Page 50 of Bombshells
My breasts feel achy, and I’ve started to shake. The brace of his hard body makes me sweat. “Please,” I beg. I’m in a hurry now. More. Hotter. Faster.
“Slow the fuck down,” he hisses. “If we’re making this trip to the land of reckless decisions, I’m gonna enjoy the ride. Now hold still.”
I stand quietly on loose knees, while Anton locates the zipper where it’s trapped at my hips. He eases it down at a torturous pace. I fight off a shiver as he drags his fingertips down my bare back, past the lace of my bra, and all the way onto my lacy black panties.
My dress falls into a silky heap at my feet.
“Jesus, Mary, Mother of God,” he whispers, as one big hand massages my ass cheek. “You’re stunning, Sylvie.”
No one has ever paid me such a compliment, in such a reverent tone. And nobody has ever run his hands over my ass the way he’s doing now—his touch a mixture of wonder and ownership.
This is exactly what my life has been missing.
Again, I try to turn around, and this time he lets me. I look up into that incredible gaze. “Take me to bed now, Anton. You know you want to.”
He swallows roughly. I see a flicker of something dark cross those bright eyes. “If this is really what you want.” He lifts his chin toward the bedroom. “Lead the way.”
“It is,” I assure him. Then I step out of the circle of my dress and lean down to pick it up, wearing nothing but see-through black lingerie and my heels.
“Jesus fuck,” he mutters in a voice that sounds almost angry. The moment I’m vertical again, he yanks my hips toward his body as his mouth crushes mine.
I wasn’t expecting the kiss, but I am a professional goalkeeper, and pretty damn good at catching things flying my way. So it only takes me a split second to adjust to the friendly assault of Anton’s aggressive mouth. His lips stroke mine urgently. I lean in and kiss him with everything I’ve got.
He tilts his head and brushes his tongue across the seam of my lips. His roughened hand cups my jaw, his thumb sliding over my cheekbone. It’s possessive in a way that makes my heart stutter.
It doesn’t matter that I’m in way over my head. It doesn’t matter that I’ve never actually been naked with a man before. When I chose this one, I chose well.
This was exactly what I wanted. As Anton’s tongue pushes inside, I feel even luckier than I had before. This man has always made my heart beat a little too fast. Call it chemistry. Call it luck. Call it intuition. But why have I been ignoring the possibility of this?
A naughty hand slides down my thigh, lifting my leg to wrap around his body. And then I’m balanced on one high-heeled foot, braced against him in a wanton pose that would be ridiculous if it weren’t so hot. My bare thighs slide against the smooth wool of his trousers. And, hello, there’s a very hard cock bumping between my spread legs.
I moan into his mouth as his kisses continue to destroy me. Our teeth click as he tilts his head, searching for an even more thorough way to torture me.
This seduction was my idea, but there’s no mistaking who’s in control right now. And it’s not me. My mind turns to a static fuzz as I hold tightly to his body and allow each plundering kiss to roll through me.
I’m not even surprised when he manages to slip his other arm down to scoop me completely off the ground. Then I’m airborne for a short time while he maneuvers into my bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him.
He sets me down carefully beside my bed. Drunk from his kisses, I put a steadying hand on his shoulder as I make a move to remove my shoes.
“Don’t,” he rasps. “Leave them on.”
“Okay?” It had never occurred to me to leave them on, but I’m prepared to do whatever this man says.
I can’t resist reaching up to tug one end of his bowtie. The satin gives way, and I unravel it, sliding it all the way out of his collar. I toss it on the bed, and then reach for the buttons on his shirt.
In the darkness of my room, the white buttons are a little hard to spot on the white shirt. I get most of them, though, before Anton gets impatient. With one quick yank, he snaps the last two buttons off, and one of them hits the wall with a pop.
Did he just…?
“Lie down,” he says. “On your back.”
I reach behind my body for the clasp of my bra. “Should I—”
“Leave it,” he says.
“Yessir,” I say, meaning to make a joke. But his eyes flare. There’s that look again—like he’s half desperate, half angry.
I don’t know why I like it, but I do. I lie down on the bed, my heart thumping wildly. My bra feels too tight, and the scrap of lace serving as my panties are soaked. I just want them gone.
