He shook his head, leading me into an attached office with a bulky door. Inside were a desk, a cot, storage closets, and several monitors displaying camera feeds.
“Is this a panic room?”
“Precisely.”
The feeds were from each area of the house. “The whole place is wired?”
“And one hidden outside.” It displayed Parisians walking down a side street, most gazing directly at the concealed camera. “I can watch every feed on my phone.” Sevastyan held up his cell, clicked an app, then showed me one. “So even when I’m not here, I can watch over you.”
Always watching me. “Does it record?” I asked in an innocent tone, but he’d already sensed the direction of my thoughts.
“If we wish it to. Or you could watch a feed live as it occurs.” He turned back into the bedroom, picking up a remote. A panel hummed, revealing a huge wall-mounted flat-screen.
With another press of a button, the TV came to life with a crystal-clear color view of the bedroom. The camera must be hidden in the molding on the wall opposite the bed.
He took off his suit coat, then moved to the bed, sitting back against the headboard. “Strip for me.” He clicked another button on the remote, dividing the screen between the bedroom and the street. It was as if strangers were with us, gazing directly into the room. With his eyes darkening, he said, “Strip for them.”
Oh, game on. This was the first even remote hint of kink since we’d had sex.
I pulled my hair down and shook it out over my shoulders; his gaze trailed over my mane, seeming to follow every curling lock.
With an indolent air, I unbuttoned my blouse; his hand headed south to rub the huge bulge already straining against his slacks.
I turned around when I shrugged off my top, keeping my back to him as I unzipped my skirt. The sound of his zipper joined mine. But I could see him on the TV, his gaze rapt on my ass as he fisted his cock.
God, that man aroused me beyond reason. I had a brief thought that he could be recording even this. The idea just turned me on even more. Any shyness I might have retained had been burned away by nights of his lovemaking, by his ardent gaze, his reverent touches.
This man liked my body and made no secret about it. So what was there to be shy about?
“Do you wish they could see you like this?” he asked as I shimmied from my skirt.
“I might.” Off came my bra.
“My little exhibitionist.” Just his rumbling voice had my ni**les budding. “Are you a voyeur as well?”
Considering my wee addiction to p**n , I had to say, “Odds are.”
“Don’t remove your heels and thigh-highs—I’m going to f**k you with those on.”
I shivered at his words, reaching for my thong, the last item he’d let me slip off. I reveled in his heavy breaths as I inched the scrap of lace down to my ankles, stepping from it.
“Turn around so I can see what’s mine,” he commanded me.
As ever, any hint of his dominance sent a flutter through me. I slowly turned. Though he was still dressed, I flaunted my naked attributes for him.
He looked mesmerized, his brows drawn tight, lips parted. Relishing his obvious pleasure, I squared my shoulders and cocked a hip out. “Like what you see, Siberian?”
“And it’s all for me alone. Come.”
With a sassy grin, I sauntered to the bed, climbing up to walk on my knees toward him.
“Straddle me.”
I situated one knee on each side of his hips and laid my palms against the high headboard—which put my crotch right before his face. Positioned like this, our gazes locked. His expression dared me to look away as he leaned forward to flick his tongue out. I gasped at the hard lash he gave my clit.
He did it again, burying his face deeper, not bothering to hide the fact that he was inhaling my scent. I raked my fingers into his ruffled black hair, rocking forward for more of his carnal mouth.
He licked my bud, tasting it till it was agonizingly swollen. His groans joined my moans as he ate me wetly, loudly—flicking and sucking with abandon until everything between my legs was sopping.
I perceived a droplet of my moisture trailing down my inner thigh, caught by the lacy garter-top of my hose. With a growl, he cleaned the lace with his tongue, sending my arousal spiraling. Then he set back in, ordering me, “Play with your ni**les. Roll them between your fingers.”
As I played, he spread me wider, nursing the hood of my clit until my legs trembled and my toes curled in my kitten heels. “Oh, God, Sevastyan, I’m close.”
Right when I was on the verge, he broke away with a sweet kiss.
I peered down with confusion. “But . . . but you can’t stop.”
“Just did, pet.” As he laid me back on the bed, I sputtered a protest . . . that fell mute when he rose to begin stripping. He made short work of his clothes, as if he didn’t want to miss a nanosecond of this.
I gazed on adoringly, riveted to his body moving, all ruthless hardness. Each of those hollows and rises had known my lips. The gunshot graze on his arm was almost healed, another bravely earned scar to join the rest of them.
Another mark for me to kiss.
Back in the bed, he maneuvered himself between my legs, fisting his shaft, aiming between my sodden curls. Even after all the times he’d taken me, I still went wide-eyed when he delved the head inside. He took care with his size, but I’d only been doing this for a few days.
“Any more protests?” he grated as he eased home.