Page 3

“It’s always like this,” I gasp as his tongue lathes my neck. “Right from the start, it was always like this with you.”

He unclasps my bra and throws it aside, staring down at my breasts with dark, burning eyes.

“Like what?” His hand closes over a nipple and I gasp.

He kisses me fiercely. “What is it always like, Abby? Tell me.” He rolls my nipple between his fingers until I’m squirming against him, his mouth trailing heat over my neck.

“Tell me,” he orders.

“I can’t stop,” I gasp, my head lolling back as he takes my nipple in his mouth. “Once I start with you, I can’t stop.”

I clutch the solid wall of his shoulders, my thumbs tracing harsh lines of bratva ink, so familiar to me after all these months. His hands tug the skirt from my hips and throw it to the floor. He groans softly as he touches the lace garter belt and satin knickers.

“I’ve never wanted this to stop,” he says roughly. “Not from the first time I touched you.”

He lifts me and carries me to the bed, laying me down as he strips off his remaining clothes.

“Leave them,” he orders as I reach for the garter belt. “Lose the panties.”

I giggle, squirming out of them and throwing the bunched-up satin at him. It hits the wall of his chest and glides down. My eyes follow the crimson ball downward, to where his hard cock juts out from his body.

I suck in my breath.

God, he’s magnificent .

“You need to bring that right here,” I say huskily, beckoning to him.

“Do I, now?” His eyes glitter in the light streaming in from the plaza beyond the window. “Or,” he says, grinning evilly, “I could make you wait.”

I raise my knees and spread my thighs very deliberately apart. “But you won’t.”

His eyes settle on my swollen pussy, and he sucks in his breath.

“No,” he says hoarsely. “I don’t think I will.”

He settles between my legs, his hands sliding under my ass. He raises my hips and enters me in a smooth, savage thrust that takes my breath away.

“Oh, fuck.” He lifts me higher and sinks completely inside me. “Jesus, Abby. Are you coming already?” He holds deep inside me as I clench around him.

“It’s just the start,” I gasp, wrapping my legs around him and urging him in even harder. “I’ve missed this so much... Oh, God, Dimitry...”

He starts the long, slow thrusts that pitch me over the edge of the first sharp, hard orgasm and further, onto the rippling plateau of pleasure he always finds, and which I never knew existed until he took me there.

His cock seems to expand, fitting into me with delicious perfection, like a key into a lock.

His hand under my ass lifts me up and onto him, angling me with sweet precision so every stroke brings him hard up against my pulsating clit.

I cling to him, my mouth searching for his, and he takes it as he drives into me, again and again.

“Fuck,” he mutters against my mouth. “You’re so swollen and wet.

It’s... Oh, Christ, Abby.” He falls back willingly as I flip him over, straddling him.

He grips my hips. “Do you have any idea how stunning you look like that?” His hands tangle in my hair as he rocks my hips, thrusting up into me.

He groans as he strokes the silk tops of the stockings, then presses one of his thumbs to my clit.

“Ah!” I throw my head back, starting to ride him harder as his huge thumb manipulates me exactly as I love it. My hands splay on his chest, orgasm coming for me so hard I can’t go slow anymore.

“Come for me,” he murmurs as I grind down on his cock. “That’s it. Come on. God, you should see yourself...”

“Dimitry!” I gasp his name as the second peak comes for me, panting as he fills me completely, his relentless pressure on my clit driving me over the edge. “Fuck!”

He surges up into me with a roar, pulsing inside me as I clench around him.

Then he rears up off the bed, his arms locking me against him, his cock still throbbing inside me.

“Now get those stockings off,” he growls, taking my nipple into his mouth and then moving toward the other one.

“After almost a month away from you, believe me when I say we’re just getting started, Miss Chalmers. ”

In the darkness of the quiet predawn, I stand looking down at Dimitry’s sleeping figure sprawled across the bed.

His scars gleam silver in the pale light through the window, the shadows turning his muscles to a secret world of mountains and valleys.

Over the past eighteen months, that world has become my home.

My hands have traced every one of those hard ridges and smooth, worn scars.

I know the pain and pleasure of his body better than I do my own.

Dimitry has become my refuge, my strength, and my greatest bliss.

And now I have to let him go.

I slip the envelope onto the bedside table. Half of me wants him to wake, pull me back onto the bed, and kiss me out of my mind until all thought of leaving is gone.

But another part of me knows that if I don’t do this now, I never will.

Maybe I will find my way back.

And maybe, if I do, Dimitry will still want me.

But for now, I have to go home.

Whatever “home” means, after six years.

I turn and walk down the hallway and into the lift, not daring to look over my shoulder.

Two hours later, I’m on a flight to Perth, Australia.