Russian Billionaire's Virgin Assistant

He kissed my nipples through my bra before unclasping it, freeing my breasts.

“What are we going to do with these gorgeous fucking tits?” he asked me, punctuating each word with a kiss. My nipples were already almost painfully hard, and much more sensitive than usual.

I hoped it was a rhetorical question, because I had no idea what he had in mind. That was the thing, though. I could never figure out his next move, and it was actually … exciting. Maxim seemed to thrive while surprising me, and even though it pushed my boundaries and made me uncomfortable sometimes, I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

“I’ve chosen my dessert,” Maxim informed me, selecting one of the tiny bowls of treats from the table. “You.” He cracked the sugary surface of the creme brûlée with the spoon before dribbling the sweetness inside across my chest. I opened my mouth to complain about the mess, but then sucked in a gasp as he lapped up the dessert, la

vishing attention on my breasts. My nipples were like twin beacons of arousal — I had never experienced such sensitivity before, and I chalked it up to just how turned on I was when I was around Maxim.

When he finally got around to kissing me as I panted desperately, his lips were sticky and sweet, the perfect way to balance the richness of our dinner together. He reached down to that delicious table again and held the most perfect square of cheesecake that had probably ever been made — just big enough for the thinnest strawberry slice I had ever seen. Maxim held it up to my lips and I tenderly bit down, creaminess flooding my senses, mindful of his thick fingers that he hadn’t quite bothered to fully remove. It reminded me of that first night together in the car, how I’d sucked those digits before he used them against me in the most delicious way possible. I moaned at the memory, pressing my knees together.

“No,” Maxim rumbled, slipping his other hand between my thighs to part them once again. “You don’t get to hide that from me, zolotse. That’s all mine, and you don’t get to hide it from me.”

As if to prove his point, he slipped my panties from my hips — I was all too willing to help, wriggling until the restrictive material was flung across the room. Completely exposed to him, sated but somehow still starving, I watched as Maxim drank me in with his wolf-blue eyes. There was still an element of disbelief about all of this, a persistent insecurity that this was all somehow a mistake — or worse, a dream. But his fingers were real enough, tracing the velvety exterior of my most intimate part, parting those lips to drag their way through my wetness.

This time was different from all the times before we’d shared. This was softer, somehow. More eviscerating and vulnerable. He took his time with me, testing and teasing, waiting for an excruciating length of time simply touching me before he started licking and nibbling and sucking on me like I was one of those delectable desserts on the table.

It was somehow even more delicious that I was completely naked, spread out, moaning, fisting his dark hair, and Maxim still had on every frustrating scrap of expensive clothing. He could — and did — touch every inch of me, rubbing over my breasts and thumbing my nipples, trailing down my ribs in a way that was definitely not ticklish, and wrapping those big hands around my thighs as he ate his fill of me.

I couldn’t understand it. Couldn’t grasp why he wanted this, how he found every wet inch of me so delicious, suckling against my clit so insistently that my climax surprised both of us. I cried out, not caring if there was anyone around to hear, desperate for more even at the precipice of my pleasure.

That was life with Maxim, though. An embarrassment of excess. An overflowing, all-encompassing experience that made me want and doubt everything.

“How are you real?” I blurted out before clapping my hands over my mouth. I hadn’t wanted to say that aloud. Hadn’t wanted to appear ungrateful, or like I was questioning anything. Sure, the money he spent on me bothered me, but he’d already told me that he’d always do whatever it was that he wanted — in spite of how I might feel about it.

I’d decided to try to stay on the ride for as long as possible, especially since the rewards and spending time with Maxim was all so sweet. But there was a part of me that was so afraid all of this would be over at some point — I would do or say something to displease him, or the internship would end and he would lose interest, or whatever game he was playing by making me his plaything would end.

“Did this not feel real?” he asked just before pressing a kiss to that desperate place between my legs. I didn’t care that I had just had an orgasm. I just wanted more.

“You haven’t come,” I said in a small voice, frightened by my own daring. “Don’t you want to?”

“Zolotse, I could drink from you all day and night and never go hungry,” he said, kissing me again — lingering, licking, and making my back arch. “I could go without food and water. This alone would sustain me.”

Oh my God. I had no idea what to say to that, no idea how to convey just what I wanted from him. He was unreal. But I decided to hang on for as long as the dream lasted. I doubted something like this would ever come my way again.

“I want to see you,” I complained, still wet, my body’s release still thrumming. More, it was chanting. I needed more. “I’ve never seen you before.”

He raked his teeth over my collarbone before kissing along the line of my jaw. “What are you talking about? We see each other all the time.”

“I’ve never seen you like you’re seeing me now,” I said, my face heating. “Naked.”

“Well, all you had to do was ask.”

He shucked off his clothes, tossing them across the room like they didn’t cost thousands of dollars. But every expanse of skin that he bared made my mouth water more than anything that had been on the menu tonight. Every muscle of his strong torso was defined and well cared for — albeit not gleaming with oil like they had been in the magazine shoot that had attracted me all those years ago. Still, this was a man who knew how to take care of himself — and everyone attached to him. His broad shoulders and muscular chest narrowed to the hills and gullies of his abs before tapering to a V that led my eyes directly down to his straining cock, which was standing at attention. He kicked at his pants before walking away from them, downing part of a glass of champagne that had been included with the table of desserts. He offered me a drink from his own glass, but I shook my head. I felt drunk already, heady with lust and need. Even his legs were well muscled, the lines and planes evident with every minute movement he made.

“Like what you see?” Maxim asked almost lazily, standing in front of me, utterly relaxed. If he had made me undress in front of him rather than ripping my clothes off like he usually did, I didn’t think I would be able to be so calm and confident about it.

But he was as cool as those icy blue eyes, almost luminous in the low light of the room.

“Yes,” I said, reaching out to him. “Mine.”

He blinked at that — it surprised me just as much as it had him — but he captured my hand and kissed the palm.

“Is this what you want?” he asked, easing himself slowly down, covering his body with mine. “Is it everything you expected?”

“You’re unexpected,” I said. “Welcome, but unexpected.”

Maxim snorted. “What idiot never played with food in bed with you? You should send him a letter, wherever he is, and tell him how stupid he is.”