Prince of Secrets

But the truth was she knew him well in a lot of areas. He was a man driven by his own agenda, even ruthless in achieving it. The way he brought her pleasure, withholding both hers and his own until they’d reached the place indicated as much.

Demyan didn’t give up easily, either. He pushed for what he wanted. Like convincing her to try making love while her hands were tied with silk scarves. She’d been leery and unwilling to do it, but he’d convinced her.

And it had been amazing.

Which begged the question: Did he not want her badly enough to fight, or was he sitting in that chair right now plotting how to get her while pretending to watch the actors on the stage?

She was pretty sure she knew the answer and it wasn’t a disheartening one, though it was kind of alarming.

He was plotting, but she wasn’t ready to give him an answer. Which meant she had to orchestrate a preemptive strike to prevent whatever it was he was planning. Probably to make love to her until she was an amenable pile of happy goo who would say yes to anything.

Not letting herself think about it too long and lose her nerve, Chanel scooted off her chair and onto the floor. Demyan’s head snapped sideways so he could see her, proving he was highly attuned to what she was doing.

Definitely plotting.

“What are you doing?” he whisper-demanded.

She knee-walked the couple of feet between her chair and his. “You know, you could have opted for a more romantic setting. This would be easier if you’d had a settee brought in.”

He stared at her, shock showing with flattering lack of artifice on every line of his handsome face. “What?”

“This.” She reached for his belt.

He grabbed her wrist. “What are you doing?”

“You’re repeating yourself and I would have thought it was obvious.”

“Here?” he demanded, not sounding like himself at all.

She liked that. Very much.

In answer, she tugged her wrist free so she could undo the buckle on his belt. Once it was apart, she unbuttoned the waistband and then slowly and, as quietly as she could, she began to lower the zipper on his trousers in the darkened theater box.

No one could see her, though there were literally hundreds of people mere feet away.

The backs of her fingers brushed over an already erect shaft and a small laugh huffed out of her.

“What is funny?”

“I was wrong.”

“About?”

“I thought you were over here plotting, but the truth is, you were thinking about sex, weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Or were they one and the same?” she asked, realizing belatedly the one did not necessarily preclude the other.

He didn’t answer, which was answer enough.

“We’ve done a lot of things.”

His head nodded in a jerky motion.

“But not this.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I did not know if you wanted to.”

“You decided I wanted a lot of other things I wasn’t sure about.”

“This is different.”

Maybe it was. Maybe this had to come at her instigation. “This is me, instigating.”

“I do not understand.”

She smiled at the confusion in his tone. “Here I thought you could read my mind.”

“Not even I can do that.”

Not even him. She almost laughed. “But you’re not arrogant.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

“CONFIDENT. NOT THE SAME.” His words came out gritty and chopped, not at all like him.

Understandable and welcome in the circumstances.

“No, maybe it’s not.” She worked his hot shaft out through the slit in his boxers, thankful they were made from stretchy fabric. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Do whatever you want. I promise to enjoy it.”

She smiled. She believed him. There was one area of their relationship she was absolutely certain about and that was the amount of pleasure he took from their physical intimacy.

The man could not get enough of her.

So she didn’t let herself worry if she was doing it right when she bent forward and licked around the head of his erection. It was wide and she knew she’d have to stretch her lips to get him inside. No way was much of him going to fit into her mouth, though.

She didn’t worry about that right now, but concentrated on enjoying the taste of him. It was salty and kind of bitter, but sort of sweet, too. His skin was warm and clean and hot against her lips and tongue.

She liked it. A lot.

He didn’t try to rush her, though a steady stream of pre-ejaculate was now weeping from his slit and his thighs were rock-rigid with tension. She jacked the bulk of his shaft with her hands while sucking on the end.

He made small, nearly nonexistent noises, letting her know he was enjoying this as much, or more, than she was.