White Nights (White Nights 1)

Wait. We just walked out without asking for a check.

“What about paying for dinner?” I ask.

The chilly November air is quickly clearing my mind, and the full implications of my actions are dawning on me.

By my initiative, I’m about to have sex with a man I hardly know—a man who’s now holding open the car door for me, waiting for me to get inside.

One corner of his mouth lifts in a smile. “Don’t worry about such matters, Katyusha. It’s all taken care of.”

There’s that Katyu-something word again. “What’s that you’re calling me?” I pause before the open door, stalling for time. Now that we’re away from the seductive atmosphere of the restaurant and he isn’t drugging my senses with his touch, my normally cautious nature reasserts itself.

Sex after the first date? How could I have agreed to—no, insisted on—doing something so impulsive?

“Katyusha?” He lifts his eyebrows. “It’s a Russianized version of your name. An endearment, if you will.”

“Oh.” How do I respond to that? Truthfully, it doesn’t matter what he calls me because this is supposed to be a one-night stand. If I go through with it.

“What’s the matter?” he asks, frowning when I don’t get inside the car.

I swallow. “Alex, I . . .”

He must sense my hesitation because he bends down and kisses me again, his mouth slanting over mine more aggressively, his tongue pushing past my lips in a blatant imitation of the sexual act itself. Burying one hand in my hair, he plants the other on my ass, kneading it softly and pressing me closer to his hard body until I moan helplessly and cling to his shoulders, my doubts melting away in the heated pleasure of his touch.

How we end up inside the car, I don’t know. Somehow, we’re just there, and he’s still kissing me with those deep, penetrating kisses that make a mockery of any attempt at rational thinking. All I can concentrate on is the taste of him, the scent of him… the feel of his large, powerful body as he presses me down onto the plush leather seat.

In the back of my mind, I’m aware we’re not alone. The driver is in the car with us, taking us to our destination. But I can’t bring myself to care. I’m too caught up in what Alex is doing to me. He slips one hand underneath my sweater and cups the back of my head with the other, holding me still for the continued sensual assault on my mouth. His callused palm is deliciously rough on my bare skin as he strokes my naked back.

Unbearably turned on, I dig my nails into his shoulders, barely cognizant of my actions. His lips brush over my neck, scorching hot and moist on my sensitive skin as he delves deeper inside my sweater, finding the clasp of my bra and undoing it with smooth efficiency.

“Alex, wait,” I breathe, the warm pressure of his hand on my naked breast startling me into realizing what’s happening.

Is he about to take me right here, in the back of this car, with his driver only a thin partition away?

“Shh,” he soothes, kissing me again while kneading my breast, testing its shape and texture.

“No, wait,” I moan, arching into his touch despite myself. “We can’t. Not here.”

He lifts his head, staring down at me with an intent look on his face. “Just let me touch you, kiska,” he whispers harshly, brushing his palm back and forth against my hard nipple. His accent is heavier than usual, his voice thick with arousal. “I won’t do anything else until we get home, but I need this. I need to touch you, to feel you. God, you’re driving me crazy. I need to be inside you so fucking bad, but I won’t take you, not until we’re alone.”

I stare at him, my heart pounding like I’ve just run a marathon. The throbbing between my legs is as strong as if I were on the verge of an orgasm, and he hasn’t even unzipped my jeans. With his hand still inside my sweater, he’s rolling and massaging my nipple with exactly the right amount of pressure as his heavy weight presses me down, holding me in place.

I want him so badly I can barely think or process the sensations coursing through my body. “Please, Alex,” I whisper, not knowing if I’m begging him to stop or continue, but then the car slows down and comes to a stop.

The driver’s side door opens and Yuri gets out.

“We’re home,” Alex says roughly, sitting up and bringing me with him. “Let’s go in.”

Disoriented, I let him pull me out of the car and lead me toward a large house. His arm is wrapped firmly around my shoulders, as if he’s afraid I’ll change my mind and run away.

Before I know it, we’re in front of the house, and he opens the door and leads me inside. As he turns on the light, I catch a glimpse of modern furniture and gleaming wooden floors. Suddenly, my world tilts as he lifts me, swinging me up into his arms.