Page 23 of Claimed in Sin
"What is it?" she asks, glancing over her shoulder. Her tone is hushed, which means she knows something is going on.
"He's here," I say. "Outside."
"Who?" she gasps. "Maksim?"
"No... Stepan." I bite my lower lip and again I'm pleading silently with her with nothing but my eyes. She is the one who encouraged me to have an adventure, and here I am, honestly having the adventure of my life. It's just a mortal sin or something and I have to hide it from everyone.
"You're kidding."
"I'm not kidding. I sent him pictures." My voice almost squeaks as I step into the hallway, which is now empty of that gaudy dress. The seamstress dragged it away to put it on a hanger and I couldn't be happier. I seriously hate it.
"What kind of pictures?" Elira raises one eyebrow and her lips rise in a half smile.
"The kind you don't send from a bridal shop to a man I'm not engaged to." I lift both of my eyebrows to her and she snickers.
"You naughty girl," she says playfully, looking toward the door. "But we have more shopping to do."
She's right. We still have to pick shoes and a veil. Not to mention her dress still has to be chosen. Maksim gave me a price range and a color, but the rest is up to us. This could take hours, and I don’t want to make Stepan wait hours. Besides, when I'm done, I'm likely to be very tired from all of this crap.
I whimper and push out my bottom lip. "Ten minutes?" I feel like I’m asking my mother permission to play video games or something, not this. I'm literally asking my best friend if I can skip out on her for a few minutes to go have sex with a paramour I shouldn’t be around.
"Go," she says, "but don't take too long... And when you get back, be ready to relive it in detail so I can live vicariously."
"Elira—"
"I'll cover for you. Go..." She winks, and I shove my purse into her hands as I kiss her on the cheek.
"God, I love you!" I whisper before turning to rush off.
Stepan's car is parked around the side of the building in the alley where no foot traffic or cars pass by. It's off and the windows are tinted, and the instant I walk up to the passenger door, I see him inside. His dick is out and in his hand, and he sits looking at the image of my bare tits, stroking himself.
He looks pleased to see me when I open the door, though he's seated on the passenger seat like he's been expecting me, and he pulls me in, forcing me to straddle him right away.
"God, you're so fucking bad. Look what you did to me," he says. The second the passenger door clicks shut behind me, Stepan's hands are everywhere—gripping my hips, yanking me down harder onto his lap so his cock presses right against the damp cotton between my thighs.
"You're killing me," he mutters against my mouth before he kisses me. It's hungry and messy, tongue sliding in like he's been starving for it. I moan into him, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan back. It's dizzying.
I rock against him instinctively, the friction of his bare length rubbing along my covered slit making heat spike low in my belly. His hands slide up my sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts through the dress, teasing but not quite grabbing. I arch into it, anyway, chasing more.
"Do you feel how hard I am?" he breathes against my lips, flexing his hips so his head nudges right where I'm aching. "That's what those pictures did. I've been stroking myself waiting for you, staring at your tits, your ass... fuck, Marina."
My cheeks burn hotter. "You liked them?"
"Liked?" He laughs and it's almost a growl. "I almost came just from the one of your ass bent over. Had to stop touching myself so I wouldn't finish." His mouth finds my neck, teeth grazing the skin just under my ear. "I wanted to save it all for you."
I whimper, grinding down harder. My dress will be totally wrinkled, but this man is so intoxicating, I can't stop myself. His dick slides over the soaked fabric every time I roll my hips. Oneof his hands finally cups my breast, squeezing me and I wince. It's more sensitive than normal, almost painful, but I want more of it, more of him.
"God, yes," I gasp, tipping my head back. "Touch me there—harder."
He pinches a nipple just enough to make me jolt, then soothes it with a slow rub that has me trembling. His other hand slips under my dress, palm flat against my lower back, urging me to keep moving. So I do, shamelessly rubbing down his length, panties dragging over every ridge.
"You're dripping through these," he says, fingers dipping between us to trace the soaked seam of fabric. He presses two fingertips there, rubbing circles over my clit outside the cotton, and my thighs shake around his hips. "So fucking wet for me. You get this worked up just sending me those dirty pictures?"
"Yes," I admit on a shaky breath. I'm so embarrassed, but he makes me feel more at ease.
"Imagine how wet you'd be if you were actually naked. Want to send me pictures of that pretty pussy?" he asks as his fingers hook the edge of my panties and tug them aside, exposing me. Cool air hits my slick folds for half a second before his cock is right there, his blunt head slipping through my wetness, gliding, teasing.
"Fuck, you're soaked," he groans. "Gonna feel so good sliding in."
