Page 27 of The Dancer and the Grumpy Billionaire

“I did,” he says quietly, his thumb rubbing absently against my hand. “And I did feel a connection. I do.”

“It felt like we were meant to find one another,” I say.

He finally looks at me again and the wall is down. “Yes,” he answers. Then he lets out a slow breath, as if he is letting go of all of the things holding him back.

I crawl across the console to straddle him in the driver’s seat. He laughs as he pushes a button to move the seat back. We are tall people, so it is awkward, and we fumble around, removing still-wet shirts and pants, shoes and socks.

In only our underclothes, I lean in to brush my lips against his. His hands press hard against my back, pulling me closer as he deepens the kiss. I indulge in the softness of his curls, still damp from being caught in the rain, our bodies moving as our breath mingles.

I shift so that his mouth can find my breasts, still sheathed beneath my red lace bra. His tongue runs over my nipples through the fabric as I let out a soft moan. His hands find my ass and he pushes me to move. His seat is all the way back, flat and he lies on his back as he moves me so that my apex hovers over his face. When he leans in, his mouth finding my wet, hot center through my panties, I cry out with pure desire.

He pushes the fabric to the side, his tongue darting between my folds, inside of me, to my clit. My hips move of their own volition, my mind only able to grasp the intense pleasure I feel.

Vasily’s hands stay at my hips, helping to guide me up and down as he pleasures me with his mouth. My hands brace against the roof of the car, my head falling back as I climax.

Vasily next moves his hands, only to free himself before moving me back down so that we are aligned once more. He guides himself, pushing aside the thin fabric covering me and I slide onto him, the fit tight due to his size and my inexperience. It hurts, only slightly and he holds my hips, his gaze intense as he searches my expression.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

I nod, not wanting to look away from his beautiful face. When I start to move, that connection is still in place. We don’t lose it, not while I rock gently against him, one of his hands moving to my stomach, fingertips caressing my skin before moving to trail along the bottoms of my small breasts.

The softness of the touch, the unhurried, tender rhythm of our coupling, it is too much. It feels perfect and painful in the best way. Tears form and then fall, and he uses those same fingertips to catch the fat tears that slip down my cheeks.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks again, his voice thick and husky.

I nod. “I’m perfect,” I say, leaning down to kiss him.

Now his hands are on my back again, pulling me so close, close enough that we feel like one person, moving together, the friction building between us. When climax comes again, I bury my head in his neck, in the soft curls that smell like rain.

He comes soon after, his long body going tense as the word “Gigi” slips across his lips like a plea, like a prayer.

I lie on top of him for what seems like an hour, just feeling his heart beating, just listening to his breathing. His fingertips trail along the bare skin of my back and I swear I could just stay like this forever.

“I want badly to fall in love with you, Gigi,” he finally says. “I can feel the possibility of it, but I won’t have you lying to me. This cannot work if you won’t talk to me.”

My heart leaps at the possibility of being in love, of being loved. And it halts at the thought that both of those ideas may be doomed already.

CHAPTER 12

Vasily

Sean calls me mid-week, which is odd considering we just had lunch a week ago. We are friends from grad school, obviously, but not the kind of friends who check in regularly.

“Kyrylo,” I answer.

“Vee,” he says by way of greeting. “It’s Sean.”

“Hey, man.”

“Hey, so, don’t get mad at me, but I got curious about your dancer after we had lunch.”

“Oh?”

“The name didn’t ring a bell at first, but it just kept nagging at me, so I did some checking and that’s a stage name. Her real name is Galina.”

“Gusev,” I finish. “I know.”

“And you know who her father is?”

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