Page 65 of The Wrong Brother

My heart stumbles. “Rus?—”

“He was. Still is. He let you go.”

The words settle somewhere deep inside me, confusing and comforting all at once.

Ruslan studies me for another moment before releasing my chin. “This is only the beginning.”

The reminder sends reality crashing back into place.

The engagement party.

The wedding.

The revenge plot.

Everything waiting ahead.

“I need you focused.”

I nod slowly, feeling something inside me slowly diminish. Maybe I’m wrong; maybeI’mthe one caught up in wanting to think the kiss was something more, that beneath the surface Ruslan is looking at me as a person. Not as a tool.

The truth is, my focus is becoming a problem. Every day I spend around him; the lines blur a little more.

I tell myself it’s attraction, chemistry, maybe even infatuation. No one has ever touched me like Ruslan does. Devoured me.

And as if he reads my mind, he turns me around and presses my body against the railing. Overlooking the city once more, lights like fireflies floors and floors below us. The sound is muted—from inside, from the streets. A chill breeze swirls the skirt of my dress.

“You’re more than they know, Emma,” he murmurs, lips brushing my ear, his chest pressed against my shoulder blades. My breath catches in my throat, and his hand, the one not wrapped around my belly, ghosts over my breasts.

Now the goosebumps aren’t just from the cold air. My nipples peak, another breath straining the ties holding everything together as Ruslan caresses me slowly. Teasingly.

His lips press against the junction where my neck and shoulder meet. I let my head fall to the side, curls spilling over, wanting—what?

Him? Or just a distraction?

His hand moves away, bunching the tiered skirt and pulling it up. I gasp and squirm, feeling blood rush to my face.

“Rus, someone is going to see.”

“We’re fourteen stories up, Emma. No one can see what I’m going to do to you.”

The promise is a dark liquid pooling deep inside me. I shiver, feeling his fingers ghost up my thigh, over the lace panties that felt feminine enough for this outfit.

They were meant to be empowering, but they’re not as empowering as having a criminal press me up against a railing and delve two thick fingers between my folds.

I widen my stance, teetering on the heels, and whine, shifting my ass back unconsciously. Ruslan chuckles in my ear.

“Have you been this wet the whole time?”

Shaking my head, another sigh slips out as he prods at my entrance. Teasing still. His thumb shifts, moving roughly over my clit, and my whole body jerks.

“When you walk back in there,” he growls, his erection pressed hard against my ass, “I want you to walk in like you’ve just been fucked. I want you to own how beautiful and tempting you are, Emma. Because as soon as I saw you in this dress, I considered staying at the hotel. And fucking you all night, until you were too exhausted to stand.”

With each word, the pace of his thumb against my clit grows faster. I’m trembling under his touch now, a rhythmless, mindless whirlwind as his fingers dip back into my pussy, just barely, making me clench around nothing. The sounds that spill out of me are wanton. I’d be embarrassed if I wasn’t so turned on, so absorbed in how he’s making my entire body feel by touching just between my legs.

“Can you do that for me?” he asks, pace slowing.

Frantically, I nod. “Y-yes.”