Page 30 of Mercenary Princess

Chapter 11

London, England

Sophia suddenly felt uncomfortably awkward. She’d only had sex with two other men. Not even men, really. High school and university boys were not men. They hadn’t been remotely like the man in front of her.

Thankfully, Viktor didn’t give her any more time for the insecurity to claw any deeper.

His voice rumbled through her, his warm breath at her ear, sending delicious tremors over her skin as he handed her the communication blocker. “Your protection.”

He bent and lifted her into his arms before she knew what he was doing. He might be a dangerous man, but when his thick arms bracketed her, she felt oddly safe, and she couldn’t shake the desire to curl into his chest and set her lips to the strong column of his tanned neck.

His strides were long and sure as he carried her through the room to the doorway she’d seen. His gaze seared into hers as he kicked the door shut behind them and kept moving toward a bed with what had to be a ten-foot-high black leather headboard. She took in the shades of gray—clean, masculine, and simple.

She wobbled a bit when he set her down by the bed, unsteady and very aware of what they were about to do. After years of fantasizing about him, she wondered if the reality was going to be half as incredible. One look at him said he was about to blow her mind.

If only her nerves weren’t kicking back up. She hadn’t been this nervous in the hotel room. She’d been too consumed with lust to think at all. She turned away quickly, and with trembling fingers, she set the jamming device on the stone fireplace mantel, her sexual bravado of before nearly nonexistent. The flickering light on the side of the device seemed to taunt her, daring her to let go and have fun. She was safe. The drapes were slowly gliding shut, stamping out the soft sliver of moonlight. It was Viktor’s doing, she was sure. She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t seem to get her anxiety under control.

The fire came to life a moment later, casting a warm glow over the very masculine space. His hands slid over her arms from behind, and her muscles instantly tensed. “There’s nothing to be nervous about, Princess.”

She wanted to argue that she was fine, but he had read her accurately. Instead, she leaned back into his warmth, wanting to find that lust-filled haze where nothing existed but pleasure.

She closed her eyes, admitting what he’d probably figured out. “I haven’t done this in a while.”

“How long?” His warm breath was near her ear, and she tilted her head, wanting his lips there or on her throat, as he’d done in Paris.

“Four years, give or take.”

When he slowly turned her to face him, he seemed very serious. “So long?”

He was gauging her response, but she didn’t know what he was looking for. “Yes.”

He tilted her chin up so he was looking into her eyes. The look on his face was more fiercely protective than the encounter warranted. “Is there a reason? Something I need to know?”

Her fingers stilled at the buttons of his shirt when she realized what he was asking. His reaction warmed her in a very dangerous way. She couldn’t afford to get attached to him. This was about one thing—pleasure.

With a self-deprecating tilt of her lips, she shook her head. “Nothing happened. It just hasn’t been worth it.”

She wasn’t going to tell him that her dry spell was partly due to fantasizing about him for eight years. That just seemed sad. But earth-shattering chemistry wasn’t something she’d experienced before now.

She saw the moment he decided to accept her answer and pull her in for another devastating kiss. The tension melted from her muscles. His kisses were demanding, consuming. His tongue slid along hers, tangling in the same way she wanted his body to writhe with hers. She barely felt the material of her dress being loosened.

Fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, she made a frustrated noise, pushing the offending material free the instant she could. She broke away to gaze at the hard-packed muscle that flexed under her touch. His skin was incredibly hot. She traced down the fine line of hair leading beneath his waistband. Her roving fingers loved the way his skin rippled as if following her path. Were there faded bruises on his side? She bit her lip to keep from asking, but she couldn’t stop touching him, reveling in the dips and angles she found. He was beautiful.

He groaned before slipping the thin straps of her dress down her shoulders. It took great effort to pry her hands from his body long enough to send the material to the floor. She hadn’t bothered with a bra since the dress was tight and lined. She heard him utter a harsh Russian curse when his hands caressed her heated bare skin. He broke away to gaze down at her body.

With a show of strength, he lifted her and tossed her to the bed. A gasp escaped her when her back met soft bedding. His intense look followed the way her breasts bounced with the movement.

“Spread your legs for me.” His demand was softly spoken, but no less a command as he removed his shirt with very deliberate movements.

Her breathing was ragged, and her eyes tracked the way his shoulders flexed with every movement. She hadn’t ever been ordered to do anything in bed, but it made her nipples so much tighter. His intent gaze only added to the intensity of the moment.

She spread her thighs, emboldened by the hard bulge fighting the confines of his slacks. His expression seemed to warm when she did as ordered. The delicate black lace didn’t cover much, and she wondered why he hadn’t told her to remove her panties first.

“Slide the material over. Show me.” The words were a guttural command this time.

She swallowed because his demanding nature ignited something inside her. The desire to obey fought with the need to rebel. The entire time, his eyes tracked her face and her body, seeming to catalog her every reaction.

“Do you always give orders in bed?” Huskier words had never left her lips.

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