21. DMITRI

21

DMITRI

Fingertips skim over the planes of my shirt, leading nowhere. Never mind, she's toying with a button.

Meanwhile, I'm unintelligible and reduced to clenching so hard I could break in half. And if Kavi looked down, she would notice another part of me eager to be seen, but her eyes are stuck at my collar.

I roll my lips. "Is this what you really want?"

She inhales an uneven breath. "Yes."

"This is you using me?"

"Yes."

"We'll be here all night."

Big brown eyes frantically meet mine. A shine of uncertainty mixed with a glint of frustration. "Hey! I'm—I'm seeing… what I want to do."

Fuck.

The woman capable of undoing all my discipline is not sure what she wants. What brutal hell is this?

My inner voice mocks me. Why would she want you? The broken man who might lose it all? The one who can't play hockey without fear his knee will give out? The one who doesn't have any friends and doesn't know how to laugh?

"I thought you wanted to make it count." The mocking isn't subtle.

"And I thought that meant you would do something, not me… doing it!"

"Fine." I fist my hand back in her hair until she's firmly in grasp, pulling her tighter to me. "That was my turn," I offer, forcing my voice to stay even. "What's yours?"

She goes to the button like it's her damn fidget spinner. "I'm thinking."

Thinking? Or torturing?

I should ease her along. Say some nice words.

Kavi… skittish, mesmerizing Kavi. I said I couldn't do this, but right now I can't stop. So take what you need now. Just put me out of this fucking misery and touch me. Give me a chance to get this out of my system.

"Is that what you want?" I press like a proper asshole. "To go home having done nothing at all? Basra, all safe and sound, wrapped up in her predictable life again."

Her teeth snap. "How dare you—I was being—trying to make sure you weren't— Ugh! " Her hands stroke a hard line up my chest, stopping by my neck.

"This just got interesting. Go on."

"I actually want to kill you!"

"I'm at your mercy, Princess. Not that you seem interested in doing anything about it."

Her hands go higher, threading into my hair. "Shut up. Shut up. Shut up."

I wait.

She pulls my hair harder. "I said shut-up."

"I haven't said anything, Basra."

"Yes, but I know you're thinking it."

Her rough touch suddenly shifts, stroking my dark strands. I have to strangle a moan before it escapes. Her thumbs find the corner temples of my head. She rubs. "This never stops. I know."

"On the ice it does." My forehead lowers, hovering above hers. "And now," I confess, gruffly.

"You're not thinking?"

"Not properly. But you're thinking too much."

"What I want is too selfish, too out there, too much."

My thumb indexes the line of her cheek. "Maybe you misunderstood me earlier, Princess. I'll repeat myself. I said to use me." Take what you need, confuse my cock, and then go away.

Kavi bites her lip.

It's not that she doesn't know what she wants, but whether she is allowed to take it. Like always. If she weren't caged by my body, she'd be fidgeting. In high school, it was the same. The biting of her bottom lip, the hand wringing, the number of ums mixed in her sentences. All of it obvious down to the big sweaters she wore.

Up. Down. Up. Fucking down.

How I used to watch her toy with that fucking zipper, wondering how much of her tank top underneath would come out. Never enough. Never for long.

Sometimes Smith's hand would sneak underneath. I told myself I didn't give a fuck. That I wanted to rip his arms off because he was a little shit who pretended he was decent but always copied her homework, forced her to make him cookies that he never ate, and "accidentally" hit that junior kid in practice. The one who was shaping up to be better than him.

"Dmitri."

Back in the club, she calls my name. Leaving her hair, both palms slam on the wall behind her. Nope. I can't touch her when she says Dmitri like that. Not when everything down to my balls aches to turn her around and take over.

Pushing her dress up to her waist, pushing those panties to the side, until I'm notched up against her entrance. Let me in. Let me in. Let me in.

My molars grind. Fuck. "You know how to really bother a man, don't you?"

What I mean is break.

"That's so rude…"

She yanks forward, brushing her chest against mine.

My hand goes to her neck as if I'm ready to strangle her. I should because she's doing it. Ripping up my focus, my decency, my control.

What have you done to me, Princess?

I push back until she's pressed firmly against the wall. Against my chest, her nipples harden. Leverage, I need more leverage. For my fingers to grip her hair again.

Instead of giving me an opening, she pulls back a little. Her expression is the most Kavi one I've seen on her yet, if you really know who she is when she's not hiding. Brows down, mouth slightly open, nose in the air, pupils unfocused. Openly lost and angry about it.

"I didn't ask for this," she gasps.

"Neither did I."

I'm drugged. My heart beats thick, unevenly thudding. All I want to do is run my hands all over her, squeezing and weighing and palming?—

Her thigh brushes my bulge.

Not that. She can't touch me there. Not when I need to keep some shred of control. Not when I'm walking away tomorrow after this favor of hers is over.

My hand pins her by the hip, keeping her against the wall.

Her gaze rakes down my torso, stuttering at the state of my pants.

"No," she breathes. "Put that away."

"Ignore it."

"Kind of impossible." Kavi gives my cock a withering death glare and then groans. "Is it getting bigger? How? What in the physics is this?" Her hand circles over it, as if securing the perimeter. "Sorry, but this is too much. Has anyone ever said that to you?"

"No."

"Those women were lying."

"What women? I don't have women."

"Liar."

"How so, Basra?"

She points. "I can tell that's seasoned. Unruly. Unreasonable. I could never deal with that."

I catch her jabby finger before it lands anywhere sensitive. "You would learn how to deal with it."

"Not when you drive me so mad," she complains. "Hypothetically—because we aren't really together and this isn't really happening. I would refuse."

Her fingers pinch my hand in tune to her words. I'd believe she wants this to end if she wasn't tugging me closer at the same time.

I drag my thumb across her wrist. "How many?"

"What?"

"How many inches can you start with?"

She's shaking her head, her eyes widening. "We are not discussing this—you and your—your cock! Because this is all hypothetical!" Kavi rears forward. "How does one even answer that? How many inches is the right answer?"

"Your answer, whatever it is, is the right answer. Hypothetically. "

"One."

I chuckle, a sound that surprises me. "So evil."

"I lied." She huffs, fighting down her smile. "Half of one."

When her leg swings around, I help until it fully straddles my thigh. There's a deafening sound in my ears.

"Liar," I chide. "You can do at least four. That will give us something to start with."

She's rubbing, searching for friction. Something to reach that special spot of hers. "Stop talking like this. I hate it."

"Be a good girl and hate it." Bending my leg, I bear weight against her, in that place between her legs. She starts riding and gasping. Eyes close and then pop back open.

"My dress." She tries stopping the rising hem, but it's too late. I see.

And even if I didn't, I'm feeling it. There's a patch of wetness right above my knee. It's everything. I want to taste it. A groan tears out of me. "You're fucking drenched."

"Don't see. No one can see!"

Right on time, voices echo, as if right around the corner.

Kavi flinches like she'd forgotten where we were. As if she's about to cry at the thought of being exposed. Her abrupt vulnerability rips into me, piece by piece.

I'm broken down.

"Don't worry," I promise hoarsely. "I'm going to fix this, Princess."

I have to or it will kill me. Hypothetically.