Page 27 of Wrapped in Perfection

"I should have asked you earlier. Are you a picky eater?" he asks.

"Do I look like one?" I reply then regret it.

Why can't I be confident like I used to be?When I used to date, before Mitch, I never would have said anything like that.

His eyes darken. He swiftly pulls me onto his lap. "You know what I see, my kotik?"

I don't respond, embarrassed for my lack of self-confidence, and try to turn away, but he doesn't let me.

His fingers stroke my ass. "I see a blonde bombshell with a sexy ass..." He glides his finger up the side of my body and traces the top of my dress then around the fullness of my chest. "Voluptuous breasts..." His other hand slides between my legs, an inch from my sex. "And perfect thighs."

My lungs take in air in shorter breaths. My pulse beats faster in my neck. I squirm on his lap, squeezing my thighs against his warm hands, staring at his lips.

He leans into my ear. His breath is hot, and more flutters explode in every part of me. His deep voice and Russian accent get thicker. "I still haven't heard you say it."

"What?" I whisper, the scent of him making my blood pound harder.

"That you aren't going back to him."

I freeze, not sure why he keeps asking me or cares so much. I'm pretty sure he can have a different woman every night in his bed. Even Vivian said women are constantly throwing themselves at him.

His middle finger strokes so close to my slit, I'm sure he can feel the heat radiating through my panties. His lips brush against the skin under my ear, and he murmurs Russian.

I rock my hips on his lap and turn my face toward his so our mouths are only inches apart. "I don't know what you said."

He pins his eyes to my mouth and says some other things I can't comprehend, while caressing my ass cheek and thighs.

I close my eyes, enjoying the way words roll off his tongue, wanting him to kiss me more than I've ever wanted anyone to. The car comes to a halt, and he stops talking. I realize I'm panting. I open my eyes and his drill into mine, blazing hot, his face hardened.

Is he mad?

The driver opens the door, and Dmitri slides his hand off my thighs. He moves me off him, steps on the sidewalk, then reaches in to help me out.

There's a line around the corner of the restaurant, but he guides me to the front. A bouncer a bit smaller than Dmitri slaps hands with him and speaks in Russian then motions for us to go through.

Russian music plays, similar to the kind Dmitri put on while we got ready. The restaurant is dark, except for candles on the tables and dim lights around the ceiling. A hostess smiles at us. He dips down and kisses her cheek.

A tiny bit of jealousy shoots through me. It's an innocent gesture, but I don't like his lips on her. I don't know what they say, but she turns and smiles brighter at me.

I force myself to be polite, and she leads us through the restaurant. A woman is singing on stage, along with a three-person band. Her long gold dress glitters against the dark backdrop. Sex oozes from every word she sings.

The hostess escorts us to a booth. It's hidden from others but still has a view of the stage. Dmitri motions for me to slide in. I do, and he sits next to me.

"Anna, do you drink wine?"

I nod.

He says something to the hostess, and she smiles, then leaves. A waitress appears quickly with a red bottle, opens it, pours a few inches in a goblet, and hands it to Dmitri.

He puts it in front of me.

"I'm not a wine connoisseur," I admit. "I'm not picky."

His lips twitch. "I never said you were. And I want to know your opinion, kotik."

"Why?"

"Humor me. Drink. Tell me your thoughts."

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