Free Betrayed (Undercover #3) by Helena Newbury

that, my ass pushing against the cool plaster, my chest heaving with fear and heady arousal. Then he mashed his body against mine, pressing his legs between mine, holding me there with the pressure of his flat, taut stomach against my groin. I felt myself go squishy inside, my sensitive flesh rubbing over those firm ridges of muscle as I struggled.
    Why am I struggling?
    I flushed. Because it’s more fun.
    His hands bunched in the neck of my dress. It was funny because I almost had a vision of him ripping the thing in two, but it was quite strong fabric and—
    His muscles bunched and the material screamed and gave, seams popping and stitching wrenching loose. It ripped straight down the front, baring my bra-clad breasts. He got it all the way down to my navel and then, with three savage tugs, he ripped it right down to the hem and it fell apart. Air made furnace-hot by his presence wafted against my exposed stomach and thighs. I could feel myself throbbing—God, moistening under my panties.
    He kissed me again, gripping my hips to lift me a little more, his mouth hungry and fierce at my lips. His tongue plunged deep, meeting mine. I was being plundered, ravished. Fantasies I hadn’t even known I had, fulfilled.
    I could feel him panting through the kiss. His hands ran up and down my body in long strokes, lifting and fondling my breasts through my bra, then sliding down to the softness of my inner thighs, then back up in a rhythm that had me writhing.
    He broke the kiss. “You understood all the things I said in Russian?” he asked in Russian.
    I nodded. “ Da .” Yes .
    The tiniest hint of a blush as he remembered some of the things he’d said. But a deeper gleam of lust in his eyes as he realized that I’d understood them...and I’d come back for more. “ All of them?” he asked.
    “Even when you said you were going to make me beg you to stop,” I whispered. “And then make me beg you for more.”
    He growled low in his throat. And then picked me up by the waist and threw me onto the bed.
    The shreds of my dress flopped around me, half-hiding my body, but he was on me in a second, rolling me onto my face and stripping it off me. A second later, I was back on my back, drawing in shuddering gulps of air.
    He looked down at my chest. Then he folded his thick fingers around the front of my bra and pulled, hard. It stretched away from my body for a second, the straps pulling painfully tight, and then they snapped and my breasts were naked beneath his eyes. He stared down at them for a second, feasting his eyes, and the feel of him looking at me sent a hot wave soaking through me. Then he lowered his head and began to lick in long strokes, covering all of my breast but each lick crossing my nipple. I moaned and kicked and writhed beneath him and reached for his head, intending to pull him down against me harder.
    He grabbed my wrists in one big hand and pinned them to the bed above my head. A moment later, his other hand bunched in the thin fabric of my panties and ripped them away. I groaned and tossed my head, feeling the heat rising up inside me, filling me. It was too much. My legs opened and wound around him but, at the same time, I shook my head and said, “I don’t understand this.”
    He froze and stared down at me. “What is there to understand?”
    I flushed. “Us two, together. This. This...thing, this game—”
    “Is not game,”
    “That’s worse! Or better, I don’t know. Like, is it BDSM and should we have a safeword and is it wrong that I like it? I mean, I’m not sure why I like it and MMFF!”
    The last was because he’d put his hand over my mouth.
    “Shut the fuck up, Arianna,” he told me.
    I went stiff and quiet.
    “You Americans analyze every fucking thing,” he said mildly. “You like it—yes?”
    I nodded.
    “You know I would never, ever hurt you?”
    I did, but hearing it lit a warm glow of reassurance inside me. I nodded again.
    “Then that is all that matters. Now shut up