Page 55 of Cruel Russian Monster
My fucking mouth went dry.
I knew the moment I saw that dress online I wanted to see her in it. But seeing her in it was a thousand times better than in my imagination.
The dress clung to every inch of her curves. The halter neckline dipped low, right between her breasts. High slits ran on both sides and exposed her legs all the way up to the swell of her hips.
“Vera,” I said, huskily. “Do a three-sixty.”
She hesitated, then turned slowly. The back of the dress was open and dipped just above her ass. Knowing Vera wasn't wearing a bra under her dress made me salivate. When she faced me again, her expression was uncertain.
I stalked toward her.
“You look fucking gorgeous,” I said, my eyes never leaving hers.
She crossed her arms, self-conscious. “I feel naked.”
I didn't answer her. I slipped on my jacket, took her hand, and led her to the limousine that was waiting in the parking lot of the resort.
When the limousine stopped, the driver opened the door. I stepped out and took Vera’s hand.
Hand in hand, we walked to the entrance of the restaurant, where we were greeted by the owner, Ms. Muller, a middle-aged woman in a chef’s uniform.
“Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Safin. Thank you for dining with us.”
Inside, the lights were already dimmed. Classical music played softly in the background, and candlelight flickered across the small, elegant space.
After showing us to our seats, the chef gave a polite nod. “Your appetizers will be served in ten minutes,” she said before excusing herself.
Vera looked around, her eyes glinting in the low light.
“This is nice,” she said, smiling. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Then she gave me a look. “But did you really have to place our orders without asking what I wanted?”
I reached for the bottle of her favorite wine and poured us each a glass.
“I know what you want,” I said, handing it to her.
She took a sip, eyes narrowing suggestively. “And what do I want?”
I sipped mine too, watching her over the rim. She tried to hide the smirk on her lips, but I heard the teasing in her tone. I told myself not to read too much into it. It was just the effect of the trip and the distance from the usual dangers we were accustomed to.
But fuck, I wanted her to feel like this all the time, not just in Florida. I wanted her this light, this playful, under my roof in Philly.
I set the glass down. “The same thing I do.”
She tilted her head slightly, swirling the wine in her glass. “Which is?”
“To be here. Alone. With you. Having dinner.”
Her voice purred, teasing. “We could’ve been in the villa…lights dimmed…having dessert.”
My cock jerked.
“Is that so?” I asked, a slow smile curling my lips.
Before she could respond, the chef appeared with a tray of appetizers.
