The Player (The Game Maker #3)(53)

In answer, his Adam’s apple bobbed, and he rested his big hands on my head.

Lightly stroking him, I cupped his dusky balls, hefting their warm weight. “These look like they ache.”

Slow, solemn nod.

I nuzzled his sac, his scent intoxicating me. He groaned, widening his stance for more. When I tugged on his balls, his cock jerked with excitement, precum beading on the crown.

I leaned in to rub the slippery, plum-colored head against my lips, then I licked them for his taste. Sublime. “Swallowing you last night only whetted my appetite.”

His brows drew together, as if he was racked with disbelief—and delight. “Vika . . .”

I gave him another lick, then circled the crown. Peering up at him to gauge his reaction, I flicked that ring with my tongue. “I could play with this forever. My new favorite toy.”

Flick, flick. Flick, flick.

He shuddered, his torso muscles rippling. “Suck it between your lips.”

I gripped the base of his shaft as my mouth closed tight over the swollen tip. “Ummm,” I moaned around it, letting him feel the vibrations.

“Fuck! Take it deep for me!”

As I moved farther down his length, I pumped my fist, hand and mouth working together. All the while, I held his gaze.

“Look at your plump lips clinging to my cock! You suck me like you’ve been waiting your entire life for it.”

I felt like I had been! When my other hand drifted down to frig my clit, a ragged groan broke from his chest.

“Are you wet?”

In answer, I raised my damp fingers for him to taste.

His shaft pulsed against my tongue as he quickly leaned down. “Ah, my good wife!” He sucked my slick fingers clean, snarling in bliss, his seed climbing.

He released them with the terse order: “Keep fingering yourself.”

When I resumed with another moan, he thrust his hips, then seemed to make an effort to be still.

I wanted to tell him it was okay, but I was too busy devouring him, too busy edging my own orgasm.

“Continue looking up at me! Look at me, and you’ll f*cking keep me here.” What did that mean? “I’m close!” His accent had never been so thick. “Can’t hold back from you much longer!”

I hollowed my cheeks and sucked him without mercy, until his cock throbbed between my lips and I teetered right on the verge. . . .

Just when I thought he’d treat me to his cum, his body stilled. “Wait. Wait . . .” He cradled my face.

I hadn’t heard him correctly.

“Wait!” He eased my head back. His cock slipped free of my greedy mouth.

“Dmitri?”

He gazed down at me with such a stark look of hunger, I gasped.

I’d never seen a desperate need like that on a man’s face. “Have I done something wrong?”

“Nyet.” He looked gutted with want. “I am better off not knowing.”

Damn it, not knowing what? “Tell me what you mean.”

He helped me to my feet, then moved to sit on the edge of the bed. He raised his hands to his head, fingers splayed as if he were trying to crush his own skull.

I sat beside him. “Dmitri?” I touched his back.

He flinched.

“What would you rather not know?”

He rose with his fists clenched, the tendons in his arms and neck taut like bowstrings. He jerked his head from side to side, opening his mouth to say something, only to snap it shut. The warring emotions in his eyes reminded me of the feverish colors of that sunset. Just as incomprehensible.

“Dmitri, talk to me, please.”

He disappeared into his dressing room, returning in jeans, but his tension had only ratcheted up. Beginning to pace, he broke into an angry spate of Russian, gesturing heatedly. I heard his own name among those words; talking to himself again?

“Please tell me what your issues are.”

Seeming overwhelmed with confusion and frustration, he squeezed his head once more. The muscles in his forearms contracted, drawing my gaze to that faint scar. Based on his behavior right now, I worried that mark hadn’t been surgical.

Without warning, he launched a fist into one of the cabinets, splintering the wood. Another hit and another.

Once I recovered from my shock, I leapt off the bed to reach him. “Stop that!” I grabbed his arm.

He turned heartbreaking eyes to me. “And if I can’t?”

I should’ve been running the other way, but the torment in his expression was killing me. I took his banged-up fist in my hands, and gradually got him to lower it. “Tell me what’s wrong, Dmitri.”

He shook his head. He was so beautiful outside, and so clearly damaged inside. Beautiful, f*cked-up man.

“You told me I would need to help you,” I reminded him. “I want to, but you have to talk to me.”

“If I do this now, and my mind drifts . . . will I come back from it?”

Drifts? “Come back from what?”

His eyes darted. “The more pleasure I feel, the worse it is. And pleasure with you, Vika, is in a different goddamned realm. Your lips could turn any man mad.”

“What does that mean? What did I do?”

“Maybe I didn’t work hard enough, or I wasn’t clever enough.” Again he squeezed his head, as if he wanted to purge it of thoughts. “I believed I could do this. I misjudged everything.” His tone sounded wretched.