21. Sloane
SLOANE
His mouth is still hovering over mine when I realize I have made a mistake.
Not because I want him to stop. That would make everything considerably easier.
The problem is that I want exactly the opposite, and judging by the way Vadim’s hands tighten beneath my thighs when I breathe those words against his mouth, he understands that perfectly.
“Make me be quiet.”
For half a second, he only looks at me.
There’s something almost disbelieving in his expression, as though even after everything that has happened between us, he still expected me to back down before this particular line was crossed.
Then his mouth crashes into mine, and the kiss wipes the thought straight out of my head.
I wrap my arms around his shoulders and kiss him back while he keeps me pinned between his body and the wall, one hand supporting my ass and the other sliding up my thigh beneath the loose sweater I was given this morning.
His fingers are warm against my skin, moving slowly despite the hunger in his mouth, and the contrast makes every touch feel more deliberate.
His tongue moves against mine while his hand travels higher, finding the edge of my underwear and tracing it without slipping beneath. I squirm against him.
Vadim pulls his mouth away. “What happened to being difficult?”
“I can still be difficult.”
“You are rubbing yourself against my cock.”
I stop moving immediately.
His mouth curves.
I hate him. And I hate the way the hard length of him is trapped between us even more, pressing firmly against the thin fabric separating us and making it impossible to pretend I don’t want exactly what he wants.
“You’re very smug for a man who was complaining a minute ago.”
“I was not complaining.”
“You said I was making your life difficult.”
“You are.”
His hand slips beneath my sweater. I forget my argument when his palm closes around my breast. The bra underneath is thin, and he cups me through it before his thumb drags slowly over my nipple. My breath stutters.
Vadim watches my face. There’s something infuriating about how much he enjoys seeing every reaction he pulls from me, because he doesn’t simply touch me and move on; he pays attention, adjusting his hand until he finds exactly what makes my body respond.
“You were saying?” he asks.
“Fuck you.”
“That appears to be where this is heading.”
I almost laugh, but he kisses me before I can.
His hand moves behind my back and unfastens my bra with irritating efficiency, then pushes the sweater and straps down far enough to expose my breasts. The air is cool against my skin.
His eyes drop, and whatever humor was there disappears. The way he looks at me makes my nipples tighten before he even touches them.
“Vadim.”
He lowers his head. His mouth closes around one nipple, warm and wet, while his hand kneads the other breast slowly enough that my head falls back against the wall.
“Oh, fuck.”
He sucks harder. My fingers slide into his silver hair.
I noticed the color of his hair before I noticed anything else about him, but this close I can see darker strands mixed underneath, especially near the back, and feel how thick it is between my fingers.
There should be something about his age that makes this strange, because he’s clearly old enough to have lived an entire adult life before I finished school, yet nothing about him feels diminished.
If anything, the years have made him more imposing.
His body is broad and hard beneath my hands, scarred in places I have only begun to notice, his face severe enough that even when he’s relaxed there is something intimidating about him, and the silver hair only sharpens the effect rather than softening it.
His mouth leaves my breast and moves upward, kissing along my collarbone before returning to my lips.
I tug his hair, and he growls softly into my mouth. That sound goes directly between my thighs.
“Put me down.”
He stops kissing me. “Why?”
“Because I want your clothes off.”
For once, I manage to surprise him.
He lowers me carefully, and my feet barely touch the floor before I reach for his shirt. He lets me pull it open, though I’m careful around the dressing on his side, and the sight of the bandage reminds me that he was shot less than twenty-four hours ago.
“You really should not be doing this.”
“You’ve said that before.”
“And I was right.”
“You’re still here.”
“That doesn’t make me right less often.”
I push the shirt off his shoulders. His chest is exposed. I run my palms over him, fascinated despite myself by the difference between looking and touching. His skin is warm, the muscle underneath dense and solid, and there are scars scattered over his torso that I want to ask about eventually.
Not now.
Now his hands are already pulling my sweater over my head. My bra follows. Then my pants. By the time he lifts me again, I’m wearing only my underwear.
He carries me to the desk, and I laugh breathlessly as he sets me on the edge.
“You have a bedroom upstairs.”
“I know.”
“You own this entire house.”
“I’m also aware of that.”
“And we’re doing this here.”
His fingers hook into the waistband of my underwear. “You are still talking.”
I narrow my eyes.
He pulls the panties slowly down my legs.
The moment I’m naked from the waist down, the confidence drains out of me just enough that I instinctively bring my thighs closer together.
Vadim notices. His hands settle on my knees. “Look at me.”
I do.
“If you want me to stop, tell me.”
Something about the seriousness in his voice after all the taunting makes my chest tighten.
“I don’t.”
“You are certain?”
“Yes.”
He holds my gaze for another second before spreading my thighs. There’s something unbearably intimate about being opened beneath his hands while he watches me, particularly because I can already feel how wet I am.
He sees it, and his eyes darken. “Fuck.”
My stomach tightens at the quiet appreciation in his voice. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Look so pleased.”
His thumb brushes lightly over my clit, and I jerk.
“That is difficult.”
He does it again. My fingers close around the edge of the desk.
“Vadim.”
He kneels. My breath catches. I know exactly what he intends before his mouth reaches me.
The first slow stroke of his tongue over my clit sends a shock through my entire body. I gasp and instinctively try to close my legs, but his shoulders are already between them, his hands holding my thighs apart while he takes his time.
He doesn’t rush this either. He licks me slowly, learning what I like all over again even though he already did this at the hotel, changing pressure whenever my breathing changes and repeating anything that makes my hips move toward him. It feels indecently good.
My hands go into his hair as his tongue circles my clit. I moan, and he makes a satisfied sound against me.
“Stop being smug.”
He responds by sucking my clit into his mouth. My complaint turns into a cry.
One finger slides inside me. Then another. The stretch makes me grip his hair harder. He curls his fingers while his tongue continues moving, and I stop caring about anything except the pressure building deep inside me.
I can hear myself getting louder. At some point I remember that there are other people in the house, but I don’t care enough to stop.
“Vadim, I’m going to—”
He doesn’t let me finish.
His fingers move harder, his mouth sealing around my clit, and the orgasm hits so suddenly that my thighs clamp around his head.
I cry out, my hips lifting off the desk. He holds me there and keeps going until the pleasure becomes so sharp that I tug desperately at his hair.
“Enough.”
Only then does he stop.
He rises slowly. I’m still trying to breathe when he kisses me, and I taste myself on his tongue. The intimacy of it should embarrass me. Instead, I wrap my legs around his waist.
His cock presses against me through his trousers. He’s painfully hard.
“You still have too many clothes on,” I tell him.
“I agree.”
I reach for his belt. This time he lets me. His trousers drop just far enough for me to free his cock, and the sight of him makes me swallow.
He notices that too. Of course he does.
“Problem?”
“No.”
I wrap my hand around him, and his jaw tightens. He’s thick and hot in my palm, already wet at the tip, and I stroke him slowly just to watch his composure fracture.
His hand closes around my wrist after several passes. “If you continue, I will come in your hand.”
“That could be fun.”
“Not what I have planned.”
My pulse jumps.
He reaches toward the desk drawer. There are condoms inside.
I look at him. “You keep condoms in your study?”
“I own the house.”
“That’s not an explanation.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.” He tears one open and rolls it over his cock.
My nerves suddenly return.
Vadim sees them. He steps closer, placing one hand at my hip while the other cups my face. “We stop if you want.”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Sloane.”
“I said no.” Then I pull him toward me and kiss him.
That seems to settle it.
He positions himself between my legs. The blunt head of his cock presses against my entrance.
I feel the size of him properly now. My thighs tense, and Vadim slows.
He kisses me while pushing in, only a little at first, giving my body time to adjust. The stretch burns pleasantly, and I breathe against his mouth.
“Jesus.”
He stops. “Too much?”
“No.”
He pushes deeper. My fingers dig into his shoulders.
He’s careful until he’s fully inside me, then he remains still for several seconds with his forehead against mine, both of us breathing harder than we should be considering he has barely moved. I feel completely full. His cock throbs inside me.
He pulls almost completely out. Then drives back in.
My mouth falls open.
“That’s better.”
“You—”
He does it again, and the words disappear.
He starts slowly, one hand supporting my back while his hips move between my thighs, each thrust deep enough that I feel him everywhere.
I wrap my legs tighter around him. His mouth finds my breast again.
He sucks my nipple while fucking me, and the combination destroys whatever control I had recovered after the first orgasm.
I moan his name.
His hand slides between us, his thumb finding my clit.
“Oh, fuck.”
“Come for me.”
“I just did.”
“I know.”
His thumb circles faster. His cock drives deeper. I can feel another orgasm already building, impossible and too fast.
“You’re insane.”
“Probably.”
He kisses me. My body tightens around him, and Vadim groans.
That sound is enough to push me over. I come around his cock with a cry, my pussy clenching hard while his thumb keeps moving over my clit.
He follows several thrusts later, his face buried against my neck as his body goes rigid.
For a while, neither of us moves. I feel his breathing against my skin. Then he kisses my shoulder. Softly. That’s almost more dangerous than everything that came before.
Eventually he pulls out.
I expect that to be the end of it.
It’s not.
We make it upstairs somehow, although I barely remember the walk because Vadim keeps stopping to kiss me, once against the staircase wall and again before we reach the bedroom. Thankfully nobody sees us, or if they do, they ignore us.
By the time he gets me onto the bed, he’s hard again.
I stare at him. “You can’t be serious.”
He looks down at himself. “Apparently I am.”
“That should be medically concerning at your age.”
His eyes narrow. “You are becoming very brave.”
“I thought you liked that.”
“I do.” He climbs onto the bed.
This time he takes me from behind, pulling me onto my knees while his hands knead my breasts and his mouth moves over the back of my neck. He enters slowly again, despite how wet I already am.
My forehead drops toward the mattress, and his hand comes around my throat. Not squeezing hard, just closing there, holding me while he draws my body back against his chest. The contact makes heat rush through me.
“You okay?” he asks against my ear.
“Yes.”
His fingers tighten slightly, enough to make me feel him.
He lets me adjust to his size before he starts deeper strokes.
Every thrust drives me forward before his arm pulls me back, keeping my body pressed against him while one hand remains at my throat and the other moves over my breast. My nipple is trapped between his fingers.
I gasp. “Vadim.”
His mouth presses against my neck. “You like this.”
It’s not a question. I would deny it if my body were not making the answer embarrassingly obvious.
His hand leaves my breast and slides down between my legs. Two fingers rub my clit, and my thighs begin shaking.
“You’re going to make me come again.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think I can.”
He bites lightly at my shoulder. “You can.”
I hate his confidence.
I hate that he’s right.
The third orgasm tears through me so hard that my arms give out, and Vadim has to hold me upright while my pussy contracts around his cock. He groans against my neck and follows seconds later.
Afterward, we collapse into the sheets. I lie there breathing heavily while he rests beside me, one hand moving lazily over my hip.
Surely now he’s finished.
I should know better.
Twenty minutes later, I wake from something close to a doze because his mouth is on my breast. I look down to find Vadim’s silver head against my chest. His tongue moves over my nipple.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
He looks up. “No.”
“You were shot yesterday.”
“Stop using that as an excuse.”
“An excuse for what?”
“For denying me.”
I laugh. Then his hand slides between my thighs, and the laugh disappears.
He kisses me until I’m wet again, takes his time with his fingers and mouth until I stop protesting, and when he finally pushes inside me for the third time, the pace is slower than before. Almost indulgent.
We stay tangled together beneath the sheets, my breasts pressed against his chest while his hands move constantly over my body, as though even after hours of touching me he still hasn’t had enough. By the time we come together again, I’m exhausted enough that I barely manage to lift my head.
I look at him through half-closed eyes. “You are completely insane.”
His hand settles possessively over my hip. “Sleep.”
This time, I don’t argue.