Emma #2
“You keep looking at me like you want to fight me,” he murmurs, his lips close enough to tempt me to turn my head. When I do, he pulls back just enough for me to see that smirk.
“Maybe I do.”
“Mm.” His gaze drops briefly to my mouth. “That will likely end badly for both of us.”
Heat flashes hard through me.
“I still haven’t forgiven you for stalking me through a farmer’s market.”
“You looked cute in my clothes.”
“I hate you.”
“No,” he says again, voice low enough to feel dangerous, “you do not.”
Before I can think better of it, I shove him hard in the chest. It’s a mistake.
Ruslan catches my wrist instantly. The air changes, and his fingers tighten just enough to make my pulse jump while his eyes darken in a way I recognize now.
Adrenaline crashes through me so hard it feels almost dizzying.
“You should stop touching me like that,” I whisper.
“Then stop provoking me.”
“You started this.”
“And yet,” he murmurs, pulling me closer abruptly, “you came into my bedroom.”
That shuts me up. Because technically—
His free hand slides against my waist, and suddenly every ounce of tension from the last two days detonates at once. Fear, anger, attraction, frustration—all of it crashes together until I can barely think straight.
“This is such a bad idea,” I breathe, hands going to the nape of his neck to thread into the short blonde hair there.
“Yes.”
Then he kisses me. Hard.
There’s no seduction in this kiss; we’re past that. This feels reckless from the start, all sharp mouths and pent-up tension that mutates into heat before I can stop it. I kiss him back immediately, pressing my tongue to his lips and enjoying the groan that escapes.
His hands fist into the t-shirt I’m wearing while mine dig deeper into his hair, pulling, tugging where the blonde shifts to a gleaming silver.
God, I can’t believe I’m wet just from the thought of this whole silver fox thing.
An older man who clearly knows what to do, where to touch, as the knuckles of one hand graze the underside of my breasts.
Somewhere in the middle of us stumbling backward into the edge of the bed, I realize we’re both still furious. Is that worse? Or better? Hotter? Definitely hotter.
“I’m not signing that contract,” I snap when I pull back enough to get the words out. Ruslan’s hands squeeze my waist, apparently enjoying the thick flesh there, massaging it and shifting my shirt further up.
“We’ll talk about it. After.”
Something in me, something I thought I lost a while ago, pushes back, and I do too. Literally. It shouldn’t be so easy to push Ruslan back onto the bed, but he gives up with an eager expression like he’s been waiting for this.
Has he? Should I have come to his room last night, the night before, and—
I shut the thoughts down, not wanting to think anymore. I’ve spent the last few months, the last year really, a complete mess. Now I feel in control.
I’ve missed that feeling.
Ruslan’s thighs are hard as rocks when I straddle him. He palms my ass and squeezes it, pulling my core down against his already throbbing cock. I let out an embarrassing whimper and grind against him, both self-conscious and impressed that I’m already this wet.
With one thumb he flicks open the button of my jeans and delves both hands to my ass again, massaging and grinding me against him. I don’t hold back, licking my lips as the friction sends a shiver up my spine.
“Off,” I gasp, standing and smirking at the surprise on his face.
Those fancy beige pants are tented, already darkened in one spot from pre-cum. Ruslan’s eyes darken, too, as he undoes the belt he so meticulously put on and shoves his pants and boxers down past his hips.
My mouth waters at the sight of his dick. It’s thick, darker than the rest of him, and clearly needy. When I put a hand on his thigh to kneel, it jumps to attention, bobbing just out of reach.
Without restraint, I lick a long, wet path up the base, pressing to feel the vein throb against my tongue.
“Blyat’,” Rus growls, a hand going to my hair and fisting it as I let my lips bob over just the very tip.
When I pull away and stand again, he looks ready to murder someone. Good. I want him to feel just as frustrated as I have, stuck in this house with his demands and his secrets.
Shucking my jeans off, I don’t bother with the panties I have on. They are nothing fancy, just satin briefs. I straddle him again, pulling aside the gusset and sinking down onto his cock. We both let out loud moans that fill the room.
If the lawyer is still outside, he’s probably beet red.
There’s nothing intentional or thoughtful about what we do next.
We just fuck, and it’s fast and literally furious, Ruslan’s hand on my throat again and my eyes locked on his as I sink two fingers into his scowling mouth.
He sucks on them hard, shoving my hips back so his cock hits that spot that makes me cry out, vision going white.
The orgasm is lightning. As fast as the fucking, just as electric, and it takes a while before my senses settle back into my body.
By then Rus has gone taut beneath me, one arm wrapped around my hips and the other around my back, gripping the back of my neck as he bends forward and grinds my pussy over and over.
He comes with a roar, hips stuttering to a stop, each pulse as he fills me up making me ache with a feeling so delicious I tip my head back and moan.
* * *
Afterward, I’m still mad.
Which feels unfair, considering I’m currently trying to catch my breath while Ruslan buttons his pants again like he didn’t just completely ruin my ability to think rationally.
“This changes nothing,” I mutter.
A dangerous smile curves his mouth. “You say that, but we haven’t agreed on terms.”
“I mean it.”
“Mm.”
I throw a pillow at him.
He catches it one-handed without looking. Show-off.
“You’re still not running a background check on me,” I say firmly. “If you don’t take it out of the contract, I walk.”
Ruslan takes a deep breath, leaning against the dresser. He looks mussed. In such a good way. His clothes are wrinkled, his glasses sliding down his nose.
Then, surprisingly, he nods once.
Relief crashes through me so hard I almost want to cry. But every other part of my body feels so overwhelmed and overstimulated that the best I can do is stare.
“You’re agreeing?”
“For now.”
He steps closer to the bed slowly, pale eyes fixed completely on mine now. The amusement fades from his expression piece by piece until something sharper settles underneath.
Ruslan braces one hand beside my head against the mattress and lowers his voice.
“I will skip the formal investigation.”
Something about the wording makes my stomach tighten.
“But understand this clearly, Emma,” he says softly. “I will eventually learn everything about you, anyway.”
The certainty in his voice is terrifyingly honest. And I believe him.