Guard (The Underground Book 3) (32 page)

Mikhail shed the last of his clothes and climbed onto the bed to crawl across to her side. “I like the bra. Keep it on. But peel the jeans off and get your ass up here.”

She did as he asked, but in slow motion, knowing he would frown about her lack of speed…and perhaps even retaliate. A girl could hope.

“You’re a very naughty woman,” Mikhail muttered. “And I can tell when it’s intentional. I wouldn’t do that if I were you. It won’t pan out well.”

“Really?”

He lifted his gaze from her chest to her face. “Baby, I’m warning you.”

“Mmm. Maybe I like it when you warn me.”

“Defiant woman. Do you like having a red ass and swollen needy pussy?”

She swallowed. The truth was she loved it. It was a difficult thing to admit out loud, but she was getting there.

She loved everything about this man. The only thing that remained was to tell him so in those words. And she would. Soon. When the timing was perfect.

Right now, she intended to concentrate on dishing out just enough sass to antagonize her man so that he retaliated with just enough dominance to make her come so hard she couldn’t see straight. “It’s been a week. You going to lift the ban on my masturbating?” That question would get a rise out of him.

A slow smile spread across his face, and then he reached out, grabbed her wrist, and hauled her onto the bed. Seconds later, she was on her back beneath him, legs spread so he could nestle between them. His cock pressed hard and heavy against her pussy. “You have so misunderstood.”

“Have I?” She lifted a brow, fighting the urge to giggle.

He threaded his hands in her hair and held her head steady as his gaze roamed over her face, probably trying to decide if she was serious or not. “The ban wasn’t on you masturbating, sweetheart. The ban was on you ever being alone long enough to have the opportunity to do so.”

She knew that, but it was fun watching him try to read her expression. She widened her eyes but pursed her lips to keep from giving anything away with her mouth.

His eyes twinkled. “You
never
get to masturbate without me watching and directing. That’s a firm rule. If you want to be sassy about it and imply I can’t trust you on that issue, you also won’t be permitted enough alone time for it to happen.”

The truth was she found she liked having him by her side day and night. It was comforting. When he wasn’t with her, she missed him. Perhaps it was the newness of their relationship and it would wear off eventually, but she didn’t think so. Not this time. Not this relationship. Not this man.

She didn’t need words to let him know how she felt about his declaration. She had her hands. And in response to his demand, she wiggled one down between their bodies and stroked her middle finger through her folds and then across her clit.

She hadn’t touched herself like that in a week. And it felt amazing. Her mouth fell open, her eyes rolled back, and she let herself moan.

For a moment Mikhail didn’t move. Had she shocked him with her defiance? And then he shook his head, lifted off her body, and grabbed both wrists. After hauling them over her head and securing them in one hand, he spoke, “I see you’ve chosen the brat routine. Okay. I’m good with that. But I’ll warn you, like I told you before, it won’t always pan out like you might envision.

“You like the feel of your fingers stroking over your clit?”

She nodded, swallowing.

He released her, grabbed several pillows, and propped them against the headboard. And then he positioned himself on his side a few inches from her body, lounging propped up on one elbow as if they were about to discuss the weather. “Scoot back. Get comfortable. Spread your legs. Go ahead. Touch yourself.”

She wasn’t sure what to make of his directives. But she needed to be touched so badly she didn’t care what the rules were. Defying him made her hotter than hell.

She settled comfortably propped against the headboard and reached tentatively between her legs.

“Open your pussy for me. Spread the lips.”

She did as he instructed, instantly feeling the gathered wetness.

“Gather your arousal. Circle your clit.”

She followed those demands too. It was easy. And it felt amazing. She flicked her middle finger over the swollen numb and nearly bucked off the bed.

“Nope.” He grabbed her wrist to stop her. “I didn’t say to touch your clit. I said to circle it.”

She gulped. Uh-oh.

“I have all night. We can practice your ability to follow the rules as long as you like. Now, I want you to circle that sweet little bud without touching it until I say to stop. If you can do that without accidentally touching it, maybe I’ll let you come. Maybe I won’t.”

She shuddered. Could she play this game? Maybe she had stepped in deeper than she could handle.

Or maybe this was exactly what she wanted.

She met Mikhail’s gaze and followed his instructions. No matter what he decided tonight, she knew it would be worth it. Every second of her time spent with him was worth it. The tight ball of desire spreading from her belly to her pussy felt amazing. Holding on to it would only make it that much sweeter in the end.

Yeah. She could do this. She could submit to this gorgeous man.

And it would be worth it. Every. Single. Moment.

Becca Jameson lives in Atlanta, Georgia, with her husband and two kids. After years of editing, she is now a full-time author. With over 40 best-selling books written, she has dabbled in a variety of genres, ranging from paranormal to contemporary to BDSM. The voices in her head are clamoring to get out faster than she can get them onto “paper”! She loves chatting with fans, so feel free to contact her through email, Facebook, or her website.

Author's Web Site

Other Books by this Author on Amazon

Other Books by this Author on Barnes & Noble

Other Books by this Author on Kobo

Keep reading for a sneak peek of
Submit
, book 4 of this series releasing August 2016.

“Oh my God. What are you still doing here?” Belinda leaned against the wall where the hallway entered into her living room. She was still dizzy and had no energy from vomiting more times than she could count. She flattened her hand on the wall to hold herself up and leaned the side of her head against the cool surface when that didn’t prove effective.

A low moan escaped her lips as she internalized Nikolav was still in her apartment. She had hoped his presence had been in her imagination.

Apparently not.

Nikolav jumped to his feet, tossing the magazine he’d been flipping through to the coffee table as he turned to face her. He cocked his head to one side, his eyes squinted quizzically. “Of course I’m still here.”

Belinda wanted to die. For more reasons than one. She’d never felt so sick in her entire life for one. And to top it off, the sexiest man alive had been witness to her compete degradation for hours on end.

Nikolav rounded the couch and rushed toward her.

She hadn’t realized she was sliding down the wall until he grabbed her by the shoulders and righted her. She moaned again.

“You in pain?” he asked as he bent at the knees and lifted her easily into his arms. “Why didn’t you call for me instead of trying to walk?”

She was in pain all right. But not the kind he imagined. She was in distress over finding out she hadn’t imagined him in her apartment. Her eyes fluttered closed as he carried her back to her bedroom and gently set her on the bed. The cool sheet felt amazing against her skin as she rolled to her side and curled her legs up toward her chest.

These were not her normal sheets. “What happened to my bed?” she muttered.

“I changed the sheets. And I’m going to run you a bath now too if you think you’re up to it.” He turned around and stepped into the attached master bath.

Her gaze followed his fantastic ass and the way his arms were so thick they didn’t hang straight down against his body. His polo shirt was green and hugged his chest and abs in all the right places. His jeans were hung low and worn, fitting him like a glove.

She swallowed and glanced down at herself. Her own T-shirt was sweaty and sticking to her chest. It was blue and had sorority letters on it from her college days. Her loose pajama bottoms were pink with white polka dots. When had she put on this ridiculous combination?

Her hand was shaking as she lifted it to her hair to find the thick locks matted and stuck to her head. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming out in frustration.

“Do you think you can tolerate a bath yet? Is your stomach settled?”

She jerked her gaze to the man wandering back toward her. “I’m fine now. Just weak.” The bout of food poisoning that started in the middle of the night had been ferocious, but luckily short-lived. Twelve hours later she had little energy, but at least her stomach was no longer threatening revolt.

Nikolav reached out a hand. “Come on. The water’s warm. You’ll feel so much better. I’ll make you some tea while you soak.”

She ignored his hand and swung her legs around to the side of the bed. Slowly, she lifted herself to sitting and then slid off the mattress again.

He took her elbow and led her to the bathroom. “Think you can manage?” he asked in his deep Russian accent as she entered.

“I’ll be fine.” She didn’t turn around. Instead she shut the door at her back and leaned against the frame. Deep cleansing breaths did nothing to slow her racing heart.

This situation was insane. She’d spent the previous evening catching up with her friend Haley only to wake up in the middle of the night with severe cramps. She’d only meant to warn Haley and her boyfriend, Mikhail, of the food poisoning when she called early that morning.

But Mikhail had taken it upon himself to send his friend Nikolav over to take care of her.

Insanity.

She would kill him the next time she saw him.

Sure, Mikhail was a smoking hot, Russian mixed martial arts fighter, but when she’d asked him to set her up with one of his friends, she hadn’t meant six hours later while she rested her forehead on the toilet.

The tub was almost full, and she stepped farther into the room and shut off the water before turning toward the mirror. “Shit.” She looked like death. Her normally olive Italian skin was wan and gray. The thick black waves of hair around her face were a rat’s nest. Her dark eyes were sunken.

She peeled her clothes off and dropped them in the hamper, shuddering to think how she’d gotten into them in the first place. They weren’t the clothes she’d been wearing when she went to bed. And she didn’t have on a bra or panties. No amount of digging into the recesses of her mind gave her a definitive answer.

Lowering herself into the hot water made her sigh. It felt that good. She sank all the way under without pausing, holding her breath as her head was submerged. For a few seconds she stayed that way, her eyes closed, her cheeks puffed out. It was peaceful. As if she could escape her current predicament if she didn’t resurface.

But alas, she had no choice. She eased her face out of the water and leaned against the back of the tub, already feeling much better. As she closed her eyes, she pondered her next move.

The first thing she needed to do when she got out of the bathroom was get rid of Nikolav. She was mortified, and never seeing him again in this lifetime would be too soon.

And then she needed food. Maybe crackers. Ginger ale. Did she have any white soda in the apartment?

Dammit
. She realized her body wash and shampoo were in the shower, and she started to sit up, thinking to risk standing on wobbly legs to get it. But the items she needed caught her eye on the edge of the tub, and she froze.

Nikolav? He’d thought to move her supplies to the tub?

Her face heated. The man could apparently do no wrong. A fact that would make it harder to get rid of him. She didn’t want to be rude. After all, he’d come in the early morning hours to help, which kept her from either lying in a pool of her own vomit for half the day or resorting to calling her parents.

The last thing she wanted was for her mother to come over and get involved. Marta Gallo was too uptight. She would have called an ambulance and made a bigger deal out of obvious food poisoning than strictly necessary.

Nope. It might be difficult to get rid of Nikolav, but it would be impossible to get rid of her mother.

Belinda reached for the shampoo and closed her eyes as she worked it into her hair for longer than necessary. After dipping her entire head under water again, she added conditioner and let it soak in while she washed her body.

Even after all the exertion, she felt much better just getting clean.

“You okay, Belinda?” Nikolav’s deep voice made her jump, sending water splashing over the sides of the tub.

“Yep. Just about to get out.” She released the plug at the bottom of the tub and hauled her body out of the tub. Her fingers shook as she reached for her towel and quickly dried off. Realizing she had nothing clean in the bathroom to put on, she wrapped her towel around her body and opened the door to her bedroom.

Relief washed over her when she found herself alone, the door closed. She padded to her dresser to grab panties from one drawer and black yoga pants and a dark purple nylon shirt from another drawer.

Hurrying, so she wouldn’t be caught naked, she slid the towel to the floor and put the clean clothes on. Her hair was still dripping wet, but she wrapped it in the towel and twisted it on top of her head. She needed sustenance before she could tackle a brush.

It took several deep breaths to conjure up the nerve to leave her bedroom, knowing the huge sexy Russian with the thick black hair and pale skin was in her kitchen or living room.

Finally, she made her way down the hallway to find him standing at the kitchen counter stirring something in a mug. Steam lifted into the room.