His Inexperienced Mistress: Girl Behind the Scandalous Reputation / The End of her Innocence / Ruthless Russian, Lost Innocence

She tried to move her arms and gave a mew of frustration when she found they were trapped by the tight band of his arms and her dress.

‘Help me…’ she began, but he already was, pressing his thigh firmly against her and moving his arms so she could disentangle her hands.

Once free, she immediately set to work on the buttons of his dark shirt.

He was breathing just as hard as she was, and a fine sheen had broken out over the skin her jittery hands were having trouble exposing. Then he raised both hands to her breasts to tug at her nipples and Lily’s fingers fumbled to a stop.

‘That’s not helping,’ she groaned, involuntarily arching into his caress.

‘Then allow me.’ Tristan grabbed hold of his shirt and tore the rest of the buttons free, leaning in close before she was able to look her fill of his sculptured chest, his ridged abdomen. Then his chest hair scraped her sensitised nipples, and she forgot about looking as feeling took precedence.

‘Oh, God…’ Lily swayed and rocked against the rigid length of him pressed into her belly.

‘Easy, Honey,’ Tristan soothed, but Lily was beyond easy. She needed him to touch her between her legs. The ache there was now unbearable.

She groaned with relief when she felt his hands smooth over her thighs and ruch her dress up around her waist, her legs automatically widening to accommodate his seeking hand.

His movements seemed as unsteady as she felt, and it imbued her with a sense of power.

Unable to keep her mouth off him, she bent her head and licked along his neck, breathing in his earthy masculinity.

‘Tristan, please, I need you,’ Lily begged, her voice sounding hoarse. Another saner voice was telling her that later she’d be embarrassed by such uninhibited pleading. But her body couldn’t care less about later on.

It was caught up in the most delicious lassitude and straining for something that seemed just out of reach.

Then his fingers whispered over the very tops of her upper thigh and the feeling came closer. A lot closer.

Lily’s breath stalled and her body stilled, and when finally he slipped his fingers beneath the lacy edge of her barely there panties and stroked through the curls that guarded her femininity she nearly died, clinging to his broad shoulders. Her body was his to do with as he willed.

And he did. His fingers slipped easily over her flesh, unerringly finding the tight bud of her clitoris before pressing deeper. Stretching her with first one and then two fingers.

A groan that seemed to come from the very centre of his body tore from his mouth. ‘Honey, you’re so wet. So tight.’ He seemed lost for a second, and then established a rhythm within her that created a rush of heat to the centre of her body. But suddenly he stopped.

‘No, I want to be inside you when you come.’ He pulled his hand free and Lily’s nails dug into his shoulders in protest.

She heard the metallic sound of his belt buckle and the slide of his zipper and in seconds he was back.

Only her panties were in the way, and with a decisive movement they went the way of his shirt.

Lily followed an age-old instinct and rocked against him, her mouth on his neck, her hands in the thick lusciousness of his hair.

‘Honey, you keep that up and this will be over before I’m even inside you,’ he said hoarsely, stroking his tongue into her open mouth. He eased back, seeming to remember where they were. ‘Not here though.’

‘Yes, here.’ Lily demanded against his mouth, an urgent excitement driving her beyond the edge of reason.

Her lower body felt as if it was contracting around thin air and she needed him inside her. Filling her.

Tristan sucked in an uneven breath and lowered both hands to cup her bottom, lifting her into him. ‘Put your legs around my waist,’ he instructed gruffly, and Lily blindly obeyed as the velveteen tip of his body nudged against the very centre of hers.

The back of his neck was taut and sweaty and Lily’s head fell forward and she nipped at his salty skin. He must have liked it, because with a sound that was part pain, part pleasure, he tilted her body towards him and surged into her in one single, powerful thrust.

For a second the world stopped, and then Lily registered a harsh cry and realised she must have bitten down on Tristan’s neck—hard—as her body initially resisted his vigorous invasion.

He swore viciously and instantly stilled, reefing his head back and cupping her face in one hand to pull her eyes to his.

‘Honey, please tell me this isn’t your first time.’

Lily felt the momentary sting pass as her body stretched to accommodate his fullness, and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck.

‘Don’t stop,’ she breathed as her body completely surrendered to his and tiny sparks of pleasure returned between her thighs.

She shifted to try and elevate the feeling, but Tristan’s fingers dug into her hips to keep her still. ‘Wait. Let your body adjust to me.’

‘It has,’ she insisted, and felt his slightly damp hair brush her face as he shook his head.

‘Please, Tristan, I need to—’

He rocked against her and Lily moaned the word move as if it had six syllables.

Tristan eased in and out of her body gently, and then with more urgency, and Lily’s brain shut down. All she could do was feel as a thrilling tightness swept through her and urged her on. Then Tristan moved one hand up between their bodies and lightly stroked his thumb over her nipple, and Lily’s world splintered apart as pleasure clamped her body to his.

Tristan swore again, and thrust into her with such force all Lily could do was wrap her arms around his neck and hang on as he claimed her body with his and reached his own nirvana.

After what felt like an hour Lily became conscious of how her uneven breathing was pressing her newly sensitised breasts into the soft hair on Tristan’s chest, and also of how hard the wall was behind her—despite the fact that Tristan had curled his arm around her back to take the brunt of the pressure.

She was also conscious that Tristan still had his mouth buried against her neck, his lips pressed lightly against her skin as he tried to regulate his own breathing.

Her arms were slung laxly over his shoulders and a feeling of utter contentment enveloped her. A sense of euphoria was curling through her insides like warm chocolate syrup.

It was madness. This inexplicable feeling of completeness that swelled in her chest. But maybe it was because she’d had a life-changing experience. And she had. Nothing had prepared her for what had just happened. No song. No movie. No book. And she knew she’d remember this moment for ever.

But even through her high she could discern that Tristan wasn’t feeling the same way. He was unnaturally still, his breathing too laboured, as if he was having trouble composing himself. She shifted then, and the hardness of the wall scraped her skin. The air was slightly chilly now, as the sweat started to dry on her body. She shivered, still supported by his strong arms. Muscles she’d never felt before contracted around his hardness, still buried deep inside her, and she flinched as he cursed.

He pulled out of her, gently lowering her to the parquetry floor, stepping back. A look of abject disgust lined his face.

The shock of it made Lily recoil, and she quickly dropped her eyes and dragged her crumpled dress into place.

She heard him readjust his own clothing, and a primeval survival instinct she had honed as a child took root inside as she blanked out the feeling of utter desolation that threatened to overwhelm her for the first time in years.

‘Don’t say anything,’ she ordered, knowing that the best form of defence was attack, and was mildly surprised when shock replaced the revulsion she had seen on his face.

Good. She might not be as practised as he was in these postsex matters, but pride demanded that she did not behave like the bumbling fool she now felt.

For him this was just run of the mill but for her it was—

‘Don’t say anything?’ he all but bellowed. ‘You should have told me you were a virgin.’

Never let ‘em know you care, Honeybee.