Chapter 24 #2
“I’ll need to have a good look at the ankle anyway,” Luke says easily, lifting his drink and smiling as if my toe isn’t curling beneath the arch of his knee. “We’ll have our drinks, then I’ll take Miss Melikov into the suite and sort her out in privacy.”
He delivers the line with a completely straight face.
“Of course.” Carrie nods, her face full of concern.
I almost choke on my drink.
When she’s gone, I curl my toes against his leg. “Subtle,” I murmur.
Luke’s hand closes around my foot and takes it out of his trousers, then lifts it atop his thigh. “And now I’m going to make you wait.”
“Oh, really?” I point my toe and slide my foot upward beneath the table until it hits the unmistakable thick shaft beneath his trousers.
Luke takes a mouthful of whiskey, his eyes boring into mine. “Keep that up,” he says in a barely audible growl, “and I’ll bend you over the fucking table right here, woman.”
I gasp, moisture slicking my thighs.
“I can see your nipples through that blouse,” he says in the same low voice, his eyes roaming around the plane, then back to me. “And that hot fucking lace thing that is barely covering them.”
I undo the top button, exposing the upper curve of my breasts. “You mean this hot lace thing?” I undo another button, giving him a proper look at the lingerie I chose with exactly this kind of moment in mind.
Luke’s cock surges against my foot. “Oh, that’s the one.”
“I like this game,” I murmur huskily, sipping my champagne.
“Really.” His hand wraps around my foot, his thumb pressing into the arch of it through the silk stocking, then slowly traveling the length of my entire foot, his fingers on the top, thumb firm on the sole.
Up, and down, the movement so slow and sensual my head spins as I lean back in my chair so my whole body arches, my breasts thrusting out toward him.
I put my drink down so I don’t spill it, biting my lip so I don’t groan.
His fingers slowly manipulate each toe, then trace back toward my ankle and up my bent leg.
He pauses when he reaches my knee, and my eyes fly open as his thumb caresses the hollow beneath it.
Luke grins wickedly. “Still like this game?” His eyes drop pointedly to my breasts, straining against my blouse.
I lift an eyebrow and undo another button. Dipping my fingers into the champagne, I drip liquid over the silk covering one nipple, then the other.
Luke’s grin disappears, his eyes narrowing.
I roll the arch of my foot over the hard ridge of his cock, straining for release beneath his trousers. His hand tightens on my leg.
I raise my champagne to my lips, then deliberately spill a little as I take a drink.
“Oh,” I say innocently, dropping my eyes to the rivulet trickling down between my breasts, then raising them slowly to Luke as I draw a finger up my cleavage to collect the spill.
“Look what I did.” I ease my finger between my lips and slowly lick it clean, my eyes never leaving his.
He stares at me across the table, turquoise eyes blazing like a backlit storm.
I arch my back and stroke my toes down his shaft.
Luke’s eyes drop to my nipples, clearly outlined beneath the damp silk.
“Are you still going to make me wait?” I take another sip, peeping at him over the rim of the glass.
Beneath the table, he lifts my foot from his cock and places it slowly on the floor.
“That foot looks like it’s going to be trouble,” he says, loudly enough for the rest of the plane to hear.
“We’d better get you taken care of. Here.
” He stands up, lifting the table and turning at the same time, hiding his pounding hard-on from the rest of the plane, his body shielding my disheveled state as he leans over to undo my seat belt. “Let me help you.”
The fingers of one hand slip between my folds as he unclips my belt with the other. I make a small, uncontrollable noise.
“I know,” he says with mock sympathy, stroking me ruthlessly as he lifts me to standing. “It’s torture, isn’t it?”
He shifts me in front of him, his arms wrapped around my waist, walking me ahead of him.
“Just lean on me,” he says in the same calm, businesslike voice.
His long fingers slide beneath my bra, rolling my nipple between his fingers.
Reaching out with the other hand, he pushes the door handle down.
I kick it open with the toe of one stockinged foot, and he pushes me through it, then kicks it shut with his own. I hear the snick of the lock.
Then his mouth is on my neck, one hand pushing my bra up and over my breasts and the other on my abdomen, pulling me back hard against him, his hard shaft pulsing against the swell of my ass.
A knock comes at the door.
We both freeze.
Although, given the molten lava between my legs and Luke’s throbbing heat, freeze is possibly not the right choice of words.
“Miss Melikov, would you like your drinks brought in?” Carrie’s worried voice comes muffled through the door.
“No, thank you, Carrie.” I gasp as Luke’s hand slips between my thighs. “There’s a bar in here if I need anything.”
“She’s in a lot of pain,” Luke calls back, sliding one large finger inside me, his thumb pressed firmly against my clit.
“I’ll probably just put her to bed with some painkillers and keep an eye on her.
” One hand cups my breast, while the other holds me captive at my very center, my every nerve attuned to the slightest curl of his fingers.
“Of course,” Carrie says concernedly. “If you need anything, just let us know.”
Neither of us bothers answering that.
Luke spins me around, taking my mouth with skillful precision as he strokes me steadily toward the explosion that’s been threatening since the stairs of the plane.
I tug at his belt buckle, desperate to feel the surging force of him.
My skirt is rucked up around my waist. Luke undoes the last of my blouse buttons one-handed, and I shrug it off.
He pulls the bra over my head, making a low noise in his throat as I free his straining cock.
Oh, fuck.
The darkness and urgency of the shipping container allowed no time to appreciate how goddamn perfect it is, thick as my wrist and tapering to a broad head, which is currently splayed against his veined navel.
Unable to think past tasting it, I drop to my knees, opening my mouth.
“No.” Luke’s hands catch my head just before I take what I want.
He turns my face up to him, and the calculating look in his eyes makes me shiver.
“Stand up,” he says, drawing me to my feet.
He turns me in front of him so we’re facing the wide mirror over the vanity bench.
He pulls out the pins holding my hair in place with slow, sure movements, releasing it so it runs through his fingers, his eyes never leaving mine in the mirror.
His hands rise up, stroking my breasts until I’m writhing under them, but never touching my nipples, never giving me the direct touch I’m craving.
My head drops back onto his shoulder, my legs parting, but he doesn’t touch me between them either, just teases my aching breasts until I’m moaning.
He dips his fingers into my mouth, and I seize on them eagerly, lathing them with my tongue as if they were his cock.
The lack of direct touch is driving me insane.
I’m so close to the edge that I could come just from imagining him inside me.
My eyes flutter closed.
“Look at me.” His order is low but direct, and when I open my eyes, he’s regarding me with the watchful stillness that has gotten under my skin from the moment I saw him standing in the royal box at the Quartier.
He shakes his head slowly, a knowing curve to his mouth.
“You’re not going to come until I tell you to. ”
Oh, fuck.
His command hits me like sexual kryptonite, completely undoing a lifetime of physical control and turning me into a molten mess of need.
I moan softly around his fingers, my tongue lashing them hungrily, my whole body arching forward, begging for his touch.
He probes my mouth gently, dipping his fingers into its crevices in an explicit demonstration of their skill until I’m sucking them desperately, my whole body rippling against him as I head toward the edge once more.
“Keep your eyes open, Zinaida.”
God. I didn’t even realize I’d closed them.
He withdraws his fingers from my mouth and trails them down my throat and toward my aching nipples, his eyes holding mine. I gasp as he splays his fingers on either side of my nipples, rolling them with slow, devastating precision. “Do you remember the first time you came for me, Zinaida?”
He draws his tongue up my neck, and I gasp.
“Do you remember?”
I nod, moaning under his touch.
“You wanted me to see your control.” He dips his fingers into my mouth again to wet them, and I cry out as he traces my nipples again. This time when he speaks, his lips are right on my ear. “But do you know what I really saw that day?”
Barely able to move, let alone speak, I shake my head.
“I saw this.” He reaches for my hand, his eyes holding mine in the mirror.
Gently, he fans my fingers over the bench, one finger at a time.
“You have a tell.” He lifts my fingers, and my breath hitches as he slips them into his mouth, his eyes never leaving mine.
“I saw you lose it, right at the end. Right before you came, Zinaida, I saw your fingers fan over the armrest of that chair.”
My whole body convulses at his low, quiet voice, his relentless stare.
“Do you remember?”
Oh, I remember, you bastard. I nod helplessly, utterly unable to speak. I remember that you beat me at my own game, and that it undid me completely.
“That’s why I took the contract, Zinaida. And it’s why I’ve stayed, even though you drive me fucking insane.” My laughter chokes in my throat as his tongue roams up my neck. “It’s why I just told Mak to tear the contract up.”
I freeze, my heart pounding. His eyes remain calmly on mine in the mirror.