White Nights (White Nights 1)

The way he fills me is delicious. The slight discomfort from his largeness only makes me burn hotter. I arch my hips, trying to make him move, but he sinks deeper slowly, inch by inch. When he’s buried to the hilt, he pauses, giving me time to adapt. He’s not only inside but also around me, overwhelming each of my senses. His arms are wrapped around my body, his muscular thighs wedged between mine. His weight anchors me, his warmth seeping through my skin to dispel the chill as the spicy, masculine scent of his cologne teases my nostrils. He makes a sound of pleasure in the back of his throat, sending goosebumps over my arms.

When he finally moves, my world falls apart. I sink deep into languid pleasure, so deep I’m scared I may never be able to resurface. I may never be able to come back from this. Chasing away the thought, I cling to him as if he’s a buoy in stormy waters. I hold on like he’s my salvation and the answer to everything. And as long as he’s gently rocking inside me, he is.

The pleasure that’s been building since the foyer starts to unravel in that way that promises closure. Just a little more. Angling my hips, I find the right friction, and when he slides backward and forward over my clit, I come with a cry.

“Yes, Katyusha,” he growls. “Just like that.”

My orgasm pleases him. The possessive look in his eyes tells me that. Holding my gaze, he comes a second later, his cock swelling even thicker and every muscle in his body locking tight.

When he’s spent, he catches his weight on his arms and kisses me like he hasn’t just explored the depths of my mouth. He kisses me like it’s our first time, and I fall a little more for him. Kissing has always been my weakness, and I appreciate a man who knows how to use his lips.

Rolling off me, he gathers me in his arms. I shouldn’t spend another night in his bed, but the episode in the alley has left me drained. I don’t have enough energy to deal with locksmiths and replacing my stolen cards right now. Just for a short while, I want to bask in his strength.

It’s cozy and safe in his arms, and it doesn’t take long before I doze off.

11

A knock on the door startles me. The sun is barely up, the light in the room still gloomy. It takes me a moment to realize where I am and what happened last night.

Alex gets up from the bed and pulls on the boxer briefs he retrieves from the floor. I draw the blankets up to my chin even though he opens the door only a crack, carefully blocking me from view with his body.

“What is it, Leonid?” Alex asks.

A man replies in Russian. I recognize his voice. It’s the man who spoke to Alex in his study the first time I slept over.

They exchange a few words, and then Alex shuts the door.

He turns to me with an apologetic look. “I have to go.” Walking back to the bed, he brushes his knuckles over my cheek. “It’s early. Go back to sleep. You need the rest.”

I glance at the clock on his nightstand. It’s seven in the morning. “Is everything all right?”

“Problems at work,” he says tightly, dropping his hand. “What time is your shift?”

“I’m starting at ten.”

“Marusya will make you breakfast. When you’re ready, Yuri will drive you home if you’d like to change before your shift.” He gives me a thoughtful look, his blue eyes piercing. “Maybe you should leave some clothes here. That way, you don’t have to make the detour to your place before going to work.”

My mouth almost drops at the statement. “I thought…”

“I said I wanted to sleep with you again,” he says in a blasé way, walking to the bathroom.

It’s the blasé that gets stuck in my throat, the easy way in which he brushes off the sex as if it holds no value. Again, my mind screams I’m no match for him. A man like Alex will chew me up and spit me out. The sex is great, but I realized something last night. It’s not enough. Not in the long term. Besides, his iffy answers about his trip to Moscow and that woman in the restaurant bug me. I’m less experienced than him, but I’m not naïve.

Slipping out from under the covers, I pad over the wooden floor to the bathroom. Steam billows from over the glass wall of the shower cubicle. Alex’s strong body is a murky picture in the mist. Even hazy and frayed around the edges, the image sends a bolt of heat to my abdomen. My stomach flutters like I’m a schoolgirl experiencing her first crush.