Stripped (20 page)
“I’m sorry,” he murmured against the side of her neck.
“For what?” It took all of Natalya’s energy to focus on making words, not the incredible pleasure of feeling his thick erection slide forward through her folds to rub against her clitoris. Enticed by that tantalizing heat, she levered her hips, pushing back into his body, urging the wide head of him closer to her slickened opening. She needed
him now. All of him. Firmly rooted inside her and rubbing away the ache that had become almost painful. “Oh, Brandon…”
His weight pressed into her shoulders, guiding her upper body to the desk. Natalya went willingly, bending over until her breasts pressed against cluttered papers and her cheek laid on her jacket. He spanned his hands over her buttocks, gently rubbed the firm flesh as he drew himself through her folds again, teasing her pussy, making her vagina clench in want.
“You have the prettiest ass.” He gave her buttocks a squeeze. “So perfect.” One hand molded around her waist, lifting her off the desk and closer to the edge. The other ran down the indentation between her cheeks, his middle finger slipping over the tight, tiny anterior hole before he rolled his wrist and pressed his fingertip to her clitoris. Shocks of pleasure coursed up her spine. She dug her hands into her jacket, desperate for something to hold on to before bliss carried her into oblivion.
“Brandon, don’t… tease,” she breathed as another jolt of ecstasy tripped through her body. She rocked against his hand, letting out a low moan.
“Can’t… tease…” His voice had taken on a brittle edge that matched the tension in his thighs where they flattened next to hers. “Shit. Natalya, I’m sorry.” A brief rustle of foil, and an instant of separation, told her he’d donned a condom.
In the next heartbeat, Natalya cried out as Brandon’s cock slid into her, filling her up, stretching her painfully. She hadn’t wanted slow, and got anything but. In one swift thrust, he embedded himself fully. The feel of him obliterated fantasy. Buried deep inside her, she felt the throb of his flesh, the tiny pulses that rippled through the length of his wide erection.
He gripped her waist with both hands, tilting her hips as he withdrew, his rhythm steady but deliberate. She closed her eyes, lost to the building sensation, the need that had lived inside her veins but had
gone forgotten for too many years to count. His powerful hands dominated her body. His muscular thighs held her legs apart. She relaxed her hips, allowing him to guide her at the pace he desired, and pleasure built.
“Ah, Natalya, you are…” Brandon’s breath caught. Against her back, she felt the shudder roll through his torso. “Ah,
God.
”
Urgency possessed him, his strokes becoming harder, more demanding. She reared back, lifting to her elbows to brace against the fierce thrusts. Her new position, however, opened her to even more pleasure as Brandon wound an arm around her waist and his fingers delved between her legs. As he drove into her, high and hard, he pressed his fingertip to her clit. Pleasure poured through her, pounded into her senses. She moved against him wildly, chasing the friction of his cock and the mind-numbing flick of his finger, uncertain which she needed more. Uncaring about the moans of pleasure that slid from her throat.
Brandon’s teeth pricked her shoulder, and it was too much. Orgasm crashed through her, carrying her up to a dizzying height she felt certain she would fall from and crash to her death. Distantly, she heard his hoarse groan, felt the spasm of his cock deep inside her pussy as he filled the condom with his release.
Then, his body blanketed hers, pressing her gently into the desk, where they lay together gasping for breath. After several drawn out seconds, Brandon pushed her damp hair off her neck and his lips fluttered against her skin. “I owe you more than this. We close in a half hour. Come to my place?”
Go home with him. Spend the night giving herself to this man who defined pleasure. She almost said yes… until a voice in the hall reminded her they were in the middle of Fantasia, Dmitri’s American paradise, and someone had very likely heard them fucking.
“I can’t get involved with you,” she whispered.
His body tightened like a whip. The same tension edged his
words. “I’m not playing any more games, Natalya. We’re already fucking involved.”
Before she could craft something to say that would soothe his brimming anger, he blew out a hard breath and the tight muscles against her back relaxed. “How about a late-night breakfast? No pressure.”
Natalya stared at the crinkled fabric around his bicep as reason warred with yearning. Sergei was absolutely convinced Brandon didn’t work for Dmitri, and her reasons for suspecting him were rapidly dwindling. No hired goon would
think
of putting limits on what she could, or could not do, much less deny her phone calls with Dmitri half a world away. Dmitri would choke the life out of the first idiot who tried.
Which took her right back to the danger
she
posed to Brandon. Jill made it perfectly clear they were watching her. That she’d seen enough to, at the very least, raise her suspicions. What Brandon wanted, what Natalya wanted—forbidden fruit. They’d already gone too far. This had to stop now.
“Natalya?” he murmured as his fingers pulled through her hair.
A smile played at her mouth as another thought occurred. She wanted to know more about Brandon Moretti. Wanted to bask in his dominating, masculine presence a little longer. As long as a table separated them, if questions arose, she could always claim it was a working dinner. Part of her efforts to keep her true intentions—as Dmitri knew them—hidden from her employer. Breakfast was safe. The casino had eyes, but those eyes would look elsewhere if she didn’t give them reason to pry. Reasons like being locked in her office, bent over the desk, Brandon’s cock buried in her body as he worked her into a frenzy.
She turned her head to meet his sated gaze. Her nod consented. Her words, however, set boundaries. “I don’t think it’s wise if we’re seen leaving together. There are… people… here who wouldn’t appreciate it.”
“Fine,” Brandon grumbled. Backing off her, he eased himself out of
her and bent over to pull up his pants. In seconds, he was dressed, that fantastic body cloaked from view. “Meet me at the roulette table near the Simple Kitchen.”
Natalya eased upright and hastily buttoned her shirt. As she grabbed for her skirt, Brandon stopped at the door. The profile of his jaw worked for a handful of seconds while he chewed a thought. “I’m not into sharing. If there’s someone else…”
Though he couldn’t see with his back to her, she shook her head. “There’s no one else.” Not anyone who mattered. Not in her heart. By the time Dmitri arrived, she’d be gone anyway.
A short jerk of his head closed the subject. “I’ll have Aaron lock up for me. Head out when Kate takes the stage.”
The door closed behind him. She shut her eyes and sucked in a shallow breath. If he only knew the irony of choosing roulette.
A
Fear.
Pushing open the clubhouse door, she stepped into the dark, smoky lounge. Excitement ran beneath her anxiety, amping up her heartbeat to a tempo that matched the rhythm of Kate’s undulating hips. She stopped for a minute, admiring Kate’s seductive rhythm. She still had the moves. But a sliver of sadness pricked Natalya as she watched Kate spread her knees, lean back, and dry hump the air. Katey was a mom. She shouldn’t be here.
If I’d only known…
She shook her head. She knew now. When this was all over, Kate would never again set foot on a stripper’s stage. Derek and she would live the life Erik had intended for them—a comfortable home, good schools, security.
Spying Sergei against the wall, Natalya sidestepped around Nightingale, whose costume adjustments had evidently served her well—the man she straddled certainly looked pleased enough.
“How’s it going? Notice anything?” She glanced surreptitiously over her shoulder.
Sergei grimaced. “Haven’t seen shit. Moretti’s got me tallying lap dances.”
A roving glance down the length of his body revealed he hadn’t remained entirely immune to the floor’s display. Smirking, she patted him square in the center of his chest. “Poor thing.”
He shot her a glare.
“I’m going to head out early tonight.”
“Early?”
With a shrug she hoped came off as indifferent, she nodded. “I’m hungry. Brandon won’t let me onstage—he’d probably have a fit if he caught me out here talking to you. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She turned to leave. That had gone smoother than planned. At least she completely hadn’t lost her talent for lying. Now to scurry into the casino before Jill’s VIP show came to an end.
Sergei’s hand locked around her elbow. “Not so fast.” He dragged her backward a step and swiveled her around. His frown penetrated through her confidence. “One of these days you’re going to realize you can’t hide things from me. What are you up to?”
Damn. She would have to have the most observant partner known to mankind.
Natalya muttered beneath her breath. “I’m just having breakfast.”
His gaze narrowed. “With Moretti.” It wasn’t a question.
When she found sudden fascination with the neon pink light above Sergei’s head, the grip on her arm tightened. “You’re playing with a loaded gun, Natalya.”
She freed her arm with a sharp twist. “I do that daily. Since when did it become your job to baby-sit?”
He lifted both eyebrows and looked down his nose in meaning. She knew the reference—Dmitri sent him along to keep her safe. Right now, she chose to overlook that insignificant detail. A matter of semantics, really, given the role had nothing more to do with Sergei’s true assignment than her position as Dmitri’s fiancée.
Sergei leaned in close and lowered his voice. “Iskatel´ is here. I can
feel it. And you’re going to walk out of here with Moretti on your heels? You’re going to get yourself killed.”
Her temper flared, and her gaze constricted to match his. To prevent the trio of men that had moved behind her from hearing, she slipped into Russian. “Don’t you dare treat me like a rookie, Sergei Khitrovo. I’ve been doing this for ten years—you think I don’t know the risks? Stick to your own job and let me do mine.”
Joining her Russian, he shot back, “You aren’t doing your
job
. You’re scratching an itch.”
“So what if I am?” Her voice rose to a furious whisper. “Three years I’ve pretended to feel. It isn’t fake this time. If I want to have breakfast, hell if I want to
be
breakfast, that’s my choice.”
Sergei’s eyes blazed with fire. He snatched her by the upper arm and dragged her close with such force she stumbled into his chest. His head dipped near her ear, his low whisper harsh and scathing. “Your pussy’s booby-trapped. That’s
his
choice, not yours.”
She went utterly still, her voice deadly calm as she wedged her arm between them and laid it over his. “Turn me loose or I’ll break it.”
One finger at a time, Sergei released her. She straightened the hem of her suit jacket with a jerk and lifted her gaze to amber eyes that gleamed with equal rage. “I won’t forget that.”
The widening of his eyes told her he’d received the deeper message that he’d just crossed a line he couldn’t easily retreat across. Brief regret passed over his face, then quickly disappeared behind a mask of indifference. He dropped his hands to his sides and quietly held her stare.
“I’m going to breakfast now.” With a tight smile, she spun on her spiked heels and stalked through the sea of drunk and horny men.
As she rounded the last set of tables, the casino exit a mere fifteen feet away, one overstimulated man made the fatal mistake of reaching out and sliding his hand up the back of her skirt to give her bottom a squeeze. She whirled on him like a cyclone, his face millimeters away from her breasts. Before she could unleash all the rage Sergei had
ignited and tell the stranger how many ways he could go to hell, he dipped his nose into her cleavage and rubbed his cheeks side to side.
For a moment, she allowed the indulgence. Smiling, she even slipped her fingers through his hair, rumpling it, drawing him closer, before she dropped her hands to his shoulders and pursed her lips. With every bit of strength her veteran body possessed, she cocked her knee and drove it into his chest.
The resulting
crack
granted bone-deep satisfaction.
Fuck you, Dmitri.
His yowl, however, said she’d gone too far. Before his buddies could recover from their openmouthed gaping, she turned her back on the man’s wheezing cough… and ran straight into the solid wall of Brandon’s chest.
He looked to her, to the doubled-over man, back to her. One dark eyebrow arched in reproach.
Natalya shrugged. “He put his hands on me.” Twisting to bypass Brandon’s wide shoulders, she maneuvered around his too powerful body and marched to the doors. One violent shove sent them clanging into the wall. Without so much as a backward glance, she abandoned the pumping bass and the rapidly gathering crowd, slowed her pace, and headed for the roulette table.
Breakfast alone didn’t hold the same appeal. But the chances of Brandon joining her, or that he’d be anything less than enraged by her uncalled-for assault, pretty much spoiled all hope of companionship.
Oh, well. Breakfast alone was still breakfast, and she could use a good meal. Besides, Sergei was right—she was booby-trapped. The best thing Brandon Moretti could do was stay away. Far, far away.
I