The Player (The Game Maker #3)(34)

My greedy gaze roamed over Dmitri’s impeccable suit. “It was . . . enlightening.”

Two nights ago, Dmitri had stripped me while remaining dressed, had even remarked I might like that. Already sensing my leanings?

Thinking of that first night reminded me—had he really jerked off on this very seat?

I would run a con just to see that.

“I suggest we establish a safe word,” Dmitri said.

“Isn’t that for whips and chains?” Though I might like to recreate what I’d watched today, I wasn’t down with bondage.

“If we’d had a safe word, you could have alerted me I was pushing you too far.”

Would I have forfeited that explosive orgasm at the time? For now, I’d humor him. Searching for a word, I scanned the luxe limo interior. My attention settled on the fancy bar. “I’ll say cognac.”

“Very good. I will stop immediately.”

I was accustomed to code words. Blue skies for cops. As in, “Nothing but blue skies around here.” Juke for change location. Cougar for currently on a grift. Rep for lookout.

Teotwawki—the end of the world as we know it—was my family’s code for an emergency meeting. Three months ago, my dad had texted that to our group line. Karin, Benji, and I had been at a photography exhibit, our phones chiming all at once. Without a word, Benji had sprinted ahead to get the car as Karin and I ditched our heels to run. We’d hauled ass to Mom and Dad’s.

The cartel had just lowered the boom on us.

“What are you thinking about?” Dmitri asked.

What I am. What’s at stake. I met his gaze. Time to flirt. “Last night. I haven’t been able to think of much else.”

“Nor I.”

“Those things you did with your fingers were mind blowing. How’d you learn stuff like that?”

“Videos and books,” he said. “I studied the subject of sex as if it were my field. I made it my job.”

“Why?” I asked, imagining him watching porn and masturbating. Five minutes into this date and my thong was damp.

“So I could impress a woman such as yourself.” His words could’ve been teasing, but he was serious. “And make her addicted to me.”

“Consider me impressed.” Understatement of the year. “When did you figure out you like to show off your dates that way?”

“You think I . . .” His eyes narrowed. “I do not like to show you off.” In an accusing tone, he snapped, “I want to take you back to my room right now! I want no one else to see you like this. I both love and hate that dress.” He didn’t seem to realize he’d gripped the hem, was letting the scarlet silk flow through his fingers.

My lips curled. Crazy man. “Is that your way of telling me I look nice?”

“Nice?? You took my breath away. I haven’t regained it yet.” He muttered something in Russian, but I recognized the tone: Fuck me. He blinked down at his hand and released the dress. “Last night, your appearance strained the bounds of my control. But this . . .”

My breaths shallowed, my boobs rising and falling under his brows-drawn gaze.

“I told you I am a jealous man. I’d prefer no one to see you but me.”

“Then why’d you show me off at the club?”

He met my eyes. “My fetish is making you wanton and mindless.”

Then last night had been for me. “How did you know about my fetish before I did?”

Voice gone husky, he said, “Your reactions the first night.”

I blushed to recall grinding his hand.

He clenched his fists. Recalling that as well?

I noticed jagged cuts across his right knuckles. Before I could ask what happened, he said, “All I can think about is seeing you come again, and you wear this? You must enjoy tormenting me. I asked you for mercy, but you’ve given me none.”

“I wore the dress because I like the way it makes me feel.”

He rasped, “Irresistible?”

God, this man got me hot. Maybe I liked playing with fire. “And yet . . . you’re resisting.”

He lowered his face while gazing up, his spine-tingling expression giving me goosebumps. He looked as if he was barely stopping himself from snatching me close. “You told me on the phone you didn’t want to have sex with me.”

But . . . but that was before I saw you in a suit. Inner shake. “You’re right. If I do, you’re going to get the wrong impression of me. I’ll feel pressure, and I hate pressure.” This was true.

“Then I will make you a promise right now. I vow I will never seduce you to have sex until we have both agreed to take that step.”

I shook my head. “Not enough. I’ll get too caught up with you, begging in the heat of the moment. When you showed up at my door tonight, my very first thought was that I wanted you to f*ck me.”

“Victoria . . .” His roughened voice made heat cascade through me. Seeming to steel himself, he said, “I vow I will never sleep with you until we’ve both agreed to take that step—agreed outside of a sexual situation.”

“What does that mean exactly?”

“It means we will sit down and discuss taking this”—he motioned between us—“further. It means you can enjoy time with me without feeling pressure.”