I kept my back to him as I undid my cotton bra and put on the one that revealed more than it concealed. The cups were cut low, and carefully placed lace over the see-through mesh just covered my nipples.
“I don’t need to try on the underwear,” I said, when he pulled a pair from the hanger clips. “I’m sure it fits.”
“Great.” He seemed unable to look away from my breasts packaged in the flimsy, sexy bra, but his hand darted inside his interior suitcoat pocket. A small knife was retrieved, the blade flipped out, and he cut the price tags free. As soon as the knife was put away, the underwear was shoved at me. “Put it on.”
I turned away from him once more, and was grateful there wasn’t a mirror. The simple gray cotton underwear I had on was tugged down and kicked off. I stepped into the white lace, being careful of the heels I was still wearing, and pulled the fabric up onto my hips.
Like the bra, the bikini panties only had lace where it hid the naughtiest part, teasing elsewhere with the nearly translucent mesh. I shuffled on my feet, turning to face him.
“Puši kurac,” he uttered under his breath.
I had no idea what his Serbian meant, but the delivery sounded appreciative, and his eyes hooded. He advanced on me, his cold fingers sliding onto the bands of fabric at my hips, and he walked us backward until my back collided with the corner of the dressing room in a hollow thud.
Blood rushed in my ears and my nipples tightened. I was cold, that was all. They weren’t tingling, or aching for attention against the cups of the bra. Because they couldn’t be. I certainly didn’t crave this boy’s icy touch, or his angry, punishing kiss on my lips.
But when he gave me both, relief stormed through me, and invited crushing need to come along and play. Vasilije’s kiss forced my lips open and he pushed his tongue inside my mouth, claiming ownership. Like my mouth was his fucking mouth and he’d stay as long as he goddamn pleased.
His fingers trailed over the lace on the bra. His fingernails raked over my distended nipple, and I shuddered with a sensation that was too close to pleasure to label as anything else. Unfamiliar lust pooled in my body, flowing to the center of my legs.
His touch was gone, as were his lips. He worked to undo his belt and his pants, and hurried to get his dick out. My pulse thundered along as he stroked his fist down his rapidly hardening length.
“Lick your hands,” he said.
Watching him move on himself was hypnotizing, and I blinked through my haze. “What?”
“Or spit on them, I don’t care.” His expression was intense. “Get them wet and jerk me off.”
His hands came off his dick, and he placed them on the wall on either side, trapping me in the corner as he pushed his hips forward. His underwear was pushed down so it cut across his thighs, and his hard, long cock jutted out.
His tone was sinister. “This is what you wanted when we were in the Porsche.”
His dark eyes pinned mine in a challenge. I held his gaze as I opened my mouth and dragged one palm slowly down the length of my tongue. His eyes and nostrils flared when I gripped him with the wet hand, and repeated the same action with my other, slicking my palm over my tongue.
He was hard steel and soft skin. I barely had my other hand wrapped around him before he began to rock against my grip. He pumped and pushed the thick head of his cock through my clenched fists, and I watched with fascination as the pleasure rolled through him.
Vasilije had me literally cornered, but his hands weren’t on me. His eyes drifted shut and his face twisted with enjoyment, so the only place we were connected was where I was touching him. Had he done it on purpose? I had hardly any clothes on, but with his pants down and his dick in my hands, he was more vulnerable than I was.
My hands began to dry, so I pulled one off and repeated the lick, rewetting my palm. He groaned in satisfaction and his eyes snapped open. He hinted at a smile as he watched me do the other. He more than approved.
I had no idea what I was doing, but wanted to. The better I was, the more likely he’d be to keep me around. So instead of holding still and letting him fuck my hands, I began to move on him. I stroked my hands together, sliding from tip to base and back again. Faster. Harder. I listened to how his breathing picked up and watched the muscles flex over his jawline as I worked him.