Acquainted, page 9
Anticipation thrummed inside her, restlessness churning as he pressed a kiss to her ankle, then continuing up her calf and along the inside of her thigh until he was right where she needed him most.
He had barely touched her, and she was eager for him. She couldn’t even bring herself to care that he could probably see how wet she was. Not when he looked as if he was about to eat her alive.
“Please, Alfie,” she whispered, her back hitting the cool, glass top of her desk.
“Patience.”
“But—”
“Terpeniye,” he said again, and she could practically hear the smile in his voice.
But she couldn’t care about his arrogance, not when her fingers were tunneling into his hair at the first swipe of his tongue over her sex.
Alfie wasn't shy about it.
He fucked her as thoroughly with his mouth as he did with his cock. The feeling all the better because of the grip he had on her thighs to keep them open. As if he was daring her to try to close them.
Even knowing the mess they were making as she heard pens clattering to the floor, she couldn’t bring herself to care, not when she was hurtling toward an orgasm that she knew she would never be able to forget for as long as she lived.
He drew back, just as her legs started to shake, his gaze riveted to her sex.
She could feel the restraint he was using not to fuck her with those two fingers. To take his own advice to be patient.
“How could I forget how bloody fucking tight you are?” he asked, the question more to himself. “You feel like a fucking vise, luv.”
Her head fell back as his words whispered over and through her. She felt them in every inch of her body, and just when she was sure he couldn’t take this feeling higher, he leaned over and sucked her clit back into his mouth.
It was amazing.
Too fucking amazing for words.
“That’s it,” he said in a raspy voice, thrusting those maddening fingers so deep, then back out again. “Show me how bad you need it.”
She shamelessly undulated her hips, seeking more of him. Needing more.
It felt as if her body was living in a drought, and he held the only water source.
Every time she tried to focus on one thing—the slow and even thrust of his fingers or the curl of them as they rubbed over her G-spot or how his tongue felt like a wet vibrator on her clit—he doubled his efforts elsewhere until she was a quivering mess beneath him. His name falling from her lips like a prayer.
“Tell me how badly you want it,” he ordered in a harsh voice, skimming that hand down to jerk at the hem of her skirt and drag it up until she was nearly exposed to his gaze.
“I need you, Alfie,” she all but whined, reaching for him, making it abundantly clear that she was ready.
But he wasn’t ready to give in yet.
Not until she gave him what he wanted.
And when he did something darkly delightful with his fingers, her eyes rolled back in her head, and the crest broke over her.
“Fuck, I’m coming.”
The words exploded out of her just as she tipped over the edge, her back bowing off the desk, her fingers gripping his hair tight.
She whispered a plea—some mixture of his name and what she needed—and only then did he finally pull his fingers free of her and grip her hips, pulling her off the desk and spinning her around until her back was to him and her hands were planted where her body had just been.
“Spread your legs for me.”
The words sent heat curling down her spine, her hands balling into fists, but she obediently did as he asked.
Every beat of her heart sent awareness pulsing through her, and if he didn’t touch her, fill her in the next second, she was afraid she’d spontaneously combust where she stood.
A sharp crack rent the air, heat exploding across the skin of her ass as a moan left her lips.
“Open.”
Vera ground her teeth, finding herself dangerously close to begging, but even still, she spread her legs wider.
Only then did he finally press the blunt head of his cock against her entrance, pushing in just enough that she could feel him there but not enough to fully satisfy her.
“God, would you just fu—”
The sentence ended on a sharp exhale as he thrust in deep with one harsh stroke, dragging her up onto the tips of her toes.
Words were no longer needed.
The hand he had planted between her shoulders, keeping her front against the desk, felt nearly as good as the way his hips were pressed against hers. She felt pinned in place, too eager and excited for what would come next.
He gave her exactly what she’d been begging for over the last however long, and only when her legs were shaking, and she was close to tapping out after coming again did he finally still as he came, the grip of his fingers on her waist nearly as good as the harsh breath that left him.
Everything about Alfie Shelby was addicting, and now she wasn’t sure if she would be able to give him up again.
Chapter 9
It was abundantly clear she had no restraint when it came to Alfie.
What little resistance she’d put up the other night had lasted all of a minute before she gave in to what they both wanted.
She hadn’t been sure whether it was possible to become addicted to someone, but that was before she met Alfie.
Until he had shown her just what kind of drug he was.
Four weeks.
She had made it an entire four weeks before sleeping with him again, but once she had, she wasn’t sure how she had managed to stay away for so long because once she had that taste of him again, she couldn’t resist it anymore.
Which was how she had found herself naked, straddling his lap in the living room of his place beyond sated. They hadn’t even made it upstairs.
“We were supposed to be going by Amethyst, Alfie,” she told him sternly, though lacking heat as she climbed off his lap and grabbed the dress she’d been wearing to pull it back on.
Instead, she was here with him now, her voice hoarse and her legs like jelly.
But she couldn’t entirely blame him this time. She’d pursued him and hadn’t thought twice about it.
He watched her dress with a lazy smile on his face, and had she been even an inch closer, he would have stripped her right back out of her clothes, and they’d be right back where they started.
“They should be finished by the time we get there.”
“They could also wait another hour,” he said standing, clearly knowing he made one hell of a sight like that.
The ropes of muscle. The fine hair along his chest.
The fact that he was still hard.
She could have evaded him, but she let him pull her back toward him. So very tempted to forget all about work and just stay here in the comfort of his home.
“After,” she told him for a third time, stepping back out of his embrace. “See the restaurant, walk the floor, and after … we can come back here.”
And pick up right where they left off.
A thought that shouldn't have sounded as good as it did.
“I trust it looks great.”
“Thank you,” she said earnestly. “But we’re still going.”
He made a low, disappointed sound in the back of his throat before he finally started picking his clothes up from the floor.
“Twenty minutes.”
She finger-combed her hair back into place. “The longer you take, the longer it takes before you get me bent over this couch again.”
“Five minutes.”
There was nothing quite like seeing a project coming to fruition.
A vision was great—it helped her see what she wanted to create—but it was just a thought. An idea.
It wasn’t until every little piece was in place, even if that was just a specific chandelier or table that replaced another one that was perfectly fine.
The finished product was when she felt the most pride.
And when she saw the surprise on Alfie’s face as they entered his restaurant, pride swelled in her chest. She loved that he’d believed in her long before she had ever taken on the project officially, but it was even better to see that he actually liked what she had done.
“Well?” she asked, her gaze skimming over the multitude of dining tables, custom chairs, and the benches that sat in a line in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides of the building. “What do you think?”
“Can’t say I’m surprised,” he said as he walked the floor, studying every detail. “No one could have done better.”
She smiled, more happy than she could put into words. “I’m glad you approve.”
“The hard part is done. Everything else should fall into place for the opening.”
“Good. I—”
“And you’ll be my date for the evening, yeah?”
It wasn’t that she was completely surprised by the question, or even that it caught her off guard, but it was an acknowledgment that they weren’t just sleeping together.
They weren’t just … acquaintances.
They would be together.
When he looked back at her, waiting for an answer, she knew it was now or never.
“Pick me up at six.”
Despite having a closet the size of a small bedroom, Vera still found herself standing in the middle of it with a towel wrapped around her naked body, wondering what the hell she would wear to the opening night at Amethyst.
One wall was made up completely of lavish gowns, another for skirts, and a third for her favorite jeans, but no matter how she tried to piece together an outfit in her head, nothing seemed right.
And more, she couldn't think of any other time when she had worried so much about what she would be wearing as she was now.
But tonight wasn't like those other nights. It wasn't just about how other people saw her. This was about Alfie, for Alfie, and she was thinking more of him than anyone else.
It felt like only days ago that she hadn't concerned herself with Alfie or what he wanted, but as the weeks had slowly crept by without her noticing, she found herself thinking more about him.
Not just lust, she came to realize. She actually liked him.
And with him inviting her as his date for the opening, he was making it pretty clear that they were more than just lovers and far beyond the one-night stand that started their relationship.
Even as she wasn't sure what she would wear, nothing compared to her nerves at the thought of them being together openly.
She might have steered clear of her family, but they didn't always steer clear of her. They all, in their own way, kept tabs on her life—finding out what they could without raising her suspicions. At least her brothers did.
Vasily didn't care how he got his information—whether that meant outwardly spying on her by having his men follow her around or having someone look into her.
He might not have known about Alfie just yet, but he would soon if this went any further.
A thought for another day.
Vera was moments from just throwing on some clothes and going down to her favorite boutique to find something when an echoing chime sounded, her brow furrowing as she slipped on a robe and cinched it tight before going to answer the door.
Just as she laid her hand on the knob, the bell rang again.
She checked the peephole—a lesson she had once learned the hard way—before opening the door, her gaze leveling on the deliveryman in the blue uniform as he looked from the electronic notepad in his hands to her.
"Vera Markovic?" the man asked.
"Yes?"
"Delivery for you. Sign here," he said before passing the device over to her, seeming not to notice her hesitation.
He was more focused on grabbing and lifting a box that was nearly as tall and wide as she was.
"Where would you like it?"
This wasn't a bomb—those she wouldn't see coming if one of her family's enemies thought to target her to get to her father.
Like the one that had very nearly killed her brother more than a decade ago.
It was always a surprise until it wasn't.
But she still had no idea what it was or, more importantly, who had sent it.
She gestured for him to set it down anywhere in the living room before he tipped his hat and quickly made his exit. Once she had the door closed and locked again, she walked back over to the package and began to open it.
Once she made it through the outermost box, she found another one inside, this one colored a pristine white with a black satin ribbon wrapped around it.
Vera only had to look at the packaging now to know what was inside, considering the designer was a favorite of hers.
And as that thought formed, she also realized just who this gift was from.
With the ribbon pulled undone, she removed the top next, maneuvering the tissue paper aside to reveal the dress nestled within.
Black with long sleeves, a mid-thigh skirt, and a back that practically didn't exist, it was perfect—as good as anything she would have picked herself. And staring at it, she knew exactly what to pair with it.
Tonight, she thought as she headed back upstairs, would be a good night.
Opening night was turning into something far bigger than Vera had anticipated.
She had underestimated Alfie’s reach—and not just on the criminal side of things. The men and women whose names were on his reservation list were not only top members of New York society, but there was even a housewife or two in attendance.
“Best night ever,” Frances said with a smile, her eyes wide and glimmering as she held a glass of champagne in one hand and her phone in the other.
“Has Blaine arrived yet?” Vera asked, already turning to see if she could catch sight of Frances’s boyfriend somewhere in the crowd of people currently milling around the bar waiting to order a drink.
Her expression changed at the mere mention of his name, making Vera wonder what had happened in the span of time between when they had left her home and arrived here.
“He’s … entertaining.”
“What does that mean?” She already didn’t like the sound of that any more than she liked the look on Frances’s face.
As happy and carefree as she could be at times, it also became very clear when she wasn’t, and the change was noticeable.
“Old friends,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “From older money.”
Vera didn’t need an explanation for some things, and this was one of them. She knew all about frat boys with money … and the prejudices that sometimes—more often than not—carried on from one generation to the next.
“Ostvit’ yego. Leave him,” she translated right after. “I’ve told you that you deserve better than him.”
She glanced down at her glittery heels, her voluminous hair falling over one shoulder. “He’s not like that.”
But his friends were, Vera wanted to remind her. And the people someone kept around them still reflected on them as well.
“Vera?”
She turned at the sound of her name, not recognizing the voice or the man it belonged to. And she was sure, as she turned to look at him, that she would have remembered a face like his.
No one, who she could think of, had features quite as symmetrical as his were. And at first glance, she would have thought him a model if he didn’t speak her name with such familiarity.
“Alfie’s looking for you up in the ...”
But as quickly as his attention had been on her and the message he’d come to deliver, Frances snared it just as quickly, and Vera was all but forgotten. And boyfriend, shitty as he was, or not, she would have had to be blind not to notice him noticing her.
“Siris Oswald,” he said, extending a hand, though he hadn’t bothered to introduce himself to Vera at all.
Her brief melancholy forgotten, Frances smiled as she took his hand and told him her name.
Perhaps if Blaine hadn’t been such an ass, Vera might have felt bad for him—because he very clearly didn’t hold a candle to this Siris—but she merely turned on her heel and walked back toward the spiraling staircase in the rear of the restaurant that led up to a private bar where she knew Alfie would be waiting.
This addition to the restaurant had come as a last-minute decision, one she hadn’t bothered mentioning to him until she was absolutely sure it could be done the way she wanted. Something for him; though he could do whatever with it that he chose, she’d designed it with him in mind.
Everything was done in black and gold, and even the dark hardwood floors reflected the warm light spilling down from the overhanging bulbs. It was all distinctly masculine, and she even chose the leather-covered bar stools because she thought he would like them.
Which, in and of itself, went against every rule of commercial designing.
She was supposed to design the space with the consumer in mind, but it was hard to think of anything else when Alfie was around.
Holding a glass of scotch in his hands, Alfie was waiting for her, resting his weight on his elbows as he leaned over the balcony and stared down at the floor below.
He was in another suit, this one all black from the pressed button-down he wore to his jacket and trousers. Even the tie and clip were the same shade of black.
It gave him a sinister edge—a fallen angel of sorts sent to corrupt her.
Alfie Shelby could corrupt a saint.
The click of her heels brought his gaze in her direction, and she would have had to be blind not to appreciate the smile slowly crawling across his face, or the way his gaze seemed content to linger on the split in her dress.
"Glad you like the dress," he said, before finishing his drink and setting the glass aside.
She stopped in front of him, smiling as he did.
She didn't have to ask whether he liked the sight of her in the dress—his face told her that clearly enough.
Instead of waiting for him, though, Vera took the first step forward, tilting her head up until she could press her lips to his. A sigh parted her lips. That unexplainable feeling that swept through her never failed to make her feel as light as air when she was with him.
