9
CORA
He tastes like cognac and bad decisions.
I curl my hands through the dark hair at the back of his neck. His mouth parts and dares me in. The suit jacket slips wide as our bodies slide together and Ivan works his knee between my legs. I gasp when his thigh drags across my bare flesh.
“I thought you weren’t interested,” he taunts.
My eyes are still closed, my head spinning. I feel drunk, but I know I haven’t had enough to drink for that.
“I’m not interested in marriage,” I correct. “But this is…”
This is reckless.
This is crazy.
His hands slip down to my hips and he grinds me more against his muscular thigh until I’m quivering. “You’ve got me on the edge of my seat, princess. This is what?”
He called me “princess,” but I’m not that. I’m not the girl who gets Prince Charming and rides off into her happily ever after.
But I can have this, can’t I? Stolen moments with a dark prince all my own. A peek into the glittering world of the youth that I fled from.
“A fairytale,” I tell him. “It’s a fantasy.”
Ivan walks me backwards until I’m flat against the wall. His hands skate under the lapels of his own jacket and tease along my heated skin.
“Lucky for you, fantasies are what I’m good at.”
Desire coils in my chest, eager and demanding. “Is that so? Have you been fantasizing about this?”
He nods shamelessly, his stubbled cheek rasping against my face. “Since the moment I walked in and saw you standing in my office. It was the perfect plan, if I’m being honest.”
“Get naked and throw myself at you?”
“Get naked and tell me you don’t want me. It leaves me with no choice but to prove you wrong.”
He drags a finger up my inner thigh and through my wetness. When I spread my legs apart for him, he works that finger into me one fraction of an inch at a time. My whole body rocks with every pulse. I’m clamping my teeth down as hard as I can, but the pressure is building and building and I’m terrified it might tear me apart when it finally erupts.
His lips are hot on my neck. Beneath my earlobe. His other hand teases my nipple into a painful peak, then squeezes my hip and encourages me to ride his palm as the orgasm intensifies inside of me.
My breath catches. I’m tight from head to toe, tight enough to snap, tight enough to crumble. And then: “Oh, fucking God,” I gasp as it explodes inside of me. I’m glad he’s here and he’s strong, because if I didn’t have him to hold onto, I’d be a puddle on the floor.
And he’s not done yet.
“Now,” he murmurs in a dark, steely snarl, “let me show you just how wrong you are.”
He reaches between us and frees himself from his pants. I have to stifle a gasp when he springs to life in my hand. He’s hard against my palm and so unbelievably big that I feel a twist of fear in my gut. Surely that’s not about to go inside of me…
Right?
My body is shaking. It could be from the chill on my nakedness, but I know better. This is a bone-deep shiver. Adrenaline is coursing through my veins and my vision is going hazy.
I wrap my hand around his cock and press him against me. He teases my opening and I can’t help but buck against him. He slips an inch in, then retreats again. He pauses there.
So close to nirvana.
So close to salvation.
So close to a very, very bad idea.
Should I be doing this? Ivan Pushkin is dangerous, or so I’m told. Nothing about this is smart. Anyone could walk in on us and I don’t want to be known as the easy girl who fucks billionaires in the dark corners of parties.
But I also don’t want to be the dead-inside girl who works nonstop and lives paycheck to paycheck. For just a few minutes, I don’t want to be the scared little kitten who is running from her past and doesn’t have a plan for her future.
I want to be the woman that Ivan thinks back on long after he’s married to whatever brainless bimbo he’s going to choose. I want to be the woman who surprised him and challenged him.
Tonight, I want to be the heroine of this story.
So I bite his neck and pull him the rest of the way into me.
Ivan thrusts in as I tighten my legs around his waist. We crash together in one smooth stroke and I arch my back as an involuntary gasp rips out of me.
“Oh, God,” I whimper.
He’s everywhere. With every thrust, the pressure inside of me grows and shifts. It’s like I’m being ripped apart at the seams, stretched beyond the normal limits of what a human should be able to handle—and my God, it feels so freaking good.
“What is this?” I whisper. “Why is this… This is so good.”
It feels silly to be shocked by good sex. But in my experience, sex is more of a formality. Sure, it can occasionally be nice, but it isn’t earth-shattering. It doesn’t tear down everything you thought you knew and rebuild it.
Sex shouldn’t make you question the purpose of life.
But this sex does.
Ivan shifts my hips, leaning me back to take me at a new angle. He hits something deep inside of me and I cry out.
“There it is,” he growls. He presses me against the wall and clamps the flat of his hand over my mouth. “Scream for me. Scream for me, baby, and let me swallow up every bit of it.”
He drives into me again and again. Whoever said men moaning isn’t hot didn’t know what the hell they were talking about, because every time a new breathless snarl passes Ivan’s lips, I get another notch closer to exploding.
He bends down and pulls my breast into his sinful mouth. His tongue flicks over my nipple until I’m practically bent backwards from how good every inch of him feels.
“Come for me,” he commands. “Let go.”
That’s all it takes—another orgasm tears through me. Ivan’s hand is still over my mouth. I bite down on his skin to stop from crying out.
“Fuck!” he spits, but he doesn’t pull his hand away; he just drives into me harder. Punishing me with more, more, more of him.
Until I clamp around him, pulsing and shaking from head to toe. The never-ending orgasm.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he grits out.
Then Ivan comes, too.
He pulses into me, spilling his own pleasure until we’re both panting and limp on the side of his house.
I want to soak up every second of this fantasy. I don’t want to let a moment slip away unenjoyed. But the sounds of the party on the lawn below are starting to break through our little bubble. Someone in the crowd calls out Ivan’s name.
“Where is he?” a woman shouts.
Ivan pushes his jacket off of my shoulder and presses a kiss to the bare skin there. “Incredible. Fucking incredible.”
“Acceptable,” I correct. I try to sound nonchalant, joking, but my voice is trembling. I can feel my thighs shaking still.
He opens his mouth to say something, but then a different loud voice booms out instead. “Ivan Pushkin, you are wanted.”
For a second, I think it might be God Himself breaking in from the heavens to remind me that Ivan Pushkin is this party’s most eligible bachelor and I don’t stand a chance in snaring him.
Then I realize it’s just the DJ making a formal call through the speakers.
He presses his forehead to mine. “Fuck this party. Let’s go to my room and see if you can scream any louder than that.”
I’m tempted. The desire to stretch this fantasy into an entire night—to tangle up with him until morning—is strong. But it would be a mistake.
“You have guests,” I demure.
“I don’t care about my guests, Francia,” he says simply. “I’m more interested in you.”
The wrong name washes over me like a bucket of ice water. It rinses away whatever is left of the fairytale moment we just experienced.
He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t even know my real name.
None of this is real.
More cries of “Ivan!” rise up from the crowd.
“The natives are growing restless,” I say with a small smile. I shove away from his chest on shaky legs. “Go appease them. I’ll meet up with you later.”
His jaw works back and forth. Then he grips my chin with his thumb and forefinger, angling my face up to his. “Don’t you dare run off on me.”
“I won’t,” I lie. I point down to the high heels I’m still wearing. “I’m not wearing the right shoes to flee, remember?”
His eyes trace over my body as he takes a step back. “Later.”
That single word holds a dirty promise. One I desperately wish I could keep.
But I can’t.
With one final nod, Ivan disappears through the door.
As soon as he’s gone, I follow.
I see Jorden quickly. She is lounging against a pillar, a drink in hand, chatting with a handsome young man with way too much product in his hair. As I pass her, I don’t even break stride; I grab her hand and pull her along with me.
“Hey!” she yelps, dropping her glass.
I hear it shatter against the pavement, but I don’t let go.
“Cora,” she complains. “What are you doing? Where are we going?”
I pull her through a side gate and around to the empty front yard. I hold firmly onto her hand. “Back to reality.”