Page 90 of Dirty Damage

The image of her in bed proves too much for my already-strained control. I slide closer, wrapping an arm around her waist.

Her sharp intake of breath is music to my ears.

“It would be a shame to waste this dress.” My voice drops to a growl. “And this body.”

“People have seen more than enough of my body as it is.”

“No such thing for me.” I nip at her soft skin. “And the whole point of this party is for people to notice you. They won’t have a choice while you’re wearing this.”

My fingers pass along the inside of her thigh. Her legs part like she can’t help herself, opening for me.

“I don’t want to be noticed, Oleg. I need to be?—”

I stroke along the lace front of her panties, and we both freeze.

“What youneed—” I circle the pad of my thumb against her center. “—is to relax. I know how to help with that.”

My lips find her neck as I slip my thumb beneath the fabric, stroking her velvety softness. She rolls against my thumb, breathless. “The dress… My hair…”

“Don’t worry, princess. I won’tcompletelyruin you.”

No matter how badly I want to.

Five days of celibacy has me wound tight. Having her this close, packaged like sin incarnate—it’s more than I can stand.

Not without a small taste, at least.

She’s wet for me. Drenched. I spread her arousal with my thumb while she writhes.

“But… Uri…”

I grit my teeth at the sound of any other man’s name on her lips. Maybe I should ruin her just a little. Enough that anyone who sees her will know what she was doing before the party and who she was doing it with.

Mine.

I rotate my hand and slide my middle finger into her. She moans into my kiss as she stretches around me.

I stroke out of her and push in with two fingers.

“Oleg—!” she gasps.

That’s more like it.

She may be nervous about the party, but that hasn’t stopped her from soaking through her panties for me.

I rain kisses down her neck as I work her with my fingers, feeling her surrender with every slide of our skin together. I’m unknotting her worries from the inside out.

She curls her fingers into my hair and drags my mouth back to hers. Our tongues clash together as she rides my hand, rolling herself deeper onto my fingers.

I reach out with my free hand until I find the volume knob, cranking the music to drown out the desperate noises pouring out of her.

I’m supposed to be getting her pregnant. We’re here to make an heir and play at marriage—neither of which involve fingering her in the back of a limo.

But I don’t care.

I feel the first flutters of her climax around my fingers and nothing else matters.

I grip her jaw, my hand splayed across her pretty throat from ear to ear. “Come for me, Sutton.”

---