Chapter 13
DAPHNE
I should be mortified by what just happened. I should be terrified I’m going to lose my job.
Instead, I’m laughing and giggling and running through the hall hand–in–hand with this insane man I only just met. He’s got the bottle of absinthe in his other hand, though hell only knows when he found time to recover that, and we keep passing it between us to take long gulps.
He gives it to me and nods at a door. “What’s this?”
I shrug. “Some storage closet. We only use it for overflow.”
He tries the doorknob. It opens. He gives me a wicked grin and winks. “That’ll do.”
Then he pulls me inside.
I follow him in and the door swings closed behind us. I don’t know why, but being alone with this man suddenly has me feeling all warm and self–conscious. I wrap my arms around myself and toe the cement
floor.
The laughter fades. The craziest man I’ve ever crossed paths with turns his back on me and starts thumbing through canvases stacked against the wall.
His face scrunches up at the sight of one of them. “The hell is this supposed to be?”
I lean against his arm and peer at the print in question. “Leda and the Swan. Which was a reimagination of the Greek myth.”
“Which was about as fucked up as this… I guess you could call it a ‘painting,‘ but it seems like a stretch to
call it ‘art.“”
I giggle. “You know, you don’t strike me as the academic type.” He sighs and sets the painting back in its place. “I’m not.”
“But you seem to know a lot about art. Mythology. Classical stuff.” “I’ve read books on occasion, believe it
or not.”
At first, I think I’ve crossed a line. But then he flashes me that disarming smile and slowly swaggers toward me until I’m backed into a folding table set up as a makeshift desk.
“So, moya plamya…” He takes a swig from the bottle of absinthe, but never once looks away from me. “How does it feel to be the vandalizer of someone’s very, very expensive property?”
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Chapter 13
I can’t hold back the impish grin. I grab the bottle from his grasp and tip it back to take my own deep sip. But right when I’m about to swallow, he holds my chin, pulls me to him, and kisses me.
I don’t know if I’ve ever experienced anything as erotic as this.
His tongue sweeps between my lips; he’s drinking the liquor from my mouth. And even when there’s nothing left, he does it again, and again… stroking my tongue with his, drawing soft moans from my
throat.
When he pulls away, I’m left completely breathless. “Like that,” I pant. “It feels like that.”
He smirks. Sets the bottle down.
And then, next thing I know, I’m sitting on the edge of the table and he’s wedged between my legs. His
hands rub my thighs, teasing my dress up to
my waist.
“Wait!” I gasp. “I don’t even know your name.”
He chuckles against my throat and sucks a warm kiss onto my skin. “Pasha.”
“Pasha.”
“Mhm.”
“Russian?”
“What gave it away?”
“Probably the part where you started speaking Russian.” It’s lame, I know. But the way he’s touching me, leaving trails of fire along my skin and sending shivers of pleasure straight to my core… I’m scrambling to maintain some grasp on my sanity. Quippiness is not high on my list of skills at the moment.
Pasha reaches up to cradle my face in his hands. I’ve never been so held by a man before. Revered. Worshiped, really–that’s the only word for it. It makes my heart race in ways it has no business doing.
“You are so fucking beautiful. Do you know that?”
On a logical level, I know I’m not the ugliest duckling. I’ve got most of my features in the right places,
more or less. Two eyes, a nose, a mouth, all that good stuff.
Did Conrad ever take the time to tell me that?
Not so much.
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Boyfriend Let His Side Chick Ruin My Painting, Now He Regrets
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At the reminder of everything else that’s happened today, my cheeks burn with shame. I try to look away, but Pasha keeps holding me in place. I try to lower my gaze, but he kisses my eyelids and my heart
Instantly hurts.
I want him.
I want him to want me.
But…
“I can’t. Do this, I mean.” I brace my hands against his chest. His very solid, very warm, very carved chest.
“I can’t fraternize with a client.”
Pasha regards me for a moment. “You may not remember this, but you just burnt the only bridge between me being a client and not. I officially own nothing that was purchased here.”
He smells incredible. Like leather and wood and sex. It’s intoxicating, paired with the sound of his deep
voice.
“So that doesn’t matter anymore,” he continues. “Nóthing does. Nothing but you and me. Right here. Right now. So…” His thumb rubs my bottom lip. “What’s it going to be, moya plamya?”
The part of me determined to be a good girl scolds me for even being in this backroom with him.
The rest of me tells that part to shut the fuck up and kiss him already.
Our lips collide. Pasha’s chest rumbles with a pleased growl. I start popping buttons open so I can feel his bare skin beneath my fingers. He’s a literal wall of muscle and heat and I sense his heart racing
underneath my palm.
I want to taste him.
Every, Last. Inch. Of. Him.
His hands envelop me as he caresses my body, so far up beneath my dress I have half a mind to rip the damn thing off. I feel his fingers smooth up my waist and stroke my back… and then my bra pops open.
My eyes widen with surprise. That was smooth. Pasha breaks away from our kiss to look at me. “Is the door locked?” I pant.
He nods. But then that grin widens as he peels my dress up and over my head. “Would it matter if it
wasn’t?”
“What do you mean? Of course it would-”
Another kiss. Another embrace. By the time we separate, I’m practically naked in his arms, my hardened
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Chapter 13
nipples rubbing against his bare chest as he sucks on my tongue and starts to slide my panties down my legs.
And then he’s pushing me down, his mouth trailing hot kisses down my jaw and neck to the valley between my breasts as he lays me out on the table.
“Now, this,” he snarls when he looks at me spread out like a feast for him, “is a work of art.”
I blush. I gasp, too, when he leans over me and devours one nipple. His hands continue to massage every stretch of my body, and I don’t know if I’m melting or flying or a little bit of both.
“I’ll… I can stay quiet,” I assure him. I can–I’ve never really been one for loud sex. No one has ever pulled
that sort of reaction from me.
Pasha lifts his head from where he’s kissing my stomach. “Why?” My brow furrows. “Why what?”
“Why stay quiet?” His tongue passes over the crease in my hip and I shudder.
“Because they’ll… they’ll…” I can’t think. His lips press over the sensitive skin right above my mound and
he’s draping my legs over his shoulders. Is he doing what I think he’s doing? “They’ll hear me. Us.”
“Good. Let them.”
My back arches at the first glide of his tongue between my folds. His grip on my thighs tightens, then
smooths up my legs to my waist where he presses me down. Oh my God, I don’t know what to grab, but I
need to grab something or I’m gonna buck off this table so hard it’ll be like a rocket launching into space.
So I fist my hands in his hair and tug the same time he nips and sucks and tugs and then sweeps his tongue even deeper inside me.
I haven’t… I don’t…
When was the last time Conrad kissed me down there? Has anyone done this to me before?
I can’t remember. I can’t fucking think. Pasha is somewhere between making out with my slit and fucking
me with his tongue… and then he moves up a bit.
His wicked mouth latches onto my clit. His hands keep me anchored in place, but nothing stops the loud cry of pleasure from pouring out of me.
Back and forth, back and forth, his tongue flicks and swirls and teases that small bundle of nerves that makes my toes curl and my hips grind against his face.
And then one of his hands leaves my waist, and I think he’s going to move on to something else—
I cry out again. He’s filling me with his fingers–first one, then two–and instantly searches for the spot
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deep inside me that no one, especially not Conrad, ever tried to hit.
“Sing for me, moya plamya.” Pasha breathes over my pussy. He presses, his fingers curl, and I feel the sudden surge of pleasure when he finds that sweet spot inside me.
I’m writhing like crazy, my moans pitching as the pleasure builds and builds and builds deep inside…
And then it bursts open. I’m seeing stars.
I don’t know how long I ride that high. I don’t know if I ever want to come back down.
Pasha holds me, murmuring his encouragement for me to just “let go, let it out, let them hear, let them all fucking hear.”
“So fucking beautiful,” he whispers against my skin as he kisses the insides of my thighs. Then he’s suddenly rising over me, dragging me closer to the
edge of the table until my ass dangles over open space. His hands are the only things keeping me from crumbling to the floor.
He kisses me and fuck, I can taste myself on his lips and tongue. It’s so dirty. So… so wicked.
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