Page 30 of Paved in Hate

“What are you doing?”

“Look in the mirror.”

She turns her head, groaning when she sees the paint splotches dotting her pretty face. “That’s about right,” she mutters.

She holds her hand out for the cloth, but I ignore her, choosing to do it myself instead. Hooking a finger under her chin, I tilt her face up to mine and run the warm cloth along her adorable button nose. I don’t know what in the hell has gotten into me. I can’t stop thinking about her, and whenever I’m around her, I keep noticing things that I’ve never noticed on a woman before. I hate to say I’ve always been the stereotypical man who only pays attention to tits and ass, but that pretty much sums me up before my little bride walked down the aisle and I lifted her veil and she started fucking with my mind.

The blue of her eyes is almost identical to the paint Roman used in the nursery, and why the hell am I even noticing that? I shouldn’t like seeing her fingers stained with charcoal or watching her chew her bottom lip when she gets nervous. I shouldn’t give a fuck about any of this because I’m not fucking keeping her.

My mind keeps screaming at me while I gently wash the rest of the paint from her face, and when I get to the splotch of yellow on her neck, my fingers drag along her delicate skin before I’ve even made the conscious decision to do so. Her skin is silky soft, and that intoxicating vanilla scent is driving me fucking crazy. Curling a strand of her long, dark blonde hair around my finger, I study the different shades of color before meeting her eyes. She’s watching me, but the fear that was so obvious just this morning is no longer the first thing I see in them.

No, right now, with her lips slightly parted and pupils blown, there’s nothing but hunger in them. Letting her hair slide off my finger, I grab onto the hips that have become permanently seared into my mind and scoot her so I’m standing between her legs. Her dress rides up dangerously high, giving me a mouthwatering view of her parted thighs as I dig my fingers into her curves and step closer.

“Vitaly,” she whispers, and the slight tremor in her voice has my cock straining against my jeans.

Bringing one hand up, I drag my fingers along her cheek before threading them into her thick hair so I can cup the back of her head as I lean closer. Our lips are almost touching when I whisper, “You owe me a kiss,ptichka.”

“I do?”

The heat of her breath hits my lips, and when I give her top lip a teasing, quick lick, she lets out a soft gasp and grips my shoulders for balance.

“You do. I only got the corner of your mouth at our wedding.” My fingers lightly grip her hair, tilting her head further back. “I don’t even know what my wife tastes like.” I give her another lick, this one slower as I trace the line of her top lip. “It’s fucking driving me crazy.”

Without another word, I close the distance, pressing my lips to hers. I’m not sure if the moan I hear is coming from her or me, but the raw need in it is exactly what I’m feeling. Gripping her hip tighter, I pull her closer while I fist her hair with my other hand and part her lips with my tongue.

Goddamn, she tastes just as fucking sweet as I knew she would. Her hands go to my face, the touch hesitant at first, but soon she’s moaning and gripping the back of my head, trying to get me closer. The shyness dissolves as her body’s natural instincts take over, and I know I’m seconds away from losing complete control of this situation. When she hooks a leg around my waist and rocks her hips, I growl into her greedy mouth and let go of her hip so I can slide a hand between her legs. I wait for her to stop me, maybe some part of me is hoping she will, but an even bigger part of me is hoping like hell she won’t. When she lets out a sexy whimper and widens her thighs for me, it’s all the invitation I need.

Dragging a finger up her cotton panties, I groan when I feel how wet the fabric is.

“You’re soaking wet,” I growl into our kiss.

She lets out the sexiest goddamn whimper I’ve ever heard when I press the pad of my thumb against her clit and give her a firm rub. Konstantin had said she was completely innocent, and the way she seems surprised by her body’s reaction has me believing him.

“Has anyone ever made you come?” I ask, because I want to hear her say it.

“No.” The word comes out in a breathless rush when I give her another rub.

“Surely you’ve made yourself come, though, right?”

When I’m met with silence, I pull back just enough to see her beet-red face. She avoids my eyes, choosing to focus on my neck instead.

“Look at me,ptichka,” I tell her, waiting until her blue eyes find mine. “Are you telling me you’ve never had an orgasm?”

“Does it really matter?” Her blush deepens, creeping down her neck and disappearing into her dress. I’m dying to know how far down it travels.

“It matters,” I tell her, giving her another rub. “Tell me the truth. I don’t ever want you to lie to me about anything.”

“No,” she finally whispers. “I’ve never had an orgasm.”

“How the fuck is that even possible?”

“It just is,” she huffs out, getting frustrated with my questions and the way I’m keeping her right on the edge of the pleasure she’s never experienced, and I’m stunned by how badly I want to be the man to give it to her.

“Eyes on me,ptichka. Don’t you dare look away.”

When I’m confident she’s not going to disobey, I drag my fingers up her panties before sliding my hand into them. When I’m cupping her bare, silky soft pussy, I’m the one who almost breaks eye contact when mine threaten to roll back into my goddamn head. She’s soaked, beyond soaked, fucking dripping for me, and when I nestle one finger between her pussy lips, she gasps and widens her eyes but doesn’t look away.

“Good girl,” I tell her, noticing the way the words pull another soft moan from her parted lips. “So fucking innocent,” I say, swiping the pad of my thumb over her swollen clit.

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