The Player (The Game Maker #3)(7)By: Kresley Cole
He eased in even closer, raising a hand to brush his knuckles over my jawline, then a cheekbone. “So incredibly beautiful, moy ángel.”
Was this billionaire going to kiss me? I murmured, “You’re a player, aren’t you?”
Still caressing my face, he said, “Give me your definition of ‘player.’”
“A guy who finds women interchangeable, and goes through a lot of them. He plays games with their heads.” The only thing worse than a player? A tourist player.
Dmitri lowered his hand to curl his forefinger under my chin. “There are two things you should know about me, Victoria. One, I will play games with you.”
Warmth flooded my body, centering between my thighs. I swallowed. “What’s the other thing, big guy?”
He palmed the back of my head, drawing me close. Yet then he hesitated, as if relishing that he was about to kiss me. “You will like my games.” He leaned down and trailed his warm, firm lips along the side of my neck.
My lids slid shut, all of my senses heightening. His scent had been enticing; now irresistible. His body heat had been magnetic; now he felt hot as flames.
My thoughts tried to scatter, but I struggled for control. Potential mark. Keep your head. What’re you doing?
I perceived his light breaths against my mouth. His lips grazed mine with such tenderness—almost . . . reverence. He was seducing me.
And it was delicious.
For all my sexual life, I’d longed for the wild passion other people talked about, wrote about, sang about. I’d enjoyed sex, but I’d easily lived without it for a year. Sometimes I feared I would never find the key to unlock my passion.
When I parted my lips for him, he slanted his mouth and our tongues touched. My breath hitched at the contact, my neglected libido sizzling to life. Could a single, solitary man be my key?
With a groan, he cradled my face and slowly twined his tongue with mine.
I shivered with wonder, grasping his broad shoulders, savoring his muscles. My nipples stiffened against the cups of my strapless bra, and my thong grew damp.
Though tension stole through his body, he kept up his measured seduction.
I got the impression he struggled to be gentle with me; I didn’t want gentle. I inwardly begged, More . . .
But he kept up his slow-burn, seething pace.
More! My fingernails bit into his shoulders; as if I’d flipped a switch in him, ferocity overpowered his tenderness. With a growl against my lips, his hands landed on my ass, yanking me against him.
I gasped into our kiss—his cock was huge! Was he moving us? My back met a wall.
He pressed his body against mine and rocked his hips, grinding his erection.
I shuddered with want, moaning for the thick length trapped between us. I grew even wetter, my pussy aching for it. My head swam. I couldn’t get close enough to him. Rolling my hips against him, I sucked on his tongue—
I broke away from that dream kiss. When I pushed against Dmitri’s chest, his muscles flexed to my touch. My greedy fingers decided to clutch at his rigid pecs, and I was about to dip right back into the dream—
Pete cleared his throat.
I dropped my hands and shimmied around Dmitri, trying to catch my breath.
The Russian refused to let go, turning to pull my back against his front so we both faced Pete. I blushed again when I felt Dmitri’s cock between us.
He draped his arms over me possessively. “Peter, how could you hide a cousin this beautiful from me?”
Pete must be thinking: But I threw our best and brightest at your feet. With my little purse in his hands, he said, “I had no idea you would hit it off . . . with her.” Obviously. He’d been so shocked to find us kissing, he’d used my family nickname in front of a gull.
Dmitri made a sound of disbelief. “How could I not?”
I made a mental note to ask my cousin how smug I looked at this moment.
“Maksimilian is looking for you,” Pete said. “They’re about to start the toasts.”
Dmitri tugged me even closer. “We will be down soon.”
“Actually”—I twisted in his arms to peer up at him—“can I meet you downstairs? I need to talk to Pete about something.”
Dmitri glanced at my cousin. He shuttered his reaction, but I read faces like a pro, even micro expressions. And right now, Dmitri’s was micro-irritated. “Before I go . . .” He dug in his shirt pocket and handed me his miniscule phone. “I would like you to call yourself.”