Page 84 of Kept in the Dark
Stop, Nicole. This is what you want, and it’s finally happening. Get out of your own damn head.
I wish I could see him better. My pupils are slowly adjusting to the amount of light, and I can make out his dark shape well enough, but the details are coming in slowly—too slowly for this sharp urgency.
“Nicole,” he groans, his eyes blazing and roving across my bare skin. It prickles under his gaze, my nipples pebbling as if rising to meet him. I want to run my fingers through his chest hair and drink my fill of the planes and valleys of his muscular form. “You wore only the dress with nothing underneath. You hoped I would do more than just find you out there.”
The dark thought is electrifying, and I shiver at the image of him on his knees next to me with his hand disappearing under the skirt of my nightgown while the moon bathes our skin in a milky glow.
“I’ll admit it crossed my mind,” I confess, emboldened by the rawness in his throat and the hunger on his face. “But tonight, I just want it to be like this—you and me. One day, maybe it can be… you and me and theluna.”
His head falls back, and he groans out a string of words I don’t understand, except for one—med. Me.
“Perfect woman,” he says, and I hope it’s a translation. “Perfect, wicked woman.”
Using the back of his collar, he tugs his shirt over his head and tosses it aside. His pants are next. I realize I’ve left distance between us in my eagerness to see him naked, too, and that I’m a fool for it. Why just look when I can touch?
I step forward, reaching for him, and we come together in a full-body press. He places one hand around the back of my head, tipping it to slant his mouth across mine, and one hand around my waist, holding me steady. I grip his shoulders, massaging, feeling hard skin and thick scar tissue and rough hair. He drinks from me, and I rise to meet him. My blood pounds everywhere at once, beating a rhythm of our desire into my tender flesh over and over.
Dimitri walks us back towards the bed, grips both of my shoulders, and pushes me down onto the mattress.
Thrown off balance by the unexpected move, I simply fall, weightless, before I hit the padded surface. I bounce onto my back, breasts following the momentum of my body, and he’s on top of me before I even lose that momentum.
When his lips come down on mine this time, I try to meet him with equal energy, but he demands control of the kiss. He explores my mouth, forcing my tongue against his, our teeth clicking together. It’s wild, consuming, mindless.
Now, as I touch him, I feel free to explore the hardened planes of his back. I rake my nails against his smooth skin, delighting in how it makes the muscles contract underneath like a wave.
I inhale sharply as his knee wedges between my legs, which hang off the bed. The sudden pressure brings a heavy pounding to the forefront of my awareness. I need to be touched so badly. My hips move in small circles of their own volition, trying to get some contact where I ache the most. His quad is so hard, the perfect unyielding surface to get some friction—finally—against my clit.
Realizing what I’m doing, he rears up, breaking the kiss, and presses his leg harder against me, making me whimper. “Needy woman,” he says, amusement dripping from his low words. Each roll of my hips makes a soft, wet sound as my sensitive flesh drags across the abrasive hairs on his thigh. “Would you take your pleasure from me this way, or have me give it to you?”
My mind goes fucking blank at the weird phrasing and frank eroticism of that. All I can do is whimper in response. His hands circle my waist, stilling me, pressing me into the mattress so I can’t move against him. I make unintelligible noises at the loss of control, maddeningly frustrated and breathlessly aroused.
“Answer the question, Nicole.”
He asked me a question? Um… Oh, right! The way he said it was confusing, like something was lost in translation or in the clouded desire ofmy brain, but I think I got the gist. Enough to demand, “Give it to me,” in a half-whisper, half-groan.
He makes a thick noise in his throat and starts moving down my body. “I want to taste you.”
The feeling issomutual.But I hesitate. I’m not sure how long I can take the foreplay after weeks of gentle, courting touches that hinted and teased what could be. I really,reallyneed to get fucked. Hard. “No, that’s okay. We can just—”
“Just my fingers, then.”
“No, I meant…” I exhale in frustration. I don’t want his mouth or his fingers, I want his cock. “I’m ready. Let’s just skip the foreplay.”
“We cannot skip the foreplay,” he shakes his head.
Wait, aguyis suggesting more foreplay? I nearly laugh; it’s so absurd when measured against my previous experiences. “It’ll be okay. I’m already pretty wet, and once we get going and it feels good, I’m good. Or I can, like, add some spit or something…” I feel my cheeks heat, blushing like a damn virgin. Explaining this feels weird.
“No.” He’s firm. “I must prepare you for my size.”
I choke on my next breath. That’s not quite what I was expecting to hear. Where did this concern come from? A second ago, he was throwing me around like a pillow.
I try not to let my sexually fueled frustration seem so obvious as I say, “Um… that’s really not necessary. I can…stretch. I know you’re a big person, but I’m also a big person—I think we’ll be okay.”
His smile is little more than a quirk of half his mouth. He pulls back. “Yes, I know you are a large, strong woman. This is good. Even so, I will hurt you if I do not do this first.”
“Oh, come on, Dimitri,” I begin, nearly rolling my eyes as I bend my elbows to prop myself up. The unbelievable audacity of men. “You’reso bigthatyou—”
The sarcastic remark withers on my tongue as he drops his boxer briefs.
