14. Vadim #2
She’s already wet enough that my tongue slides easily over her, and the knowledge that I caused even part of that does something dark and possessive to me. I circle her clit slowly at first, then flatten my tongue and lick her with more pressure when I feel the way her body responds.
Sloane’s hands leave the sheets and find my hair. Her fingers curl against my scalp.
I suck gently on her clit, and she shudders. The sound she makes is soft, almost broken, and I immediately want another one.
I slide one finger into her while keeping my mouth on her, feeling the tight warmth of her body close around me. Her hips jerk again, and when I add a second finger and curl them carefully, she gasps. I keep my eye on her while I keep sucking on her clit.
Her head has fallen back against the pillows. Her eyes are closed. Her lips are parted. The sight of her like this is almost as satisfying as touching her.
I keep the rhythm steady, using my fingers inside her while my tongue works over her clit, and the change in her becomes obvious within moments.
Her breathing grows more rapid, her thighs begin trembling around me, and the grip she has in my hair tightens until the faint sting only adds to what is already building inside me.
“Vadim, I’m—”
“I know.”
She makes an impatient sound at the interruption, but it breaks into a moan when I suck her clit more firmly and curl my fingers again.
Her orgasm hits hard. Her body arches off the mattress, and a cry tears out of her as her pussy clenches tightly around my fingers. I hold her through it, keeping my mouth on her until the trembling begins to ease and her hand moves from my hair to my shoulder in a weak attempt to push me away.
“Too much,” she whispers.
Only then do I stop. I kiss the inside of her thigh, then slowly work my way upward over her stomach, pausing at her ribs and breasts before reaching her mouth again.
She is flushed everywhere. Her chest is rising quickly, her lips are swollen from kissing, and when I cover her mouth with mine, she tastes herself on me and responds with a low, breathless sound that immediately makes my cock ache harder.
Her arms come around my neck. I settle partly beside her instead of directly over her because of the injury in my side, and she turns into me without being asked, pressing the warmth of her naked body against mine as the sheets twist around our legs.
For a little while, neither of us says anything.
I simply touch her.
My hands move slowly over her back, down along the curve of her waist, across her ass, then upward again until my palm closes over one breast and my thumb brushes her nipple.
She makes another soft sound and shifts closer.
I kiss the top of her shoulder. Then her neck. Then the warm hollow beneath her ear.
There is something unexpectedly intimate about this part, perhaps more intimate than what came before, because neither of us is rushing toward anything now. I realize with some discomfort that I could remain like this much longer than I normally tolerate closeness after sex.
Except we haven’t even had sex yet.
That realization sends another hard pulse through my cock.
Sloane notices. Her hand moves slowly down my stomach, and my muscles tighten beneath her touch. When her fingers reach the waistband of my trousers, I catch her wrist.
She looks at me. “What?”
“If you continue, I’m going to stop pretending I have patience.”
Her mouth curves. “Who asked you to pretend?”
I release her.
She opens my belt, then the fastening of my trousers, her eyes dropping as she pushes the fabric lower. The moment her hand closes around my cock, I swear.
Her smile widens. It is small, smug, and entirely deserved.
“Not so composed now.”
“Sloane.”
She strokes me slowly. The pressure is light at first, almost exploratory, but she adjusts quickly when she feels my reaction, tightening her grip enough to make my jaw lock.
I kiss her before she can say anything else.
Her hand keeps moving between us while my own closes over her breast, kneading the soft weight of it as my thumb circles her nipple.
Within minutes, there’s almost nothing left between us. Clothes have been pushed onto the floor or abandoned at the edge of the bed, the sheets are tangled around our legs, and Sloane is stretched beneath me with her hair spread across the pillow and her thighs opening as I shift closer.
I position myself carefully so I don’t put pressure on the stitches.
Her eyes follow the movement. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“About your side.”
“I know what you meant.”
Her expression remains skeptical.
I kiss her once, deeply and slowly. Then I slide my hand between her thighs and feel how wet she still is. “Does that answer your question?”
“That answers a completely different question.”
“Good.”
I move closer until the head of my cock rests against her.
Her breath catches.
For a moment, I don’t do anything except feel the heat of her against me. Then I drag the head slowly through her wetness, brushing over her clit before moving back.
Sloane’s eyes close, her fingers gripping my shoulders.
I repeat the motion, slower this time, and watch the way her lips part.
“Vadim,” she moans, the sexiest sound in the universe. There’s nothing but pure need in it. I want to hear it again.
I press against her entrance.
My phone rings.
The sound cuts through the room with such perfectly miserable timing that I close my eyes. Sloane begins laughing.
I look at her.
“Stop it,” she mutters.
“I didn’t say anything.”
The phone continues vibrating across the bedside table. I ignore it until the ringing stops.
For perhaps three seconds, there is silence.
Then it starts again.
Sloane lifts one eyebrow. “That sounds important.”
“Nothing is important enough.”
“You might regret saying that.”
“I already regret owning a phone.”
Her fingers slide over my chest.
The phone keeps ringing.
I exhale through my teeth and pull away from her. Cold air immediately replaces the heat of her body, and my cock remains painfully hard, which does nothing to improve my mood.
Sloane’s gaze drops.
I catch her looking. “Don’t start.”
“I still haven’t said anything.”
“You are thinking loudly.”
“That is apparently contagious around you.”
I reach for the towel draped over the chair and wrap it around my hips, mostly because attempting to discuss business while naked, erect, and standing beside a woman I’m still considering throwing back onto the bed seems unnecessarily difficult.
I pick up the phone.
Anton.
“This had better involve death.”
There’s a pause on the other end.
“Possibly.”
My irritation recedes. “What happened?”
“We finished the inspection of the aircraft.”
I turn slightly. Sloane is sitting against the headboard now, the sheet pulled across her chest, watching me with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.
“What did you find?”
“A tracking device.”
Everything inside me stills. “Where?”
Anton hesitates. I don’t like hesitation.
“Where, Anton?”
“In the lining of a bag.”
Anton goes quiet again.
I already know I’m not going to like what he says next.
“It was Sloane’s.”