2. Marla
MARLA
The kiss is everything I hoped for and nothing I expected. His lips are firm, demanding, coaxing mine open with an expertise that makes my knees weak.
I grab his shoulders for balance, feeling the solid muscle beneath my palms, and he makes a low sound in his throat that vibrates through me.
His tongue slides against mine, and heat explodes through my body, pooling between my thighs.
His hands move from my face to my waist, pulling me flush against him, and I can feel every hard plane of his body against my curves.
One hand slides lower, cupping my ass through my dress, and I gasp into his mouth.
The bulge pressing against my stomach tells me exactly how much he wants this—-wants me—-and the knowledge makes me dizzy with desire.
"Bedroom?" he asks against my lips, his voice rough.
I nod, not trusting my voice, and take his hand.
My fingers look small wrapped in his as I lead him down the short hallway to my room.
The lamp from the living room casts just enough light for us to see, painting everything in soft shadows.
Russ doesn't waste time.
As soon as we're through the doorway, he's kissing me again, walking me backward until my legs hit the bed.
His hands find the zipper at the back of my dress, and he pauses, pulling back just enough to meet my eyes.
"You good?" he asks. There's something almost tender beneath the heat in his gaze.
"Yeah," I breathe. "I'm good."
The zipper slides down with a whisper of sound, and then his hands are pushing the fabric off my shoulders.
The dress pools at my feet, leaving me in just my black lace bra and matching panties. I fight the urge to cover myself, hyperaware of my curves.
Zach used to make comments, little digs that made me feel like I was never quite enough.
But Russ looks at me like I'm a feast and he's starving.
"Fuck, Marla," he says, his hands skimming up my sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts.
His compliment sends chills along my spine.
He reaches behind me and unhooks my bra with practiced ease, tossing it aside.
When his hands cup my breasts, his thumbs brushing over my nipples, I can't hold back the moan that escapes.
"That's it," he murmurs, lowering his head to take one nipple into his mouth.
The sensation is overwhelming. His tongue circles and flicks, his teeth grazing just enough to make me gasp. My hands find his hair, threading through the blond strands. He gives equal attention to both breasts, and by the time he pulls back, I'm trembling.
"Your turn," he says with a grin that's pure sin. He pulls his shirt over his head in one smooth motion, and I forget how to breathe.
His body is a work of art. Broad shoulders taper to a narrow waist, every muscle defined and powerful.
His chest is dusted with light hair, and I can see the edge of a tattoo peeking from his left shoulder.
There's a scar along his ribs, another on his abdomen, marks of a life I can't even imagine.
But right now, all I can think about is touching him.
I reach out tentatively, my fingers tracing the lines of his abs.
His skin is warm, the muscles jumping beneath my touch.
He watches me explore, his breathing getting heavier as my hands move across his chest, his shoulders, down his arms.
"You're beautiful," I whisper, and he laughs, the sound low and rough.
"That's my line, sweetheart." He catches my hands and brings them to his belt. "Help me out here."
My fingers fumble with the buckle, clumsy with nerves and desire.
He covers my hands with his, guiding me, and together we get his belt undone and his pants unbuttoned.
He shoves them down along with his boxer briefs, and then he's completely naked in front of me.
Oh. Oh.
He's big, thick, and hard, and I can't stop staring. Heat floods my face, and Russ chuckles.
"Like what you see?" There's humor in his voice, teasing but not mean.
"I, um." I swallow hard. "You're really..."
"Big?" He grins.
I glance up at him, see the teasing in his eyes, and smile.
He's teasing me, but he really is big.
And thick. And hard.
He hooks his fingers in the waistband of my panties and slowly pulls them down, his knuckles dragging against my skin.
When I'm finally naked, he guides me back onto the bed, following me down.
The weight of him pressing me into the mattress feels right, perfect, like this is exactly where I'm supposed to be.
His mouth finds mine again as his hand slides between my thighs.
When his fingers brush against my center, I nearly come off the bed.
I'm already wet, embarrassingly so, but Russ makes an approving sound.
"So fucking wet for me," he murmurs against my neck. "Do you have any idea how hot that is?"
I don't answer. I'm not even sure I could if I tried. My mouth has suddenly gone dry and my tongue feels like it's swelled to twice its size.
I swallow thickly as his fingers explore, circling and stroking, finding spots that make me gasp and arch.
When he slides one finger inside me, I grip his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin.
He works me slowly, adding a second finger, stretching me, his thumb finding that bundle of nerves that makes stars explode behind my eyelids.
"Russ," I gasp, not even sure what I'm asking for.
"I know, baby. I've got you." He kisses me again, swallowing my moans as he works me higher and higher. The pressure builds, coiling tight in my belly, and then I'm shattering, crying out against his mouth as pleasure crashes through me in waves.
I'm still trembling when he enters me slowly, giving me time to adjust. There's pressure, a stretch that borders on pain, but he's patient, kissing me and murmuring reassurances. When he's fully seated inside me, we both go still, breathing hard.
"Fuck, you feel amazing," he groans. "So tight. So perfect."
He starts to move, slow and steady, and the discomfort fades into something else entirely. Pleasure builds with each thrust and roll of his hips. He adjusts the angle, and suddenly he's hitting a spot inside me that makes me see stars.
"There?" he asks, and I can hear the satisfaction in his voice.
"Yes, oh God, yes."
He picks up the pace, his movements becoming harder and faster.
The sound of our bodies coming together fills the room, mixed with our breathing and moans.
His hand slides between us, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves again, and the combination is too much.
I come apart with a cry, my body clenching around him. He follows seconds later, his hips stuttering as he buries his face in my neck, my name a rough groan on his lips.
We stay like that for a long moment, both of us catching our breath. Then he pulls out and I immediately feel the loss.
He lies back down beside me, pulling me against his chest.
His fingers trace lazy patterns on my shoulder, and I can feel his heartbeat gradually slowing beneath my palm.
We lie there in comfortable silence for a while, and I find myself drifting, sated and content. But then Russ shifts, sitting up.
"I should go," he says, and there's something almost apologetic in his tone. "I've got an early morning."
I nod, trying not to feel disappointed. This was always meant to be a one-night thing. No attachments or expectations. That was the whole point.
He dresses quickly, and I pull on my robe, following him to the door. At the threshold, he turns back, cupping my face for one more kiss.
"Thanks for tonight," he says. "You're something special, Marla."
And then he's gone, the sound of his car fading into the night.
I lean against the closed door, my body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure.
My mind is racing, full of sensations and emotions I need to capture before they fade.
I practically run to my laptop, not even bothering to get dressed.
My fingers fly over the keyboard as I open a new document and start typing.
The way his hands felt on my skin. The heat of his mouth. The stretch and fullness of him inside me. The way he made me feel beautiful, desired, and perfect.
This is exactly what I needed. Real experience and sensations to draw from. My romance novel is going to be so much better now that I know what I'm writing about.
I type furiously, capturing every detail, including the humor and tenderness mixed with raw passion.
I'm so absorbed in my notes that I don't realize how much time has passed until I hear a knock at my door.
Sunlight streams through the windows, and I blink in surprise. It's morning already?
I throw on some clothes and open the door to find Sharon standing there, practically vibrating with excitement.
"Oh my God," she says, pushing past me into the cabin. "Oh my God, Marla. Do you have any idea who you went home with last night?"
I blink at her, confused. "Russ?"
"Rustik 'Russ' Stepanov," she says, her eyes wide. "Marla, he's one of the richest and most powerful men in the entire city."