Page 171 of The Pucking Arrangement

His exhale is ragged. “I want to peel it off you,” he murmurs, voice dark and lethal, “like I promised.”

I shift in my seat, but his grip tightens, fingers teasing higher, pushing my dress up inch by inch.

“Dmitri.” My voice is barely a breath, and I hate the way it betrays me, the way it trembles like my body already knows it’s lost this fight.

His smirk is dark and confident.

“You wore this for me,” he murmurs, voice rich with satisfaction, his fingertips tracing fire up the inside of my thigh. “Like a good girl.”

I suck in a sharp breath, my nails digging into the leather seat. “It’s Defenders blue,” I try weakly. “I wore it for the team.”

His thumb presses against the edge of my panties, right where I’m aching.

“Liar.”

Heat floods me. I press my thighs together again, but he just chuckles, low and knowing, prying them apart with his hand.

“You’re squirming,” he murmurs, dragging his knuckles down my thigh. “What’s wrong,solnyshko? Too much?”

I turn my head sharply, staring out the window, desperate for distance. But all I see is our reflection—his broad shoulders, his dark eyes locked on me, the way he’s got me spread open and barely breathing.

“I hate you,” I whisper.

He grins. “Liar.”

The cab jerks to a stop in front of my building. I lurch forward, but Dmitri’s arm snaps out, steadying me, keeping me right where he wants me.

The cabbie lets out a low whistle. “Damn. You two gonna make it?”

My entire body burns. Dmitri pulls out a bill, tossing it into the front seat without looking away from me. “I’ll make sure of it. Keep the change.”

Then he’s out of the cab, hauling my cello onto the sidewalk before extending a hand. A command, not an invitation.

I hesitate.

He cocks his head, eyes glinting in the dim streetlights. “Erin.”

I take his hand. He yanks me to my feet, then straight into his chest.

I gasp, but before I can protest, his lips are at my ear. “Open the door.”

My fingers fumble as I unlock the building entrance, but he doesn’t help. Just watches, hovering too close, his breath warm against my neck, his body heat sinking into my skin.

The second the door swings open, he’s moving, crowding me inside.

The stairwell is dim and quiet. I take a step, but he’s right behind me. Another step, and his hand slides to my hip.

“Dmitri,” I hiss, looking over my shoulder. “I can climb the stairs myself.”

He just smirks. “Keep walking.”

I practically run up, but he stays on me, one step behind, one hand always on my body, like he’s daring me to stop him.

We reach my door. My heart is slamming against my ribs. I turn, back pressed against the wood, blocking the entrance. “You brought me home,” I say, breathless. “Now I want to go to bed.”

His hands flatten against the door on either side of my head, caging me in. His smirk curves, stealing the air from my lungs.

“Yes,” he murmurs. “That’s exactly what we’re going to do.”

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