He was trying not to curse in front of me. In his eyes, I was innocent and he didn’t want to corrupt me. It was almost funny: innocent? Me? Imagine his reaction if he knew some of the things I’d seen, thanks to the family business.
What kept me from laughing was how good it felt. No one had ever cared about trying to shield me from things before—even Vasiliy just accepted that violence was part of my world. I’d grown up around tattooed men who’d spent most of their lives in prison: I could probably out-curse Angelo, given the chance...but the fact that he thought of me as innocent made me light up inside in a way I wasn’t expecting. It was almost like glimpsing myself as I would have been if I’d been born into a normal family. I wanted to be innocent. And I wanted him to corrupt me.
I told him about Fenbrook Academy and early-morning practice, about dancing the same piece a couple of hundred times, about calluses and stone bruises and climbing stairs on your ass because your feet hurt so much. I told him about transferring from the ballet school in Moscow, skimming over why I’d left. I focused on the good stuff: how I’d always loved America and wanted to come here.
The food arrived and we savored every bite. Talking with him was so...easy. I could feel myself relaxing, the layers of ice gradually thinning and cracking. With other men, I had to weigh every word, worried in case it sounded dumb...or sounded too intelligent. With most of the guys Vasiliy introduced me to, talking really meant polishing their egos.
Not with Angelo. I got the feeling he hated bullshit more than anything else. And he didn’t talk like a rich person, with all their little games and attempts to score points. He talked about simple pleasures like eating hot dogs at Coney Island and swimming off Sandy Hook Beach. I told him about watching my cousin Luka play ice hockey when the government froze all the paths in Gorky Park, and buying blinchiki filled with butter and jam from street stands.
I suddenly caught myself. This is crazy. I shouldn’t be here. This whole happy date was an illusion, a soap bubble that would be destroyed as soon as Vasiliy found out about it. But….
I liked him.
It was more than just lust. That was still there: the conversation would slow down every few minutes and we’d just gaze at each other. My eyes slid down the lines of his hard pecs under his white shirt; his eyes skimmed over my bare shoulder and then all the way down the side of my dress, following the shape of my body as if he longed to do the same thing with his palm. But I liked him. I liked his confidence and his warmth and his refreshing lack of games.
He’s too good to be true. There were distant alarm bells in my head: something familiar about him. But that made no sense: he was so different to the Russian guys I knew.
He told me about growing up right there in New York, with scarcely enough money to eat. How things had slowly improved as his dad worked his way up the business and how Angelo had followed in his footsteps, eventually taking over his dad’s position when he died.
“What is it you do?” I asked.
He opened his mouth to speak, pride in his eyes. As if he knew I’d be impressed. I suddenly knew what it was going to be: he was in banking, and it was going to be some place I’d heard of, some place that would make my jaw drop. I’m a vice-president at Goldman Sachs. That would explain the money and the confidence. It was weird, because he didn’t sound like some Harvard-educated guy from a rich family. He sounded blue-collar and proud of it.
But at the last minute, he seemed to change his mind. The pride faded from his eyes. “Y’know. Just business. Loans. Insurance.”
I frowned. I could tell he was downplaying it. Why?
No matter. I realized I’d dodged a bullet—if we got onto the subject of jobs, he might ask what my folks did, and then we’d get onto my family. I didn’t want to go there.
He poured the last of the wine and, as the final heavy red drop fell into my glass, I felt it begin. He didn’t say anything, but the question started to form in the air between us. The end of the meal was here: what now?
This is where I’d normally say something, like, “Wow, I’m really tired,” or “I have an early rehearsal tomorrow,” just to start clueing the guy in to the fact that no, I wasn’t going home with him. Even if I liked the guy, I wouldn’t have sex on a first date.
But I stayed silent. I let the question grow and grow. What are you doing, Irina? My heart started thumping. I’d already come on a date with him when I knew this couldn’t go anywhere. I had to come to my senses and end it now.
But the thought of seeing that broad, muscled chest without the shirt, of running my fingers down his bare abs….
The waitress asked if we wanted dessert. We both agreed we didn’t. I asked for the check and he caught my eye. And we both knew, and, immediately, things changed. His gazes had felt like soft caresses but now they turned firm and direct: I could almost feel his hands as they slid up my sides and over my back, could feel the touch of his lips on the upper slopes of my breasts.
I went to speak, but it was suddenly difficult to get air. Part of me still couldn’t believe I was about to do this on a first date. But I didn’t want it to end.
“Would you like to come back to mine?” I asked. My house felt safer: familiar territory, plus Rachel would be there, just in case all my instincts were wrong and he was an axe murderer.
A smile slowly spread across his face, eyes twinkling with a mixture of joy and raw, hot lust.
He stood behind me to slip my coat on and, when it was wrapped around me, he stopped like that for a second, holding the edges tightly together in front of me so that the coat hugged me. As if, now that he was embracing me, he couldn’t bear to let me go.
Then we were stepping out into the freezing night air. I looked up the street one way then the other for a cab. As I turned back to him, he stepped right up close to me, so close that his leg slipped between mine. I blinked up at him: we were so close, I had to tilt my head right back.
“I’ve been wanting to kiss you since I first saw you,” he said. “Time’s up.”
I had time to open my mouth in astonishment. Then he was kissing me.
He didn’t just bring his lips down to mine: he scooped an arm under the small of my back and lifted me, bringing me to him. By the time our lips touched, my toes were only just scraping the icy sidewalk.
His first touch was gentle, just a graze of his lips against mine. But I had a hand on his arm and I could feel how his whole body had gone hard with barely-restrained lust. He was fighting to go slow, forcing himself to taste me first before consuming me completely. I could feel the power of him, even in that brief touch, and it made me go weak.
His second touch was a flick of his tongue across my lips, sampling my softness. The pleasure crackled out from each millimeter he touched, rocketing its way down my body. I came alive in his arms, writhing and arching, my breasts pushing against his chest. I grabbed his other arm in my free hand and clung to him, my mind spinning. I needed more. Now. My whole body was throbbing, pulsing to the rhythm he’d started.
We stayed like that for a second, mouths open and lips almost touching, our panting breath forming clouds of mist around us. I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. I was almost drunk with anticipation: I wanted it more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. Kiss me!
He gave a low growl, one that vibrated through me. I could feel every muscle tense as he primed himself, but still he didn’t move. Kiss me!
I had my eyes closed, but I could sense that he’d opened his. He was gazing down at me, savoring the moment. I couldn’t take it any longer. “Pozhaluysta potseluy menya!” I panted desperately, forgetting that he wouldn’t understand.
The urgency in my voice was enough. A big, warm hand slid across my cheek, fingers sinking into my hair, and then he was kissing me full-on and for keeps, lips hard against mine. I could feel every ounce of his pent-up lust: he wanted me with an intensity I’d never known, wanted to take me in every conceivable way, to know every inch of my body. But there was
something else, as well, something that was so powerful it took my breath away, something that felt like it shocked him as much as me. He wanted to possess me, to wrap me up in his arms and carry me away somewhere so that no one else could have me.
And even as part of me wanted to draw back from the intensity of it, something deep inside me was rushing towards it, as if it was something I’d been missing my entire life.
It was a kiss that moved, that made me twist and slide against him as I followed it. My hands were grabbing at his arms, my cold fingers sinking into the soft cashmere of his overcoat, feeling the hard bulk of his muscles beneath the layers of clothes. His tongue found mine and danced with it and I moaned through the kiss, clutching at his shoulders. He answered with another low growl, kissing me even harder, as if my moan turned him on. And as our bodies shifted together I felt it for the first time: the hard, hot outline of his cock against my upper thigh, very close to my groin….
Movement beside us and the rattle of an engine. I opened my eyes to see a cab had pulled up beside us. We must have looked as if we needed a taxi, now.
Angelo reluctantly broke the kiss and lowered me gently to the sidewalk, then held the door of the cab for me. He strode around to the other side, overcoat billowing out behind him like a cape, and got in beside me, his thigh against mine, his muscled body huge in the confined space. I leaned forward to tell the driver my address and, the instant I’d finished and we were moving, Angelo’s hand was on my shoulder, pressing me back in my seat. “What was it you said, back there?” he asked. His eyes darted between my eyes and my lips.
I swallowed. “Please kiss me,” I translated.
His eyes ate me up for a second and then he pounced, twisting around so that he was in front of me, my head cupped between his hands as he pressed me back against the leather and kissed me. I panted into his mouth and kissed him back, my hands roaming over his neck and shoulders.
The cab whisked us towards my house...and whatever came next.
7
Angelo
I’d never been so hot for a woman my entire life. Not just hot for her, but just totally...I couldn’t even find the words.
The traffic was light and we were rushing through the city, heading God knows where: I hadn’t heard the address she gave the cabbie. But it didn’t matter. I didn’t once glance out of the window. We could have been driving via the fucking North Pole with polar bears ambling past outside and I wouldn’t have known. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.
Captivated. That was the word. I was captivated.
She was so completely unlike any woman I’d ever met. There was this...grace to her, even when she was still. And when she moved...Jesus, watching her walk into the restaurant had been like watching a prowling cat, and everyone in there, men and women, me included, were just yapping, clumsy dogs.
Lithe. That’s what she was. Soft, smooth skin, elegant curves, but underneath it all were those toned dancer’s muscles, giving her flexibility and stamina. Combined with the fire in her eyes and the way she’d panted at me to kiss her...she was going to be unbelievable in bed.
My kisses slowed down, growing purposeful as my hands explored her. I couldn’t get enough of her mouth. She was the perfect combination of sweet femininity and raw, untamed sexuality. Kissing her was like throwing myself head first into a warm, dark canyon with no bottom: my lips met hers and I was just lost and I didn’t care at all.
She seemed to be oblivious to how insanely sexy she was, unlike the preening women I normally met. But she couldn’t be: that was impossible. Every little detail must have been carefully calculated to turn me on, like she was some Soviet spy from the 80s who’d been tasked with my seduction.
Her hair, which had looked so tauntingly prim when it was up in a bun, now hung loose down her back, making her look like some ice princess off the cover of a fantasy novel. I couldn’t believe how long it was and I couldn’t stop thinking about what it would look like when she was naked and it was the only thing shielding her modesty. I wanted to brush it forward over her shoulders so that it covered her breasts, nipples peeking out between the strands, just so I could have the pleasure of sweeping it back and revealing her again.
Her dress, her coat, even her shoes were all black, setting off the soft tan of her skin and making that platinum-blonde hair shine even brighter. When she’d shrugged out of her coat and her back had arched a little, her high, pert breasts had lifted under the thin fabric of her dress in a way that made me catch my breath. I’d been looking at that dress and the way it hugged her body all evening. I’d been imagining cupping her bare shoulders and then following the sides of the dress all the way down.
Now I could finally do it, growling as I circled my palms on the soft warmth of her shoulders, kissing her slow and deep as my hands slid lower, lower...past her chest, the heels of my hands almost grazing her breasts, down her sides, over her hips and along her thighs.
My thumbs touched nylon and she gasped against my mouth. The feel of her smooth thighs was addictive. My kisses became hungry and open-mouthed. I sucked that gorgeous lower lip into my mouth and nibbled on it, the sound of her rapid breathing exciting me even more. She’s as turned on as I am. My thumbs circled and stroked, my fingers nudging the fabric of her dress higher. Was she wearing nylons or—
My thumb touched a band of smooth fabric, then the soft warmth of naked skin. She was wearing stockings. My cock was harder than it had ever been. I have to get this dress off of her. Right. Now.
And then the cab slowed to a stop and we were there.
I threw some money at the cabbie and then we were sliding out of the seat and into the night air, still kissing, my hands on her hips. The air was shockingly cold after the warmth of the cab, rushing under my coat and down my collar. I knew it must be even worse for Irina, with her stockinged legs, so I pulled her right up against me, leaving not even a hair’s width between our bodies. We stood there kissing as the cab pulled away, our fronts keeping each other warm while our backs grew colder and colder.
When she finally broke the kiss, she said, “That’s my house.”
For the first time, I bothered to glance around. We were in some suburb I didn’t recognize, way out in the sticks. The street was quiet and it was a clear night, the stars shockingly bright overhead. “Uh-huh.” And I drew her back into the kiss.
A moment later, she broke the kiss again and ran a nervous hand through her hair. Her face was flushed, her pupils huge with need, but she looked worried. “My roommate will be there.”
“Uh-huh.” I cupped her cheeks and brushed my thumbs through her hair, marveling at its silken softness. I was vaguely aware that something was up, but I was too busy trying to kiss her to figure it out. My lips came down on hers and she gave a soft little moan. I ran my hands down her back, tracing the shape of her through the layers. I was desperate to get her inside and undressed, but kissing her was just too fucking good!
She broke the kiss a third time. “My room’s a mess,” she said.
This time I finally forced myself to focus because I could tell something was wrong. She wasn’t changing her mind: I could see it in her eyes, hear it in the husk of her voice. She wanted this as much as I did. But….
I had to fight hard to get through the fog of lust clouding my brain, but I finally got it. She was worried I was going to think she was a slut or something because she’d invited me back here on a first date.
Just as I worked it out, she opened her mouth to speak again. Immediately, I put a warning finger on her lips. She went silent, but gave me a look of outrage that was so fucking adorable I nearly forgot what I wanted to say.
“Shh,” I said sharply. Then I leaned closer, so I could speak right into her ear. “Irina: I want you. Right now. You’re driving me crazy and I’ve got to have you. But—”—she shifted minutely and the feel of her soft lips against my finger made me almost groan out loud—”But, if you’re not ready, tell me now and I’ll go.” The words were rolli
ng out of my mouth before I even knew what I was saying. Was I really telling her I’d wait for her? “We can do this tomorrow or the next night or in a month’s time. It’s okay. I’ll still be here.” I felt her draw in her breath, as if what I was saying was shocking. “But if you want this now, like I do...then let’s go inside.”
I drew back a little and blinked at her. I was at least as surprised by what I’d said as she was. But it had worked. She nodded once, quickly, her mind made up, then grabbed my hand and led me inside.
I only caught brief glimpses of the interior. She rushed me through it, maybe self-conscious that it was small. I wanted to tell her that it was a hell of a lot bigger than the place I’d grown up in, but I couldn’t drag my eyes from her legs, or from the curve of her ass as she walked ahead of me. Plus, I was still trying to come to terms with what I’d said to her outside. Offer to wait? Me? It wasn’t something I’d ever done before—hell, the women I normally met didn’t expect anything more than a one night-stand. But with Irina...I realized it was true. I would have waited, if she’d made me. I am fucking obsessed with this woman.
By the time we made it into her bedroom, I couldn’t wait any longer. I grabbed her as she pushed the door closed and pressed her full-length against it. Then I cupped her head in my hands and ran my fingertips through her hair as I kissed her hard. The feel of her soft, supple body against the hardness of mine had me panting. I grabbed the hem of her dress and started dragging it up her thighs, still kissing her. My fingers brushed over nylon, then her stocking tops, then the soft smoothness of her thighs. She moaned into my mouth and that stoked my lust even more.
I hauled her away from the door and spun her around, pulled her coat off her arms and let it fall to the floor. Then I pulled her back against my chest until her ass was grinding against my cock. I pulled her dress higher, revealing a pair of simple, black panties. Somehow, that triangle of black fabric between those smooth golden thighs was more enticing than any elaborate lingerie.
Kissing The Enemy Page 5