Prince of Secrets

He made the vow to himself, and Demyan never broke his word. Chanel was still trying to catch her breath when Demyan laid her oh so carefully on the bed after yanking back the covers.

Sexual demand radiated off him like heat from a nuclear reactor. Yet there was no impatience in the way he handled her.

The bedding? Yes. It lay in disarray on the floor, his powerful jerks pulling the sheet and blanket that had been tucked between the mattress and box spring completely away.

But her?

He settled with a gentle touch that belied his obvious masculine need.

“I was going to wait.” He shrugged out of his suit jacket, letting the designer garment drop to the floor without any outward concern about what that might do to it.

“Why?”

“It seemed the thing to do.”

“Because things are moving so fast between us,” she said rather than asked.

He only loosened his tie and undid the top buttons on his shirt before pulling the whole thing over his head in one swift movement. “We will not be waiting.”

His torso was chiseled in that way really fit men with natural strength were. Dark curls covered his chest, narrowing into a V that disappeared into the waistband of his trousers. She wanted to see where that trail of sexy hair led.

She might be a virgin, but she was pretty sure she wasn’t a shy one.

“You are beautiful,” she breathed.

“Men are not beautiful.” But his eyes smiled at the compliment.

“The statue of David is beautiful.”

“That is art.”

“So are you.”

He shook his head, his hands going to his trouser button. “I am a flesh-and-blood man, never doubt it.”

How could she, with all that flesh staring her in the face?

His trousers slid down his legs, revealing CK black knit boxers that conformed to every ridge of muscle and the biggest ridge of all. His erection.

Her mouth went dry, the moisture going straight to her palms. “You’re big, aren’t you?”

“I’ve never compared myself to other men.” With that he shucked out of his boxers, leaving his very swollen, very rigid length on display.

“According to scientific studies, the average penile length is five to five-point-seven inches in length when erect.” And Demyan was definitely longer, unless her eyes were deceiving her.

But Chanel was a scientist who had conducted enough measurements she could usually guess within a centimeter’s accuracy.

He frowned and stopped at the side of the bed, his erection bobbing with the movement even as it curved upward toward his belly. That wasn’t usual, either, she’d read. Most men erected perpendicularly with a slight leaning toward one side. Some even had a small downward angle.

For Demyan’s hardness to be curving upward, it had to be extremely ready for intercourse.

“How do you know that?” he demanded with amusement in his voice.

“I read. A lot.”

“You cannot believe everything you read in your Ukrainian erotica.”

“Of course not.”

His brow rose, the mockery there.

“I read that particular fact in a scientific journal.”

His dark gaze pinned her to the bed, though he had yet to join her with his incredibly gorgeous naked body. “We have better things to do than discuss frivolous scientific research.”

“It isn’t frivolous to the tens of thousands of men who have been feeling inadequate because of the supposed average lengths gleaned from self-measurement.”

“What you are telling me is that men measure themselves as larger than they are?” He definitely sounded amused now.

“I don’t think you would.”

“I would not measure myself at all.” From his tone, he found the idea of doing so absolutely ridiculous.

“I think I’d like to measure you.”

“No.”

“With my hand.”

The erection in question jumped at her words and it was her turn to smile.

“Do not tease,” he warned.

“I’m not teasing.”

“You are smiling.”

“I’m just really happy that you react to me so strongly.” So strongly in fact that despite the fact she’d led them down one of the conversational byways that always annoyed others, his visible response to her had not dimmed in the least.

“You are a very sexy woman.”

She couldn’t help laughing at that assertion, but she didn’t accuse him of lying. Honest desire burned in the brown depths of his eyes.

“It is time I did something about your lack of focus.” He didn’t sound mad about it, though.

She just nodded, wanting more of what they’d done in the living room, more kisses, more touching, more of that amazingly intimate connection.