“That’s it, virgin,” I said. “You fuck my leg until you get yourself off.”
Heat flashed in her eyes. She didn’t want my command to turn her on, but it did, and she did a shitty job of disguising it. Her mouth was slack, and breathy moans escaped before she could stop them. The girl thrashed against me, wild and desperate. Had she crossed the point of no return? If I took my hand off her hip, would she keep riding me until she came?
“Oh,” she moaned. “Oh my God.”
“Yeah. Fuck, yeah.”
It was crazy how much this turned me on. Not just hearing her, but watching the way she fought to find her release. I hadn’t done humping bullshit in years. Once I started getting sex whenever I wanted, what was the point? If a girl didn’t want to fuck, no big deal. I’d go find one who did.
I currently wasn’t fucking Oksana with my cock. But I had my hand on her throat, making her fuck me, with her gaze locked on mine, and this shit was . . . intense. Her warm body smeared her desire all over my leg, and her sexy whimpers swelled. Her expression begged for more, although she probably didn’t even know more of what.
When her eyes began to drift closed, I readjusted my grip on her throat. “No. Eyes on me when you come.”
There was a tight sound of frustration, but then it was too late. I watched the surrender shudder through her body, and felt her legs tense and strain as the orgasm hit her. Her eyes barely stayed open as she tipped her head back and she cried out, but she looked at me through slitted eyelids as she convulsed with pleasure.
Next to my cock, making a woman come was my favorite thing. I dove my hands beneath the robe and around her back, pressing Oksana’s warm skin against me as the ecstasy continued to make her shake. Her arms were draped over my shoulders, hanging on, and, fuck me, I liked the feeling. She was falling apart, and I was holding her together.
Her head lolled forward and suddenly she brought her lips to mine.
She was kissing me, not the other way around. I’d been the one to initiate every time before, and I didn’t like her taking the lead.
She was Russian, and I didn’t want her getting all attached. I also didn’t know why I’d fucking kissed her so much tonight, but this shit stopped right now. I rose from the bench so fast, it sent her tumbling to the floor with a shriek.
My dick ached. It tented my underwear, straining against the cotton, and the air was cold on the damp spot on my leg. Oksana gawked up at me. Should I shove my dick in her open mouth and make her take care of it?
No. I knew exactly where it would lead.
“I’m going to bed,” I announced. I needed to get the fuck away from her. I wanted her so badly and was so goddamn hard, if I stayed, I’d end up fucking her right on the Persian rug beside the piano. I could take care of myself and be asleep in the next five minutes, which was the better option. I had a ton of shit to do tomorrow, on top of my meeting in the morning with my uncle.
“Stay down here, or sleep in one of the guest rooms.” My tone was cold and impersonal, like she hadn’t just been trembling in my embrace thirty seconds ago. “And give me back my robe.”
Her reaction was . . . unexpected.
Shock faded faster than a gunshot. The look she had said I was safe from her ever kissing me again. I didn’t offer a hand to help her up, and I was sure she wouldn’t have taken it if I had. She rose on her own. She was supposed to be nervous or bashful as she stripped, but those emotions were gone.
She held the robe out by the collar to me, and as I reached for it, she let go. It dropped to the floor like a waterfall of fabric and left me grasping for air. I flashed my annoyance at her, but her gaze lingered on my throbbing erection. She looked at it, and Jesus, she was smug. Like she’d somehow won a fucking battle. Had she? She’d gotten her rocks off, and I hadn’t.
“Good night,” she said. She grabbed her book from the piano and floated away up the stairs. I stared at her as she turned left at the top, heading the opposite direction from my room.
What the fuck just happened?
?
My uncle rarely came into my dealership. He managed the larger one that was right off the freeway. It was newer, better, and legit. All of the drugs and guns ran through the luxury used vehicle dealership my father had managed until I inherited it. It was only thirty miles to Indiana, where most of the guns came from, and the back roads leading to it didn’t have cameras like the freeway exits.