Chapter Seven
Stella
The door clicks shut behind us.
Moonlight streams through ceiling-high windows, casting silver patterns across marble floors and designer furniture in what is clearly the penthouse suite. My mystery man hasn’t even flipped on the lights, but the city’s glow illuminates enough.
I step toward the window, taking in the Los Angeles skyline. The vodka’s warmth still lingers in my blood, making everything feel dreamlike. Part of me can’t believe I’m here, can’t believe I’d do something this reckless. But Gianni’s betrayal has shattered all my careful rules.
“Beautiful view,” I whisper, more to myself than him.
His footsteps approach from behind, slow and deliberate. The scent of cedarwood grows stronger. My heart pounds against my ribs as his presence fills the space behind me, not quite touching but close enough that I feel his body heat.
I turn to face him. In the dim light, his features are all shadows and angles. His dark eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that steals my breath.
He reaches up, fingers brushing my cheek with surprising gentleness. The contrast between his commanding presence all evening and this tender touch makes me shiver.
“Too late to walk away, krasivaya ,” he murmurs, his voice rough.
Instead of responding, I rise on my toes and press my lips to his. The kiss starts soft, questioning, but quickly deepens as hours of pent-up emotion and attraction explode between us. His hands tangle in my hair while mine grip his shoulders, pulling him closer.
Oh God… this is insanity!
And then the last threads of hesitation snap. There’s no going back now.
His kiss devours me, fierce and demanding. His lips are firm. Insistent. His breath is warm and fresh on my face as his tongue plunders my mouth.
My fingers fumble with his shirt buttons as he backs me toward the bed.
The silk of his tie slides through my hands as I pull it loose.
Each touch, each breath feels like static electricity washing over my skin, heightened by the knowledge that we’re strangers, that this night exists outside of reality.
“Wait,” I gasp as his lips trail down my neck. I need to see him, really see him. I reach for the bedside lamp.
He catches my wrist. “No lights.” His accent thickens with desire. “Just feel.”
The command in his voice sends heat coursing through me.
I arch into him as his hands slide down my sides, mapping every curve.
My blazer drops first. Then my skirt pools at my feet, followed closely by my blouse.
The cool air raises goosebumps on my bare skin, but his touch burns everywhere it lands.
I sink down and then settle onto the king-size bed.
He follows me, shedding clothes as he does.
My eyes widen at the sight of him. Lean, hard muscles move smoothly in the moonlight over a frame that’s pure sin.
Even in the darkness, I can see the honed planes of his broad chest and defined abs.
My eyes drop to the thick jut of his cock, and my breath catches.
Holy shit!
I don’t even know if I can…
I don’t get a chance to worry about it. The silk sheets caress my bare skin as he presses me into the mattress.
His muscled body covers mine completely, surrounding me in his intoxicating scent.
My nails rake down his back as his teeth graze my throat, making me arch against him with a gasp.
The roughness of his stubble contrasts deliciously with the softness of his lips.
“Oh, please,” I whimper as his hand slides possessively up my inner thigh, his touch sending shivers through me.
His fingers are a branding iron, searing a path of heat along my skin.
My body trembles, yearning for more, needing him to fill me.
His touch is a promise, a claim, and a demand all at once.
When his fingers slide beneath the lace of my panties and trace the line of my pussy, my eyes roll back, and I arch my back. A strangled cry escapes my lips as pleasure shoots through me.
“You like that?” he murmurs.
All I manage is a strangled groan as he zones in on my clit, tracing maddening circles over the sensitive nerves.
The talented strokes of his fingers are relentless, sending waves of sensation coursing through my body.
I’m reduced to a quivering mess beneath him, at the mercy of his skilled touch.
My hands clutch at his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin as I ride the crest of his fingers, climbing higher and higher.
My body moves of its own accord, each touch sparking new flames that consume me.
The room is filled with the wet sounds my body is making, but I don’t care about anything but the pleasure he’s awakening, each stroke bringing me closer to the precipice.
I’m teetering on the edge, every muscle tense, waiting for that final push that will send me tumbling over.
And then he gives it to me. A final flick of his wrist, and I shatter.
“Oh! God!” I cry out as my orgasm washes over me.
My body convulses, each pulse sending me higher, my voice hoarse with unrestrained passion.
I’m dimly aware of babbling mindless words that make little sense.
He doesn’t seem to notice them, his eyes fixed on my face as he watches me come apart.
Finally, I’m spent, my body boneless, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
“Oh, my God,” I choke. “That was…that was…”
“I’m not done with you yet, krasivaya ,” he growls against my skin.
The words drip with dark promise that makes me shiver.
His accent grows thicker with desire as he murmurs filthy Russian phrases in my ear.
They’re things I remember from my school days in Russia; words that were whispered behind locker doors, faces flushing, girls giggling.
Now, their meaning is clear in the way his body claims mine.
His hand cups my breast through the lace of my bra, his fingers finding my nipple, swirling over the puckering flesh. When he pinches me, I jolt, pain and pleasure mingling in a way that has my thighs pressing together.
I’m drowning in sensation, lost in the slick slide of skin on skin.
Every thrust draws desperate sounds from my throat that I barely recognize as my own.
My legs wrap around his waist, pulling him impossibly deeper as pressure builds low in my belly.
His rhythm grows erratic, his breathing harsh against my neck.
“Come for me,” he commands roughly. The dominance in his voice combined with a particularly skillful movement of his hips sends me over the edge with a scream. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me as he follows me into ecstasy with a guttural groan.
We collapse together, sweaty and sated. As our breathing slowly returns to normal, I realize with startling clarity that nothing will ever be the same after tonight. This stranger has utterly ruined me for anyone else.
I collapse against his chest, every nerve ending tingling with aftershocks. My body feels weightless, boneless, floating in a haze of satisfaction. His heartbeat thunders against my ear, matching my own racing pulse.
For these precious moments, there’s no room in my mind for anything but pure physical sensation. No Gianni. No betrayal. No charity event drama. Just the slide of skin on skin, the lingering taste of vodka and desire, and the perfect ache spreading through my muscles.
His fingers trace lazy patterns down my spine, sending little shivers through me. I nuzzle into the crook of his neck, breathing in that intoxicating cedarwood scent mixed with sweat and sex. My lips brush against his collarbone, tasting the salt on his skin.
“ Bozhe moy ,” I murmur without thinking, the Russian flowing naturally in this unguarded moment. His chest rumbles with quiet laughter at my use of his language.
The intensity between us gentles into something softer but no less intimate. My breathing steadies as I drift in the afterglow, my body still occasionally trembling with residual pleasure. His hand cups the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair as he holds me against him.
I’ve never experienced anything like this — this raw connection with a complete stranger. The sheer chemistry between us defies explanation. My skin still buzzes where he touched me, marked me, claimed me.
The passionate storm gradually calms, leaving us wrapped in comfortable silence. His steady breathing and the warmth of his body against mine creates a cocoon of peace that I want to stay in forever.
We lie in comfortable silence until he breaks it.
“I’m glad you came back here with me,” he murmurs.
“I’m kinda glad too.” My lips twitch. My body is still tingling. My thoughts pause. “I guess you’re used to this kind of thing.”
“No,” he replies, which I find hard to believe. A man like him could have anyone he wanted.
And he picked me.
Yeah.
For a one-night stand.
Big deal.
I push the thought away. I’m a free woman. This isn’t the Dark Ages. I can take my pleasure where I want it.
“The work you do… for the kids,” he says. “It’s a good thing.”
That comes out of the blue. But it’s a subject I love. I feel myself warm at the thought.
“I love it,” I say, smiling. “There’s nothing more rewarding. More important.”
“You have a good heart.” His fingers trail down my arm.
The intimacy of the moment startles me. Here I am, sharing pieces of my soul with a stranger whose name I don’t even know when just hours ago, I was supposed to be planning a future with Gianni.
The guilt crashes over me, even though I know I have no reason to feel guilty. Not after what that bastard did to me.
But suddenly, it feels like too much.
“I should…” I gesture vaguely toward the bathroom, needing space to breathe. He nods, understanding in his dark eyes.