“When you do, what happens?”
A humiliating reminder of their first junior pairs competition was not what she’d had in mind. Skirt up. Fingers in. Tongue at work. She should’ve come by now. He never let things just
happen
.
At that first junior pairs competition, only three months along in their young partnership, she hadn’t trusted him. She’d tried to lead. Each turn, each grip, each step went wrong. Everyone had been disappointed, including their coach and both sets of parents.
None of that had mattered. One look at Dima’s blasted, exhausted face and she’d regretted her behavior. All of his disappointments had shown so clearly for the first time—the feelings he kept tucked inside a mind that had barely learned enough English to order a cheeseburger. Even so, those feelings had only slipped free for a moment before he closed off his expression and walked to the dressing room.
And their single sexual encounter. God, what a train wreck. He hadn’t been a virgin, but Lizzie had outranked him when it came to experience. No surprise there. Her teen years had been a series of mistakes even more ridiculous than jumping Paul. So when it came to a drunken, groping fumble that progressed to actual intercourse, she’d taken the lead, working his cock so hard and so eagerly, she’d practically guaranteed a thirty-second fuck. She still couldn’t tell what was worse—her embarrassment and disappointment, or knowing she’d made him feel the same way.
Since those hard lessons, trusting Dima had become her whole world. Their magic only happened when he led. They drove each other like cruel taskmasters during rehearsals, pushing to perfection, sharing ideas and fighting and making their union stronger because of that no-holds-barred exchange.
When the lights hit the stage, however, and their bodies found one another, he was in charge.
Too bad it couldn’t fall into place like that once the spotlight dimmed. How could she ever trust her future to a man who never opened up? Especially when so much between them remained uncertain? His deep, contemplative silences would be the end of her.
He crooked his two fingers, earning her tight groan.
“Bad things happen,” she answered at last.
“Always so hard on yourself.”
His grin was soft, nearly apologetic. Such lovely lips, firm and wide. She wanted to kiss the slight cleft in his chin and keep kissing until she learned every inch, every texture.
“Let’s just say,” he whispered, “that things don’t turn out as well as they could.” Leaning nearer, he dragged his tongue along the inside of her thigh. His fingers pulsed up and in. She shuddered as he rubbed her G-spot, rocketing her back to that high, hot arousal. “I’m asking you to trust me, little one.”
“Dima?”
With a groan, he dropped his forehead to her stomach. “What now?”
“I don’t…”
This was harder than she would’ve guessed. No, that wasn’t true. Talking to her partner about the man she’d just screwed
should
be hard. She simply didn’t like that she’d crammed herself into such a dumb-shit predicament. Ideally, she wouldn’t have needed sex with a stranger to bait the lover she really wanted.
Oh, no. Can’t go there.
She inhaled deeply. “I don’t want to spend the rest of the night lying in bed, comparing you and Paul.”
“Would you?”
“I think so. I’ve never done this before. Two guys. One night. Hell, you know that.”
“I don’t know anything of the kind.”
Her face flamed. “Well, I haven’t.”
He nodded soberly, eyes still intently focused. “Fine.”
Apparently making some sort of decision—not that he’d ever tell her in advance—he scooted off the couch and helped her to the floor. He propped a throw cushion under her head, urging her without words to lie flat on the hardwood.
The nervous tension in her belly wouldn’t calm. This had all the potential for a cosmic, flaming disaster. To have sex with Dima—again, now that they were grown—would change everything. What did she have to lose? She couldn’t dance with him, not yet. Every day that he left for the club was another day he slipped out of reach. She’d grabbed his attention with Paul, and had every intention of keeping it. Entirely.
He wore the furrowed expression his features assumed when soaking up new choreography. There was no one better. No one.
She touched his cheek. “I trust you,” she whispered.
Easier said than done. Whatever she’d expected fizzled away as he stood and stripped. Clean, efficient movements. She’d seen him change clothes more times than she could recall. Something had clicked off years earlier, so she’d no longer viewed him as a man to be admired, let alone to be lusted after.
Yet she hadn’t been putting on an act when goading Paul. Dima had an extraordinary body. Built through countless hours of practice, yoga and a strict regime of healthy foods, he could’ve been a model in anatomy classes. Every muscle defined. Every stretch of sinew precise, as if masculine grace could be drawn with lines of flesh, bone and skin.
And his cock. Good Lord, he was beautiful even there. Proud and firm, just like his stance. Even a little bit arrogant. Why shouldn’t he be?
Mine.
Lizzie licked her lips. He made her dizzy in ways she’d never thought possible. Not from Dima.
He knelt and straddled her body, facing her feet. The heart-stopping view of his back was illuminated by light angling through the far window. She watched, transfixed, as he levered down her body into a classic 69 position.
Oh God.
Her guts lurched on another hard rush.
Dima propped his weight on his elbows and knees. Before he dipped to taste her once again, he breathed against her inner thigh. “Suck me, little one,” he whispered there. “I want you to taste me too.”
Inside her, something tight and scared broke free. All the preparation fell away. All the nerves. Never once had she backed away from a challenge, especially not one that stood to produce a fantastic reward.
She drew her fingertips up Dima’s stomach, tracing each glorious ridge of muscle as they jumped beneath her touch. Another heady rush of power. Of need.
His mouth closed over her pussy just as she reached for his cock. Heat shot over her nerves like a bomb going off. She grabbed his thick, hard flesh in both hands, grounding herself in the buck of his hips. They would drive each other both mad, and they’d do it together.
The head of his prick was swollen and so smooth. She licked until that tender skin was slippery. No friction when she took him into her mouth. Dima’s low groan reverberated against her clit. That slight sensation was nothing compared to the quick pulse of his tongue. With a strong grip, he arched her pelvis, opening her more fully to his attention.
Lizzie bent her knees and planted her feet. The dampness along her soles stuck to the cool hardwood. She reached around his hips and grabbed his ass, just as he did hers. Firm muscle clenched beneath her palms as he gently thrust. Melting into the pillow, she let the sinful pleasure ease away the last of her tension.
Her jaw relaxed. She opened fully.
Dima sank his cock all the way to the back of her throat.
Christ, he was big. She tongued every lovely ridge along his shaft, in and out, as he fucked her mouth—and fucked her with his mouth. His tongue was more aggressive now, pulsing and flicking at her electric nerves. He used long fingers to open her folds even wider.
Lizzie sucked on the tip of his cock. Sucked hard. His ass tensed beneath her hands, trying to find that pulse again. She absorbed the sweetness of knowing she could make his body beg with just the hard pressure of her lips. Then she opened again, letting him in deep. He drove down. That sudden feeling of being trapped beneath his thrust jacked her arousal. She raised her hips, seeking an end to the sweet agony that built and built.
So good. She’d never imagined…
He lifted his mouth and bit the inside of her thigh. Just a nibble at first, followed by more pressure. A long, slow bite made her squeal, but that sound was muffled by his thrust. On the next withdrawal, Lizzie let him slide out. His teeth tightened, maybe as punishment. Her nerves bellowed a protest, while her pussy slicked with wetness.
She sucked her fingers instead of his dick, liberally coating her skin with saliva. That done, she let him back in. The satisfaction of being taken was so much stronger in that position. No way to disconnect. Mind and body joined until all she knew and all she thought was need. Dima needed to come and so did she.
With her wet forefingers, she found the pucker of his anus. He was tight but not unwelcoming as she slid inside. He moaned, hips tensing. The falter in his rhythm—from a man who could tap a steady beat in his sleep—was a victory. Lizzie pushed even farther, a gentle in-and-out to counter his gathering frenzy.
He was close. His precome was salty and sharp as she lapped it away. His respiration matched hers. Nearly frantic. She breathed through her nose as he found his rhythm, paired it with the beat of his tongue on her clit. Two fingers, maybe three, slipped inside her pussy. They were in each other, around, entwined, connected at such an intimate level, where all she knew was his sound and feel and taste. Even the air she dragged into her lungs was touched by his musk, his sweat.
Dima rubbed his chin against her inner folds. The sharpness of his evening stubble was nearly pain, but he kept with it, abrading that slick, tender skin, until Lizzie squirmed. Rough hands clutched her hips and kept her immobilized. No number of struggles bucked his fierce hold.
The scratch of his stubble triggered a hot, long-buried memory. It was the first time she’d seen Dima shave. Maybe nineteen at the time, he’d come home from some one-night stand, when they shared their first apartment in Soho—a shitty dive that always smelled of rotten apples. She’d stood in the doorway of the bathroom, berating him for making them both late for practice. Calmly, still wearing that cat-in-the-cream smirk, he’d shaved, never arguing back.
She’d been struck by the urge to be his again. Just one more time. One
good
time. To be the sort of lover who could shape his satisfied smile in the mirror as he shaved. Their one attempt at mixing professional demands with personal desires had been so mortifying that she’d turned away, leaving him alone in the bathroom.
He found her clit once more, trapping her with a gentle vise of teeth. Tongue, over and over. She pulsed her finger in time as his cock hit the back of her throat, stretching her, demanding that she take more.
She was that woman now. He wouldn’t be able to look at himself in the morning without remembering how he’d claimed so much, how she’d claimed so very much in return.
Since she’d walked in the door, fire had been building. Now it swept over her in a flash, like fall kindling struck by a spark. Her orgasm slammed up from where he sucked and nipped. She screamed, just as he’d wanted. Just as she’d wanted to. That harsh sound caught around a mouthful of cock. He ground his face against her pussy as she shattered and quaked. The beat of his pelvis faltered. A full-body shudder was her only warning as come filled her mouth.
Lizzie swallowed and swallowed again. She took all that he had and made it a part of herself. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done that. Rarely was anyone worth such a special concession. With Dima, it was nearly as satisfying as her climax. He’d lost control, and she drank her reward with greedy gulps.
Her thighs shook as he slowly licked and eased her back down to earth. Cock, fingers, tongues—all slipped free of where they’d been joined. Dima rolled to one side, with his back to the couch. He flung an arm over his eyes, chest heaving. Lizzie worked her stiff jaw back and forth as she looked up at the ceiling striped by the streetlamps.
“It wasn’t as loud,” he said, his voice gravelly and very, very Russian. “I liked that scream much better.”
The compliment made her shiver, just before her confusion returned. Had to happen. The part where it would be over. The part where her mind would slam back into place.
“Dima—”
“Trust me, remember?”
Before Lizzie could protest, he sat up. His stomach muscles rippled and bunched in a way that left her dizzy all over again. He knelt, gathered her into his impossibly strong arms and urged her to stand. She didn’t want to move and certainly didn’t have the strength to. Lying there meant not needing to sort through the bizarre evening, nor having to face the consequences.
“Trust,” he said against her temple.
He lifted her, as he’d done literally thousands of times. This was no competition lift, with practiced handholds, momentum and the mutual goal of hitting the next beat. This was simply his raw strength pulling her up and close. He was slick with sweat, and even that familiarity was charged with a new intimacy. They’d made each other sweat for years.
Never like this.
He crossed their apartment and into Lizzie’s bedroom. A few moments later she found herself snuggled under the blankets. She should say…
something
.
Thank you?
That was great?
Stay with me tonight?
She huddled more deeply beneath the covers and said nothing. It was as if his unexpected tenderness—the man she knew, but in the guise of a new lover she’d just explored—had robbed her of thought.