order….
It takes everything I have to keep my eyes on him.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. Not knowing what else to say.
An almost sympathetic smile forms on his lips. “Do not apologize. Explain this to me. Why are you wet?”
“I don’t know,” I answer.
I’m telling the truth, but he shakes his head. Like he’s the principal, and I’m a lying schoolgirl.
“You do know. But let me clarify my question. Make it easier for you to answer.” His accent is full of sonorous bass, and it ripples over my too aroused body. “Are you standing in front of me, dripping wet because of my command? Or because I am looking at you?”
“Both,” I admit, flushing.
“Both.” He raises his eyebrows, a cool smile tugging at his lips. “Very good, my pet. Come to me now.”
I walk forward and stop in front of him.
Another up and down of my body. Then he spreads his legs and says, “Closer.”
I step closer. And yes, I’m deeply aware that I’m now standing between his legs, dripping wet.
“If you become this aroused by my gaze, what will happen when I touch you?”
Without waiting for my answer, he raises his arms and settles his large hands on my hips.
What will happen? My knees nearly give out, that’s what will happen.
We just met. And this is so, so wrong. But his touch…it makes me feel completely defenseless.
“Tell me what you like,” he commands.
“What I like?” I repeat, not quite understanding.
“How do you like to be touched. Tell me.”
“Oh…um, I don’t usually make requests or anything like that.” I take a deep breath and decide to admit, “The truth is, it’s been a while.”
Like, a really long while.
When I was a cheerleader, I didn’t get a chance to date all that much, especially since I refused to go out with athletes. And when I went back to school, I’d been so focused on my accounting degree, I didn’t have the time or the mental bandwidth to think about relationships. Then I had to get a job and save up for a down payment for a condo.
And just when I finally signed up for BizHarmony, Clem had moved in. So I wasn’t a virgin. But I wasn’t exactly experienced.
I grimace as I wait for his response to my confession. Hopefully, he’ll just get on with it and won’t ask me to clarify.
“How long is a while?” he asks.
Dammit. “Like years,” I answer. “Four or five.”
He nods, his expression lightening up with approval. “So you are free of the STDs then. That is good to know.”
“How about you?” I ask, voice shaking.
“Yes, me too,” he answers. “But we will not have sex without condom during these days. I do not wish for any unintentional impregnation. My family has real problem with that.”
Okay, what?
But I probably don’t want to know.
“I don’t want to get pregnant either,” I answer. “I’m not on the pill. And this situation is already horrible enough without adding an accidental baby on top of it.”
His hands tighten over my hips at my words. “Is this situation horrible?” he asks. “Are you suffering right now?”
His thumbs circle as he asks these questions. Funny, I had never thought my hips as an erogenous zone, but each circle of his thumbs sends shivers up my spine.
Still, I answer, “Y-y-yes, I’m suffering. Mentally at least.”
“Then we will have to make it so you do not think too much while we are together.”
With that declaration, his right-hand moves, and his thumb find something else to circle.
My breath seizes.
“Do you like that, pet?”
A question. Dammit. I have to answer. “Yes,” I admit.
“Are you still thinking. About how horrible this is? How wrong?”
Round and round my pearl his thumb goes, gliding easily because I’m so wet.
“No,” I admit.
My toes curl reflexively into the carpet, and my breasts tingle. It feels like I’ve got two knots now. One in my belly, drawing tighter and tighter and one in my throat, choking me.
“No, it’s