Page 59 of The Den of Sin
He stood there in his suit pants, his glorious, mouthwatering chiseled chest on full display. There was ink on his upper chest. Words, but I couldn’t quite read them from here. I was certain he didn’t have a tattoo there five years ago.
My fingers buzzed with the need to touch him. My heart raced in my chest, and my body demanded to feel his hands on me again. Meeting his eyes, I recalled how a mere twenty minutes ago, I orgasmed with his fingers inside me, in the corner of an open bar, in plain view of anyone.
I swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were here.”
“Who did you think was here?”
Confused, I met his gaze. “Nobody, I guess.”
My fingers balled into small fists, resisting the urge to go to him. He should really put his shirt on because the temptation was too strong. Those ripped muscles underneath the tanned skin. I just wanted to touch him and feel his heat under my palms.
“Ummm, I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing,” I muttered and forced myself to move from my spot.
“Do you want to know what I was about to do?”
My eyes roamed over his half-undressed state, and I had a pretty good guess. I almost expected the woman in the cat suit to come out of that bathroom right behind him. She’d probably be out any moment, and I’d shatter into a million pieces.
“No.”
“You are not curious to see?”
I met those eyes that I obsessed over since the moment we locked eyes. It was like my soul recognized something in this man. My body hummed with life around him, my blood sang with euphoria each time he touched me. Every living, breathing cell was for him and him alone.
“No, Vasili. I am not curious to see you with another woman.” I was impressed my tone was calm and unwavering. Truth was that it would hurt -- like a bitch. Seeing Ryan with another woman was bad, but seeing Vasili touch a woman the way he touched me would break me. I had no illusions about it. My mother gave her heart once. In her journal she said afterwards that she loved, but it wasn’t anything like the way she’d loved Vasili’s father. I felt the same; Vasili Nikolaev would always be the one that took most of my heart.
I took two steps and was almost at the door when his voice stopped me.
“I was going to jerk off. Alone. Thinking about you. Those soft moans of yours.” He let the meaning linger with the silence, the occasional crackling sound of the candle flicker. I slowly turned around and watched him walk over to the mini-bar I hadn’t noticed earlier. He grabbed a bottle and sat on the edge of a bed made for the most delicious of sins. Taking a big gulp directly from the bottle, his eyes returned to me. “I can smell you everywhere.” His heavy accent was doing things to me. “You could watch, like before. I’ll take whatever crumbs you are willing to give me, Isabella.”
My breathing became heavier, my pulse racing erratically, and I licked my bottom lip. His eyes followed the movement, the intensity in them burning.
I wouldn’t be able to resist without reaching out to him if I watched him pleasure himself. He was my nirvana, my addiction. I was coming to terms with it; I’d never get him out of my system.
I turned my back to him and took three steps towards the door.
“Isabella,” his voice was raspy, a hint of desperation and need in it. “Please stay.”
I shut the door and turned the lock with a soft click. Facing him, I strode towards him, our eyes locked on each other. My body craved him. I had never felt a fraction of this with Ryan. Maybe I wasted his time, or used him to fool myself. But this week made it abundantly clear, I had never gotten over Vasili.
I’ve been telling myself for the past five years I was over him. I told myself that I had to move on. Love again. Trust again. And all along, my heart kept waiting for Vasili. I stayed away from him, but his shadow lurked in my dreams, my heart, my very soul.
Slowly moving towards the ghost of my dreams, I kept my eyes on him. I stopped in front of him, facing him, and although he was sitting, my body still appeared small compared to his. He could crush me again, but my mind was already made up.
I was starved for him, for his touch. The last few days were just glimpses of the passion I could have since he stormed back into my life. But touches weren’t enough. It was just foreplay.
He took my arms and tugged me between his widespread legs. His mouth connected with the thin material of the flimsy bra of my costume, and sucked on my nipple. A jolt of electricity shot through my body at the sensation and a loud moan left my lips.
My hands laced through his short hair, my body writhed closer to him, needing him. It was like getting a dose of medicine to ease the pain of the last five years. His touch eased all of it, all of those longings. He bit down on my nipple, and I arched into his mouth. I found myself lowering, straddling his thigh.
“Vasili,” I breathed out his name. How many times did I call out his name during those lonely nights, imagining his hands on me as I pleasured myself? And now he was here, in my grasp.
I started to grind my pussy against him, needy and hot.
“That’s right, Isabella,” he growled. “Tell me how it feels.”
I closed my eyes, relishing in sensation. “I want you, Vasili.”
To hell with everything. I would deal with the heartbreak when it came. Now, I wanted him, craved him like the air I breathed. If life kept throwing him my way, I would take him.
