Page 42 of Sold to the Russian
Maeve swallowed and cleared her throat, hoping she sounded as natural as possible. She felt stupid all of a sudden for attempting to snag his phone when he was aware of it the whole time.
“I’ll have you know there are cameras here, Maeve,” he said, turning his head to the side to meet her green gaze. “I’m aware of every single thing you do. I’ll know if you try anything stupid.”
“Relax,” Maeve rolled her eyes, her voice relaxed even though she felt anything but on the inside. “I couldn’t sleep, and I was bored. Unfortunately, someone shot my phone to pieces, so I had to look for an alternative.”
“And what could be possibly entertaining about a phone?”
“Ever heard of social media?”
“Yes?”
Maeve turned to look at him, lips curling into a smirk. “You’re not on social media.”
“Why would I be?” he sounded incredulous. “Every smart person I’ve met knows social media rots the brain. It’s a waste of precious time.”
Maeve asked, turning to face the ceiling. “Or you could just admit that you’re a boring forty-year-old who still lives in the medieval times.”
“I’m not forty,” he said, sounding genuinely offended. “I’m thirty-four.”
“You’re six years away from forty—”
“Six is no small number.”
“—so you’re basically forty.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-four, old man,” she replied, fixing her gaze on the ceiling. She could feel him staring at her now, dragging her gaze down her body. “Stop staring at me like that.”
He was silent for a moment, and then he asked a question that surprised. “Is social media the only thing that cures your boredom?”
Maeve turned, interested and confused all at once. Interested that he’d asked, confused that he was interested. “Why?”
“I’m curious.”
“Painting helps,” she said off the top of her head. “My life would be a lot less miserable if I had a paintbrush, some paint, and a canvas.”
He went silent again, and Maeve’s brain almost went into overdrive with how hard she was thinking about how to set the mood, how to play her game. So far, so good, the atmosphere was light enough for her to take it to the next level.
So, without contemplating too much, she did the first thing that came to mind. Rolled over and straddled him. Her thighs were on either side of his hips, and her nightgown had ridden up, bunched around her hips, doing a poor job of concealing the lacy black underwear beneath. One of the thin straps of her gown had slipped down her right shoulder, revealing the soft swell of her breast. Her hair, a red, wave mess, spilled over her back.
She’d expected him to be caught off guard by her sudden move, but aside from the faint flex of his abs beneath her,he didn’t react. He just watched her, his posture intact, but even though he didn’t touch her, his eyes betrayed him. They wandered past her face, her neck, her breasts, her thighs astride him.
It wasn’t enough, though, so she shifted subtly, testing him, trying to provoke something without being too obvious. Maybe she wasn’t playing it right because what she really wanted was for him to touch her.
His eyes were dark, unreadable. “Are you doing this because you’re bored too?”
Maeve met his gaze, unflinching. “I’m just doing the same thing you did to me.”
Her fingers found the hem of her nightgown and slipped it up, over her head, leaving her in nothing but the black lace beneath. She let it fall to the bed beside her before looking back at him. His eyes were molten as they committed the image of her to memory, tracing the curves of her breasts, heavy and full, moving softly with every breath she took. Her nipples were as hard as he felt beneath her, pink and erect, and Maeve was pleased when she saw him rake his teeth over his bottom lip.
She’d tell him to look at her, but he already was.
“Feel,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear. Desire laced in knots over her skin with every laser-hot tracing of his eyes over her chest. “Check whatever you need to check to be sure I have no ill intentions towards you or your fancy cameras.”
Despite his want being as clear as day, despite the palpable tension they both felt, despite his thickening length nestled right between her legs, he was holding himself back. He wasn’t reaching for her, but his jaw was flexed, the heat in his eyes slowly sliding over her.
Maeve wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep up with this act.
