He played with my breasts until I was so far gone I would do anything to feel him inside me—anything. I worked on his belt buckle, pulling him out. He was hot and heavy in my hand, and so hard I couldn’t resist pumping him in my fist once. He hissed against my throat, and before I could even get a good look at him, he gripped my hips and pushed me down until I’d sunk halfway onto his length.

He groaned.

I gasped.

It hurt. It really hurt. It’d been too long for me, and the bastard was well-endowed. I panted, my thighs quivering as I tried to adjust.

His grip tightened on my hips, and I rested my hands on top of his to try and stop him from shoving me down all the way. I shook my head, as if I’d done my best but it wasn’t going to work out in the end.

“All of it, malyshka,” he commanded.

The warmth in his voice drifted straight between my legs, soothing the sting and filling my stomach with heat.

One of his hands slipped out from mine to trace my landing strip until he found my clit. He rubbed it in a circular motion, and then his mouth found my breasts again, licking and sucking. I moaned, every touch feeding the hot buzz in my core, until, slowly, I slid down, taking him all the way inside me.

“Fuck,” he gritted, looking down at where we were connected. He gripped my hips tight enough to bruise, tension radiating from him, every muscle in his body pulled taut. “Fuck, you’re so tight, malyshka.”

The feeling of him inside me was so intense, my body trembled. The backs of my eyes burned, and I pressed my face into his neck.

His heartbeat raced against mine.

He was shaking.

“Fuck me, Gianna.” He sounded on the brink of control, like if I didn’t start moving then I was going to get fucked, hard. That quickly set me in motion; I didn’t think I could handle him unleashed yet.

I moved slowly, rocking my hips in a circular motion, grinding my clit against him, shuddering with the intensity.

“You’re so goddamned lucky we’re in a car right now.” He pressed the threat against my ear, his words heavy with a Russian accent that was beginning to drive me crazy. Evoking such a lack of control from the cold fed was addictive. I wanted so much more.

His hands moved everywhere—down my spine, grabbing fistfuls of my hair to angle my head the way he wanted it, gripping my hips to grind me harder against him. He slapped my ass, nipped my neck and throat, sucked my nipples—the feeling of him inside me, the way he was everywhere, the way he was holding back and letting me grind on him, it was all too much.

I came so hard spots flew behind my eyes. The fire inside me burst, spreading a warm, tingling sensation throughout my body.

“I’ve dreamed of that sound,” he rasped, nipping at my earlobe.

Warmth filled me like sunlight. I shouldn’t take what he said to heart—he was often rude as hell—but, God, when he was sweet, it made me feel on top of the world.

I wanted to please him.

I wanted to make him lose his mind.

Reaching back, I rested my hands on his knees and rode him so he could see everything. His gaze caught fire, trailing from my parted lips, to my bouncing breasts, to where he slid in and out of me. I was so wet it was dripping down my thighs and filling the car with an obscene erotic noise.

He suddenly stilled me. Ran his tongue across his teeth.

“You’ve adjusted, malyshka?”

With half-lidded eyes, I nodded.

“Good.”

He gripped my hips, pulled us chest-to-chest and bounced me on his erection. Hard. Up and down, not giving me a single break from the assault. My moans and whimpers trembled in my throat with the force. My fingers splayed on the window as I searched for something to hold onto that wasn’t so consuming. So devastating. So him.

“Oh, God, oh, God.”

When I climaxed the second time, he swallowed the noise in his mouth. And, with a punishing last thrust and a shudder, he finished inside me. Then, he softly nipped my neck in a rough sort of appreciation.

Our heavy breaths filled the silence. I was so full of contentment, high on a languid post-coital bliss, as I rested my face in the crook of his neck. Curled my fingers in his hair.

“Say something in Russian.”

“Ty samaya krasivaya zhenshchina kotoruyu ya kogda-libo videl.”

“What did you say?”

“You’re annoying.”

“I would hate to be Russian if it takes that many words to say something so simple,” I mused. I didn’t believe for a second that was what he’d said.

Something thick and wet slid down my thigh. My sex-high liquefied and turned to ice in my stomach. Had I really just had unprotected sex—so unprotected, by the way his come was leaking out of me—with Allister? I did frantic mental calculations in my head, trying to calculate when I ovulated. Which was, of course, now.

He must have felt the tension in me because his hand stopped its caress down my back. “You’re not on the pill.” It was more of an assumption than a question.

I never had sex—why would I need to be?

Pushing away from him, I pulled a bra strap back onto my shoulder as an icy trickle of panic crawled up my spine. “No.”

I could only imagine if I got pregnant while my husband was on his deathbed and couldn’t conceive with a helper and a bottle of Viagra.

Nothing but a whore.

Whore.

Whore.

My lungs squeezed, tightening and tightening with a band that wouldn’t release. Tears burned the backs of my eyes.

Two rough hands grasped my face. “Breathe.”

His touch dimmed my papà’s voice in my mind. I was suddenly envious of Allister; my nightmares were terrified of him. I shut my eyes, focusing on the breathing techniques my therapist taught me.

“We’ll get a Plan B.” His thumb brushed away the tear running down my cheek.

I nodded, shaky.

He let me go, and as he put himself back together—zipping his pants and fixing his hair that I’d thoroughly mussed—something frigid settled in the air. It felt suspiciously like regret. His warmth disappeared, ice coming back to his eyes and shoulders.

If he didn’t know the extent of the baggage I carried around before, he knew now. Mortification felt heavy in my chest. Maybe this had been necessary—to make it easy not to speak to him again. Simply because I’d be too humiliated to acknowledge this had ever happened.

The panic attack soon ebbed, but it was still so cold between us. Even as he helped me adjust my dress and then used a napkin from the glovebox to wipe the come from my thighs.

I SHUT THE CAR DOOR harder than I should have. Ran a hand through my hair to try and get rid of the soft feel of her fingers in it. Rolled my shoulders to push away the obsessive thoughts lighting up my back. Keep her. Make her want you. Make her need you.

Fuck, I shouldn’t have done it.

It was like trying to cure an addict by giving him the best goddamn hit of his life.

A bell dinged above my head as I entered the drugstore. It took longer than it should have to find the right aisle because images of Gianna still consumed my mind. Her soft eyes, lips parted, the flare of her hips, her sweet thighs as she shuddered while trying to take all of me.

My heart rate sped up, heat running to my groin.

I was already hard for her again.

It hadn’t been my plan to fuck her, but once I had my hands on her I couldn’t stop. You’d think it would have given me some relief, but all it seemed to have done was provide me with more images, noises, and real-estate to obsess over.