Maisy really didn’t want to discuss Dan with Alexei. It made her feel pathetic, and she desperately didn’t want him to see her as that.
‘Were you in a relationship with him?’
‘Of course I was,’ Maisy answered unthinkingly, then stiffened. She had jumped into bed with Alexei quickly enough, and this wasn’t anything like a relationship. There was no of course about it. She waited for him to react, but he was observing her as if what she was saying was fascinating. ‘I don’t really want to discuss it,’ she said quietly. ‘It happened. That’s it.’
‘You were in a relationship, you lost your virginity and that was it? No repeat performance?’
‘I called it quits.’ Suddenly the stitching on the edge of the bedsheet became the most interesting thing in the room.
‘How long were you seeing each other?’
‘Six weeks.’
‘So a long-term thing?’
Maisy felt her temper stir and lift. ‘Okay, you’ve made your point. I’m not sophisticated, and I had crappy sex with a crappy boy in his crappy bedsit. But look—now I’ve come up in the world. Better sex with a better boy in a better bed.’
‘Better sex?’ He chuckled, the sound a gravitational pull that had her edging back in against him. ‘This is fantastic sex, dushka. The best I’ve ever had.’
Maisy spun for a moment on that assertion. He couldn’t be serious?
‘And for your information, Maisy,’ he murmured, his breath warm in her ear, ‘I’m not a boy. I’m a man. And there’s a difference.’
Maisy knew that. Alexei had made it very clear what that difference was since day one.
‘I wish I’d known you then,’ he inserted softly.
‘You wouldn’t have given me the time of day.’
There—she’d said it. Her throat was aching with unexpressed emotions she was finding it difficult to keep repressed.
She felt the change in Alexei’s body and it was like a kick to her belly. He didn’t want to hear her insecurities, but they were all she felt tonight. The day had been too volatile; too much had happened to her. And now she couldn’t sleep. She could only lie pinned to him, baring her soul to a man who probably wanted nothing less.
‘I would have taken you to a luxurious hotel and taken your virginity with a great deal more care than some bloke in a bedsit,’ he said with rough assurance.
Maisy pressed her temple against his chest. For a moment she allowed herself to believe him. He was touching her, his palms and fingertips moving over her waist and back and hips in circular movements, but not in a sexual way. At least she didn’t think so. He was just warming her.
‘Alexei …’ she murmured.
‘Hmm?’
‘I wish it had been you,’ she confessed. ‘I know we’re just having a fling. But I wish it had been you.’
Alexei’s hands had stopped moving and it felt as if he’d stopped breathing.
‘It’s how I feel,’ she said nervously, wondering what the stillness meant.
His big hand tipped her chin up and he brought his mouth down on hers, hard and hot and possessive. She had the fleeting thought, This is just like London. And it rocked her.
His hands were suddenly under her T-shirt and around her breasts. Maisy felt her body rev to speed without a second thought. She was still shivering, but she couldn’t not respond. He was still hers. She could already feel him at her core, and she was wet for him. He tore her old shirt in two, baring her breasts. He entered her with a single thrust and she rocked into him, not caring about anything but the fury that was driving her upwards. She’d gone from virtually zero in the physical department to Alexei’s level in the span of a day. God knew what he had created. Maisy didn’t even know who she was any more.
She splintered into a thousand pieces so quickly she could have wept, but he was still moving in her, and Maisy clung to him, digging her nails into the slabs of muscle behind his shoulders, feeling it build again. His mouth kept contact with hers, his eyes pinning her so that when she climaxed again he was with her. But it was different this time. She felt him pour himself into her. Sweat glistened on his shoulders where Maisy pressed her mouth, and then he was sinking heavily on top of her. He stayed inside her, not moving. Her heartbeat began to thrum to the rhythm of his and she closed her eyes, the tears rising and choking her.
‘It’s not a fling,’ he muttered. Then he lifted himself up on his forearms and fixed her face in place with his hands. He meshed their mouths. ‘It’s not a fling,’ he repeated.
Just in case she hadn’t heard him the first time.