23. Killian
23
KILLIAN
N atasha is stunning in her formfitting red dress. Her dark burgundy hair is pulled back in her signature French braid, and still, she looks shockingly elegant, dressy enough to be the demure young lady she’s pretended to be all night. Her makeup is perfectly done, accentuating her thick lashes and the fullness of her lips.
It caught me off guard at first—seeing her so shy and quiet, so put together like a perfect little lady. I’d nearly forgotten that, once upon a time, I had believed her act. I’d actually thought it might be a chore to marry her in order to seek the power I desired. That she would be a weak, boring wife but a necessity to build my empire.
Now, I could care less about the power.
But I ache with the need to shatter her carefully built persona.
To see the fierce, formidable woman she really is behind her facade.
I’ve sat across the table from her all evening, and yet, I haven’t gotten a glimpse of who I came here for.
The dining room door clicks closed behind Boris and the rest of our dinner party, and I turn my full attention to the striking beauty left behind.
“That dress suits you,” I say playfully rounding the table to approach Natasha as soon as we’re alone.
Fire ignites in Natasha’s gaze, and despite her incredibly flattering dress and heels, she’s out of her chair in a flash. I barely have time to catch sight of the steak knife in her hand. And she closes the distance between us with such agile speed, I have to take a step back in order to catch her wrist.
All the shy, gentleness from dinner vanishes in an instant, and a beautiful snarl consumes her face. Her ruby lips pull back to reveal her white teeth as she unleashes a long string of Russian expletives.
The knife I barely managed to stop from plunging into my neck drops from one hand to the other, and Natasha swipes out at me, forcing me to jump back.
A startled laugh bursts from me, and I quickly switch gears as I realize this has officially stopped being a polite dinner between adversaries.
“Is this really necessary?” I tease, smirking as I whip a chair from the table to use as a shield.
“I assure you that this whole facade isn’t actually my father’s version of negotiating. He wanted to leave us alone so I could finally kill you. You can’t possibly think that he will let you marry me just because you came waltzing into our home like you already own it.”
The bite in her tone catches me by surprise, and I wonder if this new wave of anger is Natasha stepping up her game. I’m more than willing to play. As we pause, Natasha looking for an opening as I wield the chair between us, I drop my voice low to ensure only she can hear me.
“Do you think your father would reconsider if he knew how many times I’ve fucked you?” I tease. “Or how well I do it?”
“ Mudak !” she hisses, her temper flaring as she slashes out at me again.
I catch her blade with the bottom of the chair and twist, tossing the seat aside and taking the firmly wedged knife with it.
But Natasha doesn’t stop there. Despite the precarious heels she balances on and the natural constraint of her dress, she continues to come at me. Delivering a sharp elbow to the stomach, she nearly connects a fist with my chin.
I’m ready for her now, though, and I duck to the side before catching her arm and spinning her. The art clatters on the wall as I shove her against it, pinning her there with my body. And my cock aches with the arousal of being so close to her. Her body heat seeps through the fabric separating us, her sweet scent of amber and cinnamon calling to me.
And she glares up at me with a ferocity that makes me want to kiss the glare from her face.
“Does this count as an assassination attempt?” I tease as I keep her wrists pinned by her shoulders. “Are you ready to hold up your end of the bargain?”
I’m being an ass now. I know it. Arrogant and uncouth as I can be, I wouldn’t push our deal that far. Even I know to draw the line at having sex with a woman beneath her father’s roof. Still, I love winding Natasha up. Getting under her skin and watching her pride take the wheel.
“You wouldn’t dare fuck me in my father’s dining room,” she whispers, the vitriol dripping from her tone.
And I love the challenge she never fails to give me.
“No?” I tease, leaning in and relishing the feel of her breasts heaving against my chest.
My eyes flick down to her ruby lips. The color is dangerously inviting, boldly daring me to risk a kiss. And because I must have a death wish, I decide to toss my sense of self-preservation out the window beside us.
Closing the distance between us, I seal my lips over Natasha’s, claiming their soft fullness with a bold passion that steals the breath from her lungs. She stiffens, her muscles tensing against my body. And I throb to be inside her, to claim her here and now—even though I won’t.
And then, as she always does eventually, Natasha softens in my arms.
Melting against me, she stops fighting. Her breaths come faster as she squirms beneath me, her hips grinding forward as if to entice my cock to make an appearance. If we were anywhere but here, I wouldn’t hesitate.
But I can’t stop myself from stealing a little taste.
Cautiously, I release one of her wrists. And when she doesn’t lash out, I reach between us, daring to cup her velvet-clad breast. Something I’ve ached to do all night. The enticing cut of the red fabric cradles them so perfectly, they’ve been calling to me, creating the perfect amount of cleavage, just begging me to touch them.
And now that I can, it makes my pulse race. I can feel her heart beating hard and fast against my fingertips, the temperature of her body cranking up several degrees as she arches into me.
I squeeze, kneading the supple flesh, and Natasha gasps against my lips. I take the opportunity to deepen our kiss, stroking my tongue between her teeth.
I can taste the tart, fruity flavor of the red wine served with dinner. It lingers on her lips, making them all the more tempting. And though I know I’m pushing my luck, I let my hand trail down the soft, flat plane of her stomach to her hip and along her thigh until I find the hem of her dress.
A shuddering breath rushes past her lips and into my mouth as I hike up the stretchy fabric so I can find the heat between her thighs. My fingers graze the soft, silken flesh of her inner thighs as she presses her knees together.
But she doesn’t stop me.
And as my fingers brush across the lacy fabric covering the peak of her thighs, Natasha releases a lusty and entirely too enticing groan.
She quivers against me, her lips moving with mine in a sensual dance. And I know she’s nearly putty in my hands.
If I don’t stop now, I won’t be strong enough to stop myself later.
So, with an iron will, I slowly withdraw my hand and break our kiss. Still, I keep her pinned to the wall with my hips, our bodies separated only by thin layers of fabric.
“Well?” I murmur. “Am I any closer to convincing you to marry me?” I tease, meeting her molten gaze.
“No,” she breathes defiantly, her chin tipping up to reinforce her conviction.
But the flush of her cheeks, the way she’s practically panting with need tells me a different story.
And when I step back, she almost follows me.
I smirk, undeterred by her rejection. Because as desperately as she wants to deny me, I can feel that I’m slowly but steadily breaking down her walls.
“You can’t keep denying your feelings forever,” I promise her, relishing just how unsteady she suddenly appears on her feet.
Natasha keeps her body braced against the wall, her knees pressed together to stay standing, and I know that if I stroked my fingers through her folds, I would find them slick and swollen and ready for me.
“I’m not,” she states furiously, but her words lack punch when she sounds so breathy.
And my cock twitches with the need to teach her a lesson for lying. “You’ll be mine one day, Natasha. I recommend you start getting used to the idea,” I assure her.
Then I stalk out the door.