Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 100417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Sevastyan had put on a shirt. He scowled at my chest, then said, “What is this?”
“You didn’t specify what I should order. And don’t we have to feed all of our bodyguards? They can have whatever I don’t eat. If there’s anything left over.”
Once the platters had been spread out and the men had departed, Sevastyan said, “This is ridiculous.”
“Since I lost out on the big bucks, dinner is my consolation prize. Are you going to begrudge me one paltry, very large meal, when you foiled my plan for millions? Millions!” I bit my knuckle theatrically.
“You think this is funny?”
“Someday you’ll see the humor like I do. I only wish I could be around to see the look on your face.” I started hunting for my sandwich. “Ah, there!”
He grudgingly said, “What is that?”
I smelled it. “Medianoche.” Midnight sandwich. Eaten after clubbing.
He retrieved one, tasting it. “Good.” He took another bite.
I tried mine. Not as good as I made, but it’d do. “Dibs on anything with lobster.” I grabbed a Coke, opened the bottle. Drink and plate in hand, I headed back out to the pool.
He could keep me prisoner—ha!—but that didn’t mean I had to spend time with him. I returned to my sofa to eat.
Over my meal, I concluded that I should be thankful for this rift between me and the Russian. I’d liked him so much that I might have done something stupid like really trust him. I would’ve told myself that since he was in the mafiya, he could help me with my legal problems—and would never judge me for the blood I’d shed. Now I realized that he could use my precarious situation to manipulate me.
Sevastyan’s behavior proved that I had the shittiest taste in men. If I started to develop feelings toward a guy, then he should be on an FBI watch list, and I should run the other way. This was as undeniable as science.
All for the best.
Once I’d finished eating, I lay back and closed my eyes. As I delved into my memories from the night before, more details surfaced of conversations we’d had. On the topic of sex secrets, I’d told him I’d never deep-throated before or had anal, though both were fantasies of mine.
He’d revealed that he’d been older when he lost his virginity—like older than I was now. He’d told me he’d never had sex without a condom but often wondered what it’d be like. He’d also admitted to fantasies of having his cum swallowed, which made me shiver (then and now). No wonder my masturbation fantasy at the beginning of the night had turned him on so much.
He’d said something else about oral sex that had blown my mind. What was—
Sevastyan had never gone down on a woman!
“Why would I have?” he’d asked. “I never gave a damn about another’s pleasure. But I’m ready to make up for lost time. In fact, I have a matter I want to discuss with you. Come with me to the living room. . . .”
So that was how he’d teed up our discussion. Nice segue, Ruso.
My eyes went wide. Over the night, he’d gone down on me, three earth-shattering times! I lay back on the sofa, reliving the first time.
He’d nuzzled my thighs, spreading them, pressing openmouthed kisses higher and higher. Right before he licked me, his eyes had been keen with curiosity. With his first taste, his lids had slid shut. I’d whimpered as he’d muttered to himself, “Never get enough of this.” Then he’d set in, tonguing me greedily. Grinding his cock against the cushion, he’d groaned, vibrating my sensitive clit. I’d come, wantonly bucking to his mouth. Once it was over, I’d tried to push him away, but he’d captured my wrists. With a low growl, he’d licked my orgasm clean.
My cheeks reddened when I recalled my frenzied reaction. I’d shoved at his chest until he’d laid back, then I’d devoured his cock. I’d sucked on his balls, licking everywhere, moaning around his shaft while he’d grunted, “Fuck, FUCK!” over and over. He’d told me, “Take my cum into you! Drink it, dushen’ka.” Our gazes had been locked as I’d consumed spurt after spurt. Once he’d finished ejaculating, I’d pumped him for more. “No más?” I’d pouted while he gaped. Máximo shockeado.
“Better than fantasy,” he’d grated between breaths. “And I’ll only need a couple of minutes to give you more. You make me insatiable.”
I remembered smoothing leisurely kisses over his dick until he’d swiftly grown rock hard again. Then he’d pushed me back on the lounge chair, looming over me. He’d laid his cock between my legs, rubbing that unyielding flesh over my clit.
I’d been on the verge of factory shutdown, caring about nothing, thinking about nothing, but coming.
As my head thrashed, he’d told me, “I want to fuck you like this. Everything’s on my table.”
Back arching, I’d begged for his cock, crying out for him to shove it in.
Oh, he had. Without a condom.
I recalled the wonder in his tone: “Your pussy”—thrust—“gets so”—thrust—“hot!” As I’d moaned, he groaned, “It’s like fucking a little forge.”
So that was how it’d happened. Yes, I should have told him earlier that I wasn’t on the pill. But it wasn’t as if I had lots of experience with this. In fact, I’d only had that conversation once before, when I was seventeen.
Sevastyan had sat me down to discuss things between us going forward, but I’d been stupid and drunk—not only on champagne, but on sex. I’d been too preoccupied with the possibility of sucking him to pay attention.
Winds blew over the deck, ruffling my hair and grazing my pebbled nipples through my T-shirt. As if I’d been trained over the night, I immediately thought of Sevastyan’s mouth sucking them. How could I still desire the man who was holding me prisoner? I must be close to ovulating, which meant I was basically in heat.
I would take another shower—and manually take the edge off. When I returned inside, each step made my breasts move against the T-shirt, the material skimming over the hard peaks.