Not Just the Boss's Plaything. CAITLIN CREWSЧитать онлайн книгу.
magic, when she was enchanted already.
Nikolai, she whispered to herself as she climbed inside the SUV, as if the name was a song. Or a spell. His name is Nikolai.
He swung in behind her on the soft leather backseat, exchanged a few words in curt Russian with the driver and then pressed a button that raised a privacy shield, secluding them. Then he settled back against the seat, near her but not touching her, stretching out his long, lean body and making the spacious vehicle seem tight. Close.
And then he simply looked at her.
As if he was trying to puzzle her out. Or giving her one last chance to bolt.
But Alicia knew she wasn’t going to do that.
“More talk of dogs?” he asked mildly, yet all she heard was the hunger beneath. She could see it in his eyes, his face. She could feel the echo of it in her, new and huge and almost more than she could bear. “More clever little character assessments couched as potential objections?”
“I got in your car,” she pointed out, hardly recognizing her own voice. The thick heat in it. “I think I’m done.”
He smiled. She was sure of it, though his mouth didn’t move. But she could see the stamp of satisfaction on his hard face, the flare of a deep male approval.
“Not yet, solnyshka,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp. “Not quite yet.”
And she melted. It was a shivery thing, hot and desperate, like she couldn’t quite catch her breath against the heat of it.
“Come here,” he said.
They were cocooned in the darkness, light spilling here and there as the car sped through the city, and still his blue gaze was brilliant. Compelling. And so knowing—so certain of himself, of her, of what was about to happen—it made her blood run hot in her veins.
Alicia didn’t move fast enough and he made a low noise. A growl—like the wolf he so resembled. The rough sound made her shake apart and then melt down into nothing but need, alive with that crazy heat she couldn’t seem to control any longer.
He simply picked her up and pulled her into his lap, his mouth finding hers and claiming her all over again with an impatience that delighted her. She met him with the same urgency. His hands marveled down the length of her back, explored the shape of her hips, and Alicia’s mind blanked out into a red-hot burst of that consuming, impossible fire. Into pure and simple need.
It had been so long. So long, and yet her body knew exactly what to do, thrilling to the taste of him, the feel of his hard, capable hands first over and then underneath her bright red shirt. His hands on her stomach, her waist, her breasts. So perfect she wanted to die. And not nearly enough.
He leaned back to peel off his jacket and the tight black T-shirt beneath, and her eyes glazed over at the sight of all of that raw male beauty. She pressed herself against the hard planes of his perfect chest, tracing the large, colorful tattoos that stretched over his skin with trembling fingers, with her lips and her tongue, tasting art etched across art.
Intense. Hot. Intoxicating.
And that scent of his—of the darkest winter, smoke and ice—surrounded her. Licked into her. Claimed her as surely as he did.
One moment she was fully clothed, the next her shirt and the bra beneath it were swept away, while his hard mouth took hers again and again until she thought she might die if he stopped. Then he did stop, and she moaned out her distress, her desperation. That needy ache so deep in the core of her. But he only laughed softly, before he fastened his hot mouth to the tight peak of one breast and sucked on it, not quite gently, until she thought she really had died.
The noises she heard herself making were impossible. Nothing could really feel this good. This perfect. This wild or this right.
Nikolai shifted, lifting her, and Alicia helped him peel her trousers down from her hips, kicking one leg free and not caring what happened to the other. She felt outside herself and yet more fully in herself than she had been in as long as she could remember. She explored the expanse of his gorgeous shoulders, the distractingly tender spot behind his ear, the play of his stunning muscles, perfectly honed beneath her.
He twisted them both around, coming down over her on the seat and pulling her legs around his hips with an urgency that made her breath desert her. She hadn’t even been aware that he’d undressed. It was more magic—and then he was finally naked against her, the steel length of him a hot brand against her belly.
Alicia shuddered and melted, then melted again, and he moved even closer, one of his hands moving to her bottom and lifting her against him with that devastating skill, that easy mastery, that made her belly tighten.
He was muttering in Russian, that same word he’d used before like a curse or a prayer or even both at once, and the sound of it made her moan again. It was harsh like him, and tender, too. It made her feel as if she might come out of her own skin. He teased her breasts, licking his way from one proud nipple to the other as if he might lose himself there, then moved to her neck, making her shiver against him before he took her mouth again in a hard, deep kiss.
As raw as she was. As undone.
He pulled back slightly to press something into her hand, and she blinked at it, taking much longer than she should have to recognize it was the condom she hadn’t thought about for even an instant.
A trickle of unease snaked down the back of her neck, but she pushed it away, too far gone for shame. Not when his blue eyes glittered with sensual intent and his long fingers moved between them, feeling her damp heat and then stroking deep into her molten center, making her clench him hard.
“Hurry,” he told her.
“I’m hurrying. You’re distracting me.”
He played his fingers in and out of her, slick and hot, then pressed the heel of his hand into her neediest part, laughing softly when she bucked against him.
“Concentrate, solnyshka.”
She ripped open the foil packet, then took her time rolling it down his velvety length, until he cursed beneath his breath.
Alicia liked the evidence of his own pressing need. She liked that she could make his breath catch, too. And then he stopped, braced over her, his face close to hers and the hardest part of him poised at her entrance but not quite—
He groaned. He sounded as tortured as she felt. She liked that, too.
“Your name.”
She blinked at the short command, so gruff and harsh. His arms were hard around her, his big body pressed her back into the soft leather seat, and she felt delicate and powerful all at once.
“Tell me your name,” he said, nipping at her jaw, making her head fall back to give him any access he desired, anything he wanted.
Alive, she thought again. At last.
“Alicia,” she whispered.
He muttered it like a fierce prayer, and then he thrust into her—hot and hard and so perfect, so beautiful, that tears spilled from her eyes even as she shattered around him.
“Again,” he said.
It was another command, arrogant and darkly certain. Nikolai was hard and dangerous and between her legs, his eyes bright and hot and much too intense on hers. She turned her head away but he caught her mouth with his, taking her over, conquering her.
“I don’t think I can—” she tried to say against his mouth, even while the flames still licked through her, even as she still shuddered helplessly around him, aware of the steel length of him inside her, filling her.
Waiting.
That hard smile like a burst of heat inside her. “You will.”
And then he started to move.
It was perfect. More than perfect. It was sleek and hot, impossibly good. He simply claimed