Invite me in.

Sergei Grachyov’s words played endlessly in my mind as I unlocked the door. “Well, here we are.” My voice was a tremulous croak, and panicky questions raced past my mind as he walked past me. What was I doing? Why was I letting him in?

I had no idea how to answer that. One minute he was helping me out of his Rolls Royce coupé, and I was thinking with more than a little relief that I could finally start forgetting this man ever existed. But then he had looked down at me with his I’m-going-to-fuck-you-eyes---

Invite me in.

Three simple words, and yet there was something about the way Sergei Grachyov spoke that made my insides clench.

And those eyes---

God, those dark, dark eyes that made me think of fuck, fuck, fuck---

I quickly slapped my cheeks, privately appalled at the direction of my thoughts.

“Anything wrong?”

Ignoring the gleam of knowing amusement in his eyes, I put my hands down right away, mumbling, “N-nothing.” He was totally laughing at me, the jerk. Frustration had me falling back on an old habit, and I kicked the door shut behind me unthinkingly.

Sergei’s eyes gleamed brighter.

Shit. My cheeks heated up as I realized I had practically thrown a tantrum in front of him.

“You’re sure everything’s fine?” His voice was oh-so-polite, but the way he was looking at me told me he was laughing at me.

I lifted my chin. “Totally fine.”

And it was.

I didn’t care what he thought of me anyway.

I didn’t!

As I tried to convince myself of this, I managed to smile brightly at Sergei, asking, “So…do you want, uh, anything to drink?”

“Coffee would be nice.”

I nearly gawked at him while blurting out, Really? I was a caffeine junkie myself, and depending on my mood, I’d have either tea or coffee even at night. That I actually had something like that in common with Sergei Grachyov made me feel so, so---

Giddy.

The realization made me blink.

Giddy?

I wanted to kill myself over it. I was 29 years old, for heaven’s sake. I had no right to be giddy like a high school girl. Clearing my throat, I muttered warningly, “I only have instant.”

“That’s more than fine with me.”

“Oh. Okay.” Shit. I had hoped he’d prove himself a snob and turn my offer down.

I took a step forward, but he remained where he was, blocking my path. “Umm…excuse me?” When he still didn’t move, I looked up---

SHIT.

That look was back in his eyes again.

That I-want-to-fuck-you look.

“I’m sure we can fit,” he murmured lazily.

Yes, we would…but only if I allowed our bodies to touch.

And he knew that.

“Why don’t you just move?” I demanded.

“Why don’t you just walk?” he countered easily.

Because!

Instead of answering him, I just glued my back to the wall and ignoring his raised eyebrow, I slowly walked sideways to inch past him, even holding my breath to make sure not a single part of our bodies would come into contact.

Sergei Grachyov burst into laughter.

Even as my cheeks reddened, I continued inching past him, telling myself I didn’t care that he was laughing at me.

If anything, the sound of his laughter, which was as sinful as it was mellifluous, was even more proof that I was right to play it safe. I was way, way, way over my head with this man, and the sooner I got rid of him, the better.

Dashing to my tiny box of a kitchen, I tried to ignore the way his near-black eyes followed my every move, tried to stop my heart from racing so fast, like speed was a matter of life and death.

You’re a sensible, reasonably intelligent 29-year-old lawyer, Fredericka Spears, I groaned silently to myself as I opened the cupboard and reached for the coffee and sugar canister. Just because Sergei Grachyov’s hot doesn’t give you an excuse to act like an idiot around him.

As I bent down to take out a carton of milk from the fridge, I heard him murmur, “Just one teaspoon of sugar for me, please.”

Straightening, I nodded without looking at him, muttering, “Gotcha.” But all the while I was thinking, Sergei Grachyov had a sweet tooth. It was yet another new discovery, and I was attacked by another silly bout of giddiness.

I bit my lip hard to keep myself from smiling like a fool at this unexpectedly cute side of the billionaire.

Stop obsessing over the guy, Fredericka Spears!

Preparing our coffee was done under a minute, and I turned around to face him, two mugs of steaming hot coffee in hand---

Oh.

Sergei stood in the center of my living room, his profile painting an elegant picture in his three-piece suit. He seemed to be studying the framed artworks on my walls, and with his broad back turned towards me, I couldn’t resist the opportunity to stare at him.

His intimidating height made every square foot of my already-cramped home feel even more suffocating than usual, and with him topping six feet by several inches, I couldn’t help feeling like my apartment’s low ceiling could cave down on us any moment.

I stared at him hard, searching vainly for any sign of imperfection, but there was none. This man was…perfect. So why was he here?

As if sensing my silent scrutiny, he turned towards me, and my fingers tightened involuntarily around the mugs as I was treated to the full display of the billionaire’s powerfully muscular form. Despite the formality of his clothes, the air about him somehow felt both savage and worldly---

What was this type of man doing in my apartment again, I asked myself with a gulp.

In the silent ride home, I had secretly looked Sergei Grachyov up on my phone, thinking that his name was familiar because I might have come across it in my line of work. I was thinking Russian Mafia connections or maybe someone involved in a major Ponzi scam, but instead he turned out to be something more intimidating and completely foreign.

First of all, he was a billionaire – a legitimate billionaire, and not the kind that I dealt with and worked hard to put behind bars.

He was a billionaire who could have any woman he wanted, and yet---

What was this guy doing in my apartment again?

I stared at him, unsophisticatedly frustrated.

He stared back at me, elegantly amused.

“Fredericka.”

I nearly jumped, his gentle tone taking me by surprise. “Y-yes?” I tried not to let my mind dwell on the way his strong Russian accent wrapped so sexily around every syllable of my name.

“May I have my coffee while you stare at me?”

Oh.

Shit.

“I wasn’t staring at you,” I lied – I mean, muttered.

Chuckling, he came forward, and I hastened to place his mug and mine on opposite sides of the table before taking the seat next to the fridge. It was the plastic foldable type, something I had gotten for free from Craigslist, the only kind that could fit in the open layout of my apartment.

Sergei reached for the mug, still on his feet, and took a sip. “It’s good.”

I said doubtfully, “Thanks.” Instant was good as far as I was concerned, but I doubt it could compare to the kind of coffee he was used to drinking. “You can, uh, sit down, you know.” I gestured to the chair across me, but the billionaire took the seat next to me instead.

Our knees knocked under the table, the contact equivalent of having a dynamite explode in my chest.

GAH!

I swung my legs away from him and pretended not to notice him smirking.

Start acting like an adult, Fredericka Spears.

“Everything alright?” the billionaire asked in a lazily amused tone.

“Stop asking me that,” I muttered. He had to know I wasn’t okay, had to know that the sheer palpable heat of his presence was making me feel all sorts of crazy things. It was unbelievable, the way he strongly resembled Julian Alexeyev in appearance but made me feel so differently at the same time.

With the professor, I daydreamed about holding hands, of spending forever in a world of rainbows and roses.

But with this man---

“I’m only concerned, pchelka.” The endearment, spoken in a low, caressing tone, caught me off guard. Maybe it was because I struck most people as either aloof or sharp-tongued, but no man had ever called me by any kind of pet name before.

Until Sergei Grachyov.

My pulse leapt as our gazes met and as blood rushed swiftly to my head, my hands clenched under the table in an instinctive attempt to control my body’s reaction. Overkill, I thought in mortification. It was totally overkill, the way I could be so easily affected with whatever this man said…but it was what it was.

When I stole a look at Sergei, he was gazing at me speculatively, almost calculatingly, and my unease grew.

“Are you this way with all men,” he murmured suddenly, “or is it just me?”

I only stared at him. Ha! Like I’d ever give him the answer he wanted to hear, even if he had probably guessed the truth.

The billionaire leaned back against his seat, his lips curving, and I had a bad feeling he was laughing at me again, like he already knew the answer to his question and he thought it funny that I believed I could keep such a thing from him.

“Did you come to know Julian Alexeyev through Tropinka?”

The question caught me by surprise, and I said guardedly, “I did.”

His gaze narrowed. “And how long have you known him?”

“About a year?” I didn’t see any harm in answering him honestly, but I also couldn’t help wondering why he was so interested. Maybe he thought I was one of those women who only wanted the professor because of his fortune? Julian had spoken of such women dismissively, the one time I had found the guts to steer the conversation to his romantic entanglements.

“I see.” A pause, then the billionaire asked abruptly, “Do you like him?”

My mouth opened and closed as I sensed the air around us suddenly changing.

“Do you?” His tone had become harder, but it was the look in his eyes that made me swallow hard.

I want to fuck you.

His dark gaze still said that, but this time it also came with a possessive warning.

I want to fuck you…and I’m the only man you’ll fuck.

“Answer the question,” he commanded.

I stammered helplessly, “W-why do you care?” When I saw the billionaire’s lip curl, I winced and prepared myself, thinking I was in for a scathing retort.

But I was wrong.

“Because I want you for myself.”

My eyes widened.

“I want to fuck you, and no matter how innocent or inexperienced you are---” His voice turned into a rough, accented growl. “You knew that from the start.”

Oh!

He wanted to fuck me.

He had actually said the words out loud.

And now he was saying that I knew it from the start.

Did I?

Yes. No. I just didn’t know what to think anymore, and the way he was staring at me with such hunger wasn’t helping. I knew I should look away, knew I should tell him this conversation was over and that he had to leave now.

But I couldn’t.

All I could do was stare back at him and feel my heart shudder against my chest---

Be still, shit, be still, be still!

Sergei slid to his feet.

My heart went wild.

Shiiiiiiit----

Sergei came towards me, and my heart smashed against my chest. Once. Twice. Thrice. Over and over, harder and harder, and oh, as he took a step towards me, the sound became louder and louder---

The billionaire took my hand, and I let him pull me up, even knowing that I should have resisted. I should have. I knew that. But I couldn’t.

His lips curved in a beautiful smile, and my toes curled hard at the sight of it…until his head started to lower.

I stiffened.

“Sergei---” I found myself slowly leaning back, but still his head came closer, forcing me to move back until I hit the edge of the table and found myself trapped.

One strong arm went around my waist, curling around, and then the next second, he had hauled me to him in one swift move, and I gasped as every inch of our bodies came into contact.

“No!” But even as I tried shoving him away, I knew I wasn’t struggling as hard as I should. How could I when a part of me – a large part of me – wanted what he wanted, too?

He wanted to fuck me.

And oh God, even if it made me seem so easy, I wanted it, too.

I wanted him to fuck me.

“Just let it happen,” the billionaire murmured in a hoarse voice made thicker with need. “We both want this, and there’s no harm in enjoying ourselves.” As he spoke, his arm around my waist moved down, and in a blink of an eye I found myself swept up in his arms.

It took me a second to recover from the shock, but by the time I cried out, “Let me down,” it was too late. He had already walked past my living room and opened the door to my bedroom.

Another moment, and he was laying me down on the bed, not even bothering to flick the lights open.

“No!” But God, my protest sounded so damn weak, and so were my struggles as I tried to push him away so I could get him up.

“You want this, pchelka.” He pushed me back down gently but firmly, and God, God, God, my body actually trembled harder in excitement at the way he was dominating me.

“Let me make love to you and show you how good I can make you feel.” As he spoke, his hand swept down the side of my body in an agonizingly slow caress.

His fingers brushed against the side of my breast, and I moaned. “No.” But God, oh God, my moan sounded more like it came from desire than fear.

His fingers moved further down, caressing my waist before pausing on my hips.

“You’re so damn sexy, Fredericka.”

I whimpered.

His fingers moved across my hip then trailed up with the same painstaking slowness.

I jerked, unable to handle the amount of sensations rampaging through me at his touch.

His fingers paused at the waistband of my pants.

My eyes flew to him in shock. No, he couldn’t possibly be thinking---

And then I felt it.

I half-gasped, half-cried out, “No, please---” I moved quickly, hoping to stop him, but he was even faster, and in an instant he had my arms trapped over my head, my wrists secured by his large hand.

Our eyes met.

His fingers slid inside my pants.

I moaned.

No. This couldn’t be happening. We had just met.

His fingers moved lower---

And my head spun.

My pulse jumped.

My heart raced.

He started to stroke my flesh over the lace of my panties, and my lips parted in silent dismay when I felt myself starting to get wet.

“Nooooo.” This wasn’t possible. This couldn’t be possible. We hadn’t even kissed or held hands. We didn’t even know each other for a day. And yet---

My body was responding to his touch like it yearned to be under his command.

Staring up at him in a sensual daze, I whispered, “This doesn’t make sense.”

“You want me, and I want you.” His own voice was raspy with need now, his breathing harsh. “That’s all there is to it.”

Aaah.

The sound of his voice, combined with the tantalizing movements of his fingers, had me biting my lip hard. Even with most of the room eclipsed in his darkness, I could sense his gaze glittering down on me, could imagine it burning with desire, and I squeezed my eyes shut.

His fingers started to move just a bit faster, and my breath started to catch as I could feel myself swelling and heating up under his touch.

His knowing fingers promised me pleasure so intense it almost had me sobbing---

But I still tried to resist.

I had to…didn’t I?

“Please...please stop.” That I was begging confused, shamed, and excited me. It was just so hard to keep my mind straight with his fingers stimulating flesh so expertly. I hadn’t even known my pussy could get this wet and swollen, hadn’t ever imagined that rapture could be such an earthy feeling, a sensation where the lines of pain and pleasure blurred all because of a man’s stroking fingers.

“Why should I stop, pchelka?” Low, velvety, and seductive, his tone made my toes curl so hard as I found myself imagining how it would sound to have him groaning my name while making love.

“You want this. We both want this.” And as if to prove his point, he moved his fingers up---

My eyes flew open as I realized what he was about to do, and how there would be no turning back after it. “Sergei, no----”

But it was too late.

His fingers slid inside my panties.

The smooth pads of his fingers came into contact with my sensitive skin.

A hopeless cry escaped me.

It was now flesh against flesh, his fingers grazing my tender, wet, and swollen pussy---

“You’re so damn wet, pchelka.”

My body arched off the bed at his words. “Noooooooo----” But even with his fingers barely moving over the inner slit of my pussy, there was no escaping the excruciating beauty of his touch, and I could only shake my head, helpless in my horror and desire. I was terrified and appalled, my mind unable to comprehend how painfully easy it was for my body to surrender to his command.

This was wrong.

And this had to stop.

I looked up at him, no longer caring if I sounded like I was pleading him for my life. “Please.” And this time, I really did try to get away from him. “This isn’t right.” With my arms still trapped over my head, I could only try swinging my body away, thrashing my legs in hopes of dislodging his hand.

But none of it worked, and his fingers had started to move.

“Let me go,” I begged him. “Please.”

Down, down, down his fingers went, and my head spun faster with every movement.

“Just enjoy it.” His fingers slowly traced the slick, trembling lines of my folds, drawing out a long, helpless moan from my throat.

Oh God.

“Please.” I fought to keep my head over the haze of lust that was threatening to drown me. “This isn’t right, w-we barely know each other for God’s sake---”

A dark chuckle, and his fingers stilled.

“Are you telling me you didn’t Google me in the car?”

Oh!

“I d-did.” My tone was a mixture of defensive and ashamed. “But it’s not the same---”

“There’s no difference between me telling you what you can read on my Wikipedia page.” His fingers stroked up and down once, as if taunting me with the truth of his words, and as my body once again shuddered at his touch, it was hard to remember that he was wrong, and I was right.

When I managed to catch my breath, I stammered, “We’re not even d-dating and---” Heat blossomed in my cheeks. “We’re doing this!” The embarrassingly wanton reality of my situation struck me hard, and this time I didn’t even think.

I used all my strength to pull away from him, and taking him by surprise, I managed to free my arms from his hold. I backed away immediately to the other end of my bed, stopping only when my back hit the wall.

When he started to reach for me, I shook head vehemently. “No!” My tone was nervous but sharp. I needed a lot of space between us for my mind to start working again.

The billionaire moved back, standing up to his full height. “If you’re waiting for an apology, you’re not going to get it.” Before I could answer, he continued grimly, “I’m not the kind of man to waste time playing around. If I want something, I do everything to possess it.”

“I’m not a possession.” Even knowing it was such a clichéd response, I still couldn’t help pointing it out.

“But I will own you.”

That he could want me so much bemused me, but at the same time his unabashed need had my too-responsive body stirring---

When I felt my breasts begin to swell at his blatantly possessive stare, I quickly crossed my arms over my chest.

“I want you, and I mean to have you, pchelka.”

“You can have any other woman, and we both know that. So why me?”

“Because you’re you, and I believe you won’t ever bore me.”

I blinked, wondering if I should feel flattered or insulted. Wasn’t he supposed to say he found me irresistible because I was beautiful and sexy?

“May I fuck you now?”

A helpless laugh escaped me, and for some strange reason, the tension in the room actually lessened just a bit at his too-blunt words.

“No.” And even as my cheeks started to redden again, I knew I owed it to him to be just as truthful, and so I said awkwardly, “Even though you’re right, and I…” I stopped, embarrassment getting the better of me. Clearing my throat, I finished gruffly, “Well, you know, even if I feel the, err, same way, I just can’t let it happen---” I snapped my fingers. “Just like that.”

The billionaire only had two words to say. “Why not?”

I threw my hands up in exasperation. “You know why!”

“No. I don’t.” His gaze narrowed at me. “Unless you’re the type to care too much about what people say.”

“Of course not!” I think.

“Then I don’t see why I can’t fuck you when it’s what we both want---”

“Because it’s not done that way,” I burst out. Jumping to my feet, I switch the lights in the room on, thinking I needed a little brightness to help clear my mind. But when the room was ablaze with light, I realized I was wrong.

It just made the billionaire easier to see, just made the billionaire look even more heartbreakingly handsome than he had been in the darkness.

Shit.

His gaze captured mine, and my heart turned into a chest-smashing monster again. Bam, bam, bam it went against the wall of my body, excitement making it want to leap out in the air.

“You’re staring at me,” the billionaire murmured.

I stammered, “N-no, I’m not.” But I was, I totally was, and I couldn’t stop myself. Sergei Grachyov was just looking hotter by the second, and---

He! Wanted! Me!

Why wasn’t I letting him make love to me again?

“You can do more than stare, you know,” he purred.

My toes curled hard.

“And I want you to do more than stare.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“The same way I want to do more than stare at your body. I want to touch you, pchelka. I want to fuck you---”

Oh God. I wrapped my arms over my body tightly. “You can’t.”

“Why?”

“I already told you.” Frustration lined my voice, but even I knew I was no longer frustrated with him. I was frustrated with myself.

Sexually frustrated.

Why wasn’t I letting him make love to me again?

“And I also told you, I don’t know how this works.” Unlike me, the billionaire’s tone was calm, his words succinct. “So why don’t you just spell it out? Tell me exactly what I need to do so I can fuck you.”

He was so blunt, I thought helplessly. He wasn’t even bothering to lie, wasn’t bothering to pretend that emotions had anything to do with this.

And yet---

Instead of turning me off, it made me want him more.

“I need to know you first,” I heard myself say.

“But you already Googled me. Does it really make a difference, hearing me say the same damn things you’ve read on the Internet?”

“Yes.” No. Yes. I was aching so badly I no longer knew what was right.

“Fine then. My name is Sergei Grachyov and I’m half Russian.” His gaze narrowed once more on me. “And you’re Fredericka Spears, an attorney---”

“How do you know that?” I gasped.

“LinkedIn,” he answered in a tone that suggested I shouldn’t even have to ask such a question. “I looked you up while you were making coffee.”

Oh.

“Do we know enough of each other now to get naked?”

In spite of everything, I couldn’t help laughing.

“That’s a no then?”

“I’m a-afraid so.” But my voice was weak, and the way his lips curved in a smirk told me that he knew he was close to making me forget my morals.

Why wasn’t I letting him make love to me again?

“What else do you want to know?” he asked.

“I guess…how old are you?”

He didn’t answer right away, and I wondered if he was the kind of person who liked to think he’d be young forever.

“Sergei?”

“What does age have to do with me fucking you?” the billionaire asked.

Blinking at his evasive answer, I countered, “Why don’t you just tell me how old you are?”

“Because it’s immaterial.”

I rolled my eyes. “Just tell me.”

Slowly and reluctantly, the billionaire said, “I’m twenty-three.”

And that was when the penny dropped.