Page 11 of The Wrong Brother

I stand as Russ reaches for me and wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me close. His mouth again, that sinful mouth, covers my own, spearing between my lips in a way that is so demanding it makes my knees weak.

He tastes like wine and chocolate. Another small sound slips out of me. When I press closer to him, suddenly it’s all too much.

“The dress,” I gasp.

Russ growls again, his hands fisting in the wine-red skirt. “Fuck the dress.”

No,I think.That’s not what I meant,but a zing of elation shivers through me at his words.

What Imeantwas that there’s too much clothing between us. Too many layers with this structured bustier and waterfall of a skirt.

In one astonishing move, Russ tightens his hold on my hips and heaves me onto the dining table. Plates clatter to the ground. A candle sits dangerously close to my hair, and Russ reaches out and snuffs the flame by wrapping his massive hand around it.

“The staff—” I murmur against his demanding mouth, worried that they’ll have heard the plates breaking and come to see what the ruckus is.

“They know better,” he says, voice like honey and something darker, something that sends a shiver of recognition through me.

Be careful.

A part of my brain reaches desperately for facts. For the small things throughout dinner, the questions, the way he looked atme with those pale eyes. All the things that set off alarm bells in my head.

I shouldn’t have come.

But with Russ’s hands rucking up my dress and his pale silver-blonde head disappearing between my thighs, it’s hard to think of another way I want this night to go.

His mouth is hot against my core, even through the silk panties I wore. I’m not sure if the dampness is from how turned on I got the moment his tongue dragged across my skin or from the way he’s sucking at my clit through the delicate cloth, making me cry out.

Legs splayed obscenely on the table, all I can do is tip my head back and try to breathe as overwhelming sensations crash over me.

A man hasnever,ever devoured me like this.

His fingers dig into my hips before deftly rending the silk. I hear it, but barely register it, caring only that his mouth isonme now, his tongue dipping between my folds to drag a long line up to my clit, where he sucks hard enough to make me jerk.

“Stay,” he commands when my hips come off the table. His hand presses down on my stomach, and I only have a moment to be self-conscious about the extra little weight there before he’s towering over me again, one knee on the table as he climbs up.

“This,” he purrs, “looks absolutely delicious on you, Emma. But I’m in the mood for something…sweeter.”

The sound of ripping fabric fills the room as Russ Smith tears through the very dress he owns and bought. His face is set, lips still wet with my slick, glasses gone, hair mussed.

“What—” I barely manage to gasp.

His hands move to his belt, the clack of the metal sending a thrill through me.

“This is your last chance,l’vyonak.Tell me to stop, or part those pretty little lips for me.”

My lips do part, but not just out of desire.

L’vyonak.A Russian word. I can’t translate it, my brain is too scrambled, but my toes buzz with warning even as Russ frees his impressive erection and pumps himself slowly.

“Perfect,” he murmurs.

And it’s now that I can hear it—the slight tinge of an accent. Barely there, but…but…

Everything goes fuzzy as he touches me.

His hands glide up my bare thighs, scrunch my waist as he growls, as if savoring the handfuls of flesh beneath the luxurious fabric. Those pale eyes land on my breasts again, ready to spill from the bust, and he carefully climbs up my body.

Kneeling on either side of my waist, he’s close enough for my mouth to water as he fists his cock again.