LITMIR.BIZ

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      “Say it feels good.”

      She didn’t have to speak her refusal—it was there in the way her body stiffened and she averted her gaze.

      “Look at me,” he demanded, his fingers poised to give more pleasure but not offering it. “Look at me and say it.”

      Her storm-cloud gaze came back to his, her mouth working, no words coming out.

      “You are a woman. You can acknowledge your own pleasure, Chanel. I believe in you.”

      “It’s not that.” The word cut off as if her air had run out. She took a deep breath and let it out, her tongue coming out to wet her lips. “I know sex is supposed to feel good.”

      “Do you?”

      “I’ve read books.”

      “Erotic books.”

      “Yes.”

      “So, say it.”

      “You want to strip me bare,” she accused.

      He saw no point in denying it. “Yes.”

      “Why?”

      “You have to let go.”

      “You never let go.”

      “I am the experienced one here. If I let go of my control, we’d both be in trouble.”

      “That doesn’t make sense.”

      “Only because you haven’t done this before.”

      She didn’t deny his words. “I like it.”

      “I know.” He pressed just slightly, giving her a taste of what was to come.

      She moaned, her head falling back, her eyelids sliding down to cover the vulnerability in her gaze. “So, why do I have to say it?”

      “For me. Say it for me.”

      “It feels good.” The words came out in a low, throaty whisper infused with sincerity.

      Oh, yes, this woman would learn to hold nothing back.

      He rewarded her with more pleasure until she was rocking against him with gasping breaths. “Demyan!”

      “What, sérdeńko?”

      “You know! You have to know.”

      “This?” he asked as he pushed up to rub his hardness against her, pinching her nipples at the same time.

      “Yes.”

      He did it again, making sure to continue the friction against that bundle of nerves through the damp silk of her panties. “Let go, Chanel.”

      “I...”

      He didn’t want arguments. He wanted her surrender. “Come for me, Chanel. You are mine.”

      And unused to this level of pleasure, she came apart, her body arching into a stiff contortion of delight while a keening wail sounded from her throat.

      Oh, yes, this woman belonged to him. Her body knew it, even if her mind was still in some doubt.

      He let the shivers of aftershock finish, concentrating on gaining his own breath and a measure of mental fortitude. When he was sure he could do it without his own limbs giving way, he tucked one arm under her bottom and the other against her back and stood with her secure in his hold.

      Her head rose from where it had come to rest against his shoulder, her face still flushed with pleasure, her gray gaze meeting his. “What... Where?”

      “Your first time will not happen on a sofa, no matter how comfortable.”

      “It already did.”

      He shook his head. “That was not sex.”

      “But it was my first orgasm with another person.”

      Perhaps that small fact helped to explain why she was still a virgin, too.

      He didn’t repeat his shock at her age, or his disgust with her previous partners. “It will be the first of many, I promise you.”

      She swallowed audibly, but nodded with appreciative enthusiasm.

      He felt his mouth curve into a very rare and equally genuine smile.

      How had she remained untouched so long?

      This woman was sweetly sensual and engagingly honest. Far from socially inept. Demyan found her fascinating.

      It did not bother him at all, though, that she would be giving her body to him and only him. He would honor the gift and she would find no reason to regret it.

      He made the vow to himself, and Demyan never broke his word. Chanel was still trying to catch her breath when Demyan laid her oh so carefully on the bed after yanking back the covers.

      Sexual demand radiated off him like heat from a nuclear reactor. Yet there was no impatience in the way he handled her.

      The bedding? Yes. It lay in disarray on the floor, his powerful jerks pulling the sheet and blanket that had been tucked between the mattress and box spring completely away.

      But her?

      He settled with a gentle touch that belied his obvious masculine need.

      “I was going to wait.” He shrugged out of his suit jacket, letting the designer garment drop to the floor without any outward concern about what that might do to it.

      “Why?”

      “It seemed the thing to do.”

      “Because things are moving so fast between us,” she said rather than asked.

      He only loosened his tie and undid the top buttons on his shirt before pulling the whole thing over his head in one swift movement. “We will not be waiting.”

      His torso was chiseled in that way really fit men with natural strength were. Dark curls covered his chest, narrowing into a V that disappeared into the waistband of his trousers. She wanted to see where that trail of sexy hair led.

      She might be a virgin, but she was pretty sure she wasn’t a shy one.

      “You are beautiful,” she breathed.

      “Men are not beautiful.” But his eyes smiled at the compliment.

      “The statue of David is beautiful.”

      “That is art.”

      “So are you.”

      He shook his head, his hands going to his trouser button. “I am a flesh-and-blood man, never doubt it.”

      How could she, with all that flesh staring her in the face?

      His trousers slid down his legs, revealing CK black knit boxers that conformed to every ridge of muscle and the biggest ridge of all. His erection.

      Her mouth went dry, the moisture going straight to her palms. “You’re big, aren’t you?”

      “I’ve never compared myself to other men.” With that he shucked out of his boxers, leaving his very swollen, very rigid length on display.

      “According to scientific studies, the average penile length is five to five-point-seven inches in length when erect.” And Demyan was definitely longer, unless her eyes were deceiving her.

      But Chanel was a scientist who had conducted enough measurements she could usually guess within a centimeter’s accuracy.

      He frowned and stopped at the side of the bed, his erection bobbing with the movement even as it curved upward toward his belly. That wasn’t usual, either, she’d read. Most men erected perpendicularly with a slight leaning toward one side. Some even had a small downward angle.

      For Demyan’s hardness to be curving upward, it had to be extremely ready for

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