And dreamed of Sevastyan.
In a sizzling reverie, he lifted me from my bath, cradling my naked, soaking body to carry me to bed. There, he followed every drop of water with his mouth before settling between my thighs. . . .
“Natalya,” he groaned right at my flesh—all hot breath and slicked tongue. “Natalya.” He raised his face, licked his sexy lips, and asked, “Are you dreaming of me?”
Huh? Dreaming? I opened my eyes—and found the Siberian staring down at me.
Chapter 7
Moonlight illuminated his beautifully rugged face, making my heart lurch. “Sevastyan?” He was lying beside me, head propped on his hand, a position that belied the tension coming off him.
He wasn’t wearing a shirt. I nearly moaned to behold his bare chest, packed with rigid slabs of muscle. His smooth skin sported wicked-looking tattoos. High on both of his pecs were large eight-pointed stars, intricately shaded. Two Russian domes adorned one brawny arm; on his other, a patterned band encircled his bicep.
Those markings and the latent power in his body left me spellbound. “What are you doing in bed with me?” And why can’t I manage to be afraid of you?
His breaths came quickly. He reminded me of a rubber band pulled taut, ready to snap. “I heard you moaning,” he grated. “Came in, saw you rocking your hips beneath the covers.”
I flushed, averting my gaze—which fell on his flat stomach, on the dark line of hair trailing from his navel. I had the mad urge to nuzzle it.
“Just when I think you’re shameless, your cheeks heat.”
I forced myself to face him. “You’ve explained what I was doing. What the hell were you doing?”
“Watching you and getting harder by the heartbeat.” He pressed his hips closer to my side, letting me feel his sizable erection against my thigh.
I gasped, my body going soft when treated to the unyielding heat of his.
No, no, this man was an ass**le! I reminded myself of his ricocheting mood swings. “You can leave now.” I was proud of how resolute I sounded. “I’ll try not to disturb you again.”
As if I hadn’t spoken, he rasped, “You make . . . you make these sounds. Your whimper, your moan. I hear them, and thought leaves my brain.”
“You’ve been drinking.”
“Chut’.” Slightly. “I’ve been replaying how I saw you in the bath, stroking yourself with these fingers.” He peeled my right hand from the cover—which I’d been clutching like a roller-coaster safety bar—then pressed my fingertips against his face. “I only wish you’d finished yourself in front of me.”
I wished I had too! Then maybe I wouldn’t be overcome with lust right now, falling even further under his spell.
His hooded eyes flicked over my face, then lower. “What were you dreaming of to make these so hard?”
I followed his glance down. My ni**les were stiff against the fabric of the shirt I wore.
“Tell me, pet, why were you on the verge of a wet dream?”
I couldn’t resist him before; now, on this bed, hearing his rumbling, seductive voice, I feared I was defenseless. No! Be strong, Nat. “Why do you insist on calling me pet?”
“Maybe because you make a man want to collar and keep you.”
“Right.” I knew he was just being a smart-ass, but the idea gave me shivers.
“Tell me about your dream.”
“Why should I? You’ll just give me that disgusted look and go all icy again.”
“Icy? That’s the last thing I feel right now.”
I swallowed when he began unfastening the buttons on the shirt, spreading the lapels just shy of baring my br**sts.
“What are you doing?” I demanded. But I wanted them bared, wanted him to see them and desire me.
Hey, I was on vacation from my life, right? So why couldn’t this man be my fall holiday fling?
He took the starched edge of the shirt and lightly scraped it over my left nipple. Oh, God, oh, God . . .
“I caught just a glimpse of your ni**les when you were in the bath. Do you know that my mouth watered to suck them?” He’d wanted to put his mouth on them. Picturing that scrambled my thoughts.
Another scrape.
“Y-you need to stop that.” I hadn’t thought the tips could get harder. They tightened almost painfully.
“Yes, tell me to stop and to leave you alone.” Scrape. “Tell me that I frighten you, and I’m not to touch you.” Scrape.
I choked back a moan. “You don’t frighten me. And the only reason I don’t want you to touch me is because you won’t follow through, and I’ve been sexually tortured enough tonight.”
Including now, I’d been on the verge of orgasm three times—all because of this man.
He gave a low, sexy laugh. “You think I’ve tortured you? Maybe I should show you what real torture is.” His tone was forbidding; so why was my pu**y clenching with anticipation? “Then perhaps you would rail at me to find me in your bed.”
“Is that what you want?”
“It’s what I would have expected from you. And if you tell me to leave you, I will.”
“Answer me, Sevastyan. Is that what you want?”
He didn’t say a word; scrape.
“Ahh!” I licked my bottom lip, struggling for words. “You confuse me so much! Since you refuse to tell me anything, I’m going to tell you everything. I find you extremely attractive. When your eyes are like this, all gold and smoldering, you are pretty much irresistible to me. I think you were right; I did approach you in the bar because I wanted to have sex with you.”
His firm lips parted. Then he shook his head hard, as if to dislodge whatever idea had just taken hold. “You wouldn’t have done so if you knew me better. I am an enforcer, a contract killer, and I pity you for piquing the lusts of a man like me.”
In a soft voice, I said, “But you piqued mine too. So what do we do now?”
“If you knew the thoughts in my head, you would not be so welcoming. You wouldn’t like it in my bed. I have particular interests, and I demand obedience.”
“Obedience.” Was that my titillated tone? “Like my doing whatever you command?”
He nodded, eyes alight at the prospect.
Why did that sound so unbearably erotic? I’d never relished being ordered around at my jobs. But in this context—in bed with a domineering man—the idea excited me. “Why do you demand it?”
“I don’t like surprises. If you do as I say, there will be none.”