Chapter 12 - Matvei
The taste of her was everything he’d imagined and nothing he’d prepared for.
Matvei had kissed women before, had taken pleasure where he found it and given it in return, but this was something else entirely.
This was Irina’s mouth moving against his with desperate hunger, her small hands fisting in his shirt like she was afraid he might disappear, her body arching into his with a trust that should have terrified him.
Instead, it made him feel like he was drowning in the best possible way.
Her lips were soft and warm, slightly swollen from their kisses, and when she made that small sound in the back of her throat, half gasp, half moan, something primitive and possessive roared to life in his chest. He wanted to mark her, claim her, make sure everyone knew she belonged to him.
Not because he’d bought her, not because of some twisted business arrangement, but because she’d chosen him.
The distinction mattered more than it should have.
“Tell me what you want,” he murmured against her mouth, his hands sliding down to cup her hips, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. “Tell me how far you want this to go.”
She looked up at him with those ice-blue eyes that had been haunting his dreams for weeks, and he could see the want there, raw and undisguised. But there was something else too, something that made his chest tight with an emotion he couldn’t name.
“I want you to stop treating me like I’m going to break,” she said, her voice breathless but determined. “I want you to stop being so careful with me.”
The words hit him like a physical blow, and he realized she was right.
He had been treating her like she was made of spun glass, like she was too delicate for the rough realities of his world.
But the woman in his arms wasn’t fragile.
She was fire and steel wrapped in silk, and she was looking at him like he held the answers to every question she’d never known how to ask.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he said, but even as the words left his mouth, his hands were moving, sliding up her sides to frame her face. “You don’t know what I’m capable of.”
“Then show me,” she challenged, and there was something in her voice that made his blood sing with possibility. “Stop protecting me from yourself and show me who you really are.”
The last thread of his control snapped like a violin string under too much tension.
He kissed her again, harder this time, letting her feel the full force of the desire he’d been keeping carefully leashed.
She kissed him back with equal fervor, her tongue sliding against his in a dance that made his head spin and his body ache with need.
His hands found the zipper of her dress, and he paused, giving her one last chance to change her mind. Instead, she reached between them and started working at the buttons of his shirt, her fingers clumsy with urgency but determined.
“Irina,” he said, her name a warning and a prayer all at once.
“Don’t you dare stop,” she said, her voice fierce with want. “Don’t you dare treat me like a child who doesn’t know her own mind.”
The zipper of her dress gave way under his fingers, the silk pooling at her feet like water.
She stood before him in nothing but a scrap of black lace that made his mouth go dry, and he realized that all his careful control, all his practiced restraint, meant nothing when faced with the reality of her.
She was perfect. Pale skin like marble, curves that made his hands itch to touch, and those ice-blue eyes that saw straight through every defense he’d ever built.
She should have been intimidating, this woman who could reduce him to his most basic instincts with a single look.
Instead, she made him feel more human than he had in years.
“You’re staring,” she said, but there was no self-consciousness in her voice, only a kind of female satisfaction that made him want to worship at her feet.
“Can you blame me?” He reached for her, his hands spanning her waist, marveling at how perfectly she fit against him. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
The compliment made her cheeks flush pink, and he found himself fascinated by the way the color spread down her throat to the tops of her breasts. He wanted to follow that path with his mouth, wanted to taste every inch of skin that was blushing because of him.
“Your turn,” she said, tugging at his shirt until he helped her push it off his shoulders. Her hands were small and warm against his chest, exploring the planes of muscle with a curiosity that made his breath catch. “I’ve been wondering what you looked like under all those expensive suits.”
“And?” he asked, genuinely curious about her verdict.
“Better than I imagined,” she said, her fingers tracing the lines of a scar that ran across his ribs. “What happened here?”
“Knife fight when I was nineteen,” he said, catching her hand before she could explore further. “Too young and too stupid to know when to walk away from a losing proposition.”
“And now?” she asked, looking up at him with those eyes that seemed to see everything. “Do you know when to walk away now?”
The question hung between them, loaded with implications that went far beyond the physical.
Because this was a losing proposition, wasn’t it?
This thing between them was growing stronger every day, despite every rational reason it shouldn’t.
She was a Nikolai, he was a Volkov, and they were supposed to be enemies.
Loving her was supposed to be impossible.
But standing here with her hands on his skin and her body pressed against his, impossible felt like just another word for the things worth fighting for.
“No,” he said, his voice rough with honesty. “I don’t think I do.”
She smiled then, slow and satisfied, and he realized she’d gotten the answer she was hoping for. Before he could process what that meant, she was kissing him again, her mouth hot and demanding against his, her body melting into his like she’d been made to fit there.
He lifted her then, her legs wrapping around his waist with an ease that spoke of trust and desire in equal measure. She was light in his arms, all soft curves and warm skin, and when she made that small sound of surprise as he carried her to the bed, he felt like he could conquer armies.
He laid her down with a gentleness that was at odds with the hunger clawing at his insides, taking a moment to just look at her. Hair spread across the pillows like ink, skin flushed with arousal, eyes dark with want, she was a vision that would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life.
“Second thoughts?” she asked, and he could hear the vulnerability beneath the challenge.
“About you? Never.” He leaned down to press a kiss to the hollow of her throat, tasting the salt of her skin and the faint sweetness of her perfume. “About whether I deserve this? Always.”
“Good thing it’s not up to you,” she said, her hands tangling in his hair as he worked his way down her body, mapping every curve and hollow with his mouth. “It’s up to me, and I’ve already decided.”
Her skin was like silk under his lips, soft and warm and responsive to every touch.
He could feel her pulse racing under his tongue, could hear the way her breathing changed when he found a particularly sensitive spot.
By the time he reached the scrap of lace covering her, she was trembling beneath him, her hands gripping the sheets like they were the only thing keeping her anchored.
“Matvei,” she gasped as he hooked his fingers in the waistband of her panties, and the way she said his name, breathless and desperate and full of need, nearly undid him completely.
“I know, sweetheart,” he murmured against her hip, pressing kisses to the sensitive skin there. “Let me take care of you.”
He pulled the lace down her legs slowly, savoring every inch of skin revealed, every small sound she made as he touched her.
When she was finally bare before him, he had to stop and simply breathe, overwhelmed by the gift of her trust, her desire, her choice to be here with him despite everything that should have kept them apart.
“You’re perfect,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “Absolutely perfect.”
She started to respond, but the words dissolved into a gasp as he pressed his mouth to the inside of her thigh, working his way higher with kisses and gentle bites that made her arch off the bed.
By the time he reached his destination, she was already wet for him, already trembling with anticipation.
The first touch of his tongue made her cry out, her back arching as pleasure shot through her like lightning. She tasted like honey and salt and something uniquely her, something that made him want to spend hours learning every way to make her fall apart.
“Oh God,” she gasped, her hands flying to his hair, and he wasn’t sure if she was trying to pull him closer or push him away. “I can’t... I’ve never...”
The admission made something fierce and protective roar to life in his chest. She was innocent, inexperienced, trusting him to introduce her to pleasures she’d never known. The responsibility of that trust was overwhelming and arousing in equal measure.
He gentled his touch, using his tongue and lips to explore her with careful thoroughness, learning what made her gasp and what made her moan, what made her grip his hair tighter and what made her whisper his name like a prayer.
She was responsive beyond his wildest dreams, her body opening for him like a flower, every touch sending shockwaves through her that he could feel in the way she trembled beneath him.
“That’s it,” he murmured against her, his voice muffled but full of approval. “Let go for me, sweetheart. Let me hear you.”