Page 56 of Dirty Damage

“See? No need to be scared. I’ll be careful.” The words are hot in my ear. He nips at my lobe, circling it slowly with his tongue as his hand strokes down my chest. “How fond are you of this shirt?”

“Umm…” I can’t form words. Not when his hands are on my body. His breath in my ear.

Before I can form a sentence, he tears my shirt off in one swift tug. I gasp as my breasts spill free.

His eyes dilate as he takes me in. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so desired, so wanted in my whole life.

“The pictures don’t do you justice,” he growls.

Somehow, the idea of him going through my boudoir photoshoot isn’t nearly as mortifying as it once was.

“Did you like what you saw?”

He drags the long, hard length of himself against my panties in answer. “You have no idea.”

Then he rips those off, too.

“Do you plan on ripping off all my clothes?” I do my best to sound annoyed, but I’m breathless. “Because… I’m… gonna run out at some point.”

He chuckles, deep and throaty, sending a vibration through my very core. He could probably knock me up with his laugh alone.

“I’ll buy you new clothes. It was on my to-do list already.”

“Is there something wrong with my clothes?”

His lips tickle their way down my neck. I twist away, just because the sensation of him is too much, but I don’t get far with the cuffs around my wrists.

“Only that you wear too many of them.”

His lips leave my neck for my breasts. As he circles my right nipple, I moan. When he pivots to my left, I arch off the bed.

I’m already straining against my cuffs, desperate to curl my fingers through his thick hair. He smirks up at me, all shadows and amusement.

“You asked for this, Sutton.”

I’d ask for it again, too.

I’d beg.

Plead.

Anything to keep his attention on me. To reach the finish line I’m rapidly approaching.

He sucks my nipple into his mouth, and I cry out. I squirm closer, widening my legs, inviting him in.

But Oleg takes his time. He moves at his own pace, enjoying the taste of my skin and the way I gasp and moan with every new touch.

I know because he keeps praising me.

“You sound so pretty when you’re moaning for me,” he whispers in a hushed tone.

We called thisjust business.But it doesn’t feel like that. It doesn’t feel clinical.

It feels fucking unholy.

But whatever it is, I’m powerless to stop it as his hand slides between my legs. I know he can feel how wet I am, how ready I am.

He groans when his middle finger disappears into me. Then another.

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