Chapter 17 Bella
BELLA
Fuck.
As I inch forward on my hands and knees to examine the safe, I realize that when it comes to Slava Romanov, I should always take the hard route.
I expected the safe to need a key, only to find that it’s protected by a fingerprint scanner.
And I doubt I’m going to be able to get Slava to provide that for me anytime soon. Sighing, I scoot back and get back on my feet.
But as I back away from the desk, something doesn’t quite feel right.
Then, my ass hits something solid.
And warm.
Oh fuck!
Before I can turn around, a hand slams down a glass of water next to my hips. Long powerful fingers close around the back of my neck, freezing me in place.
Suddenly I’m falling forward for a brief second. The next thing I know, I find myself bent over his desk, cheek pressed against the cool wooden surface while his hand tightens around the back of my neck.
“Dirty little sneak.”
His teeth scrape the shell of my ear as he whispers, voice low and dangerous. Something boiling hot releases in my blood until it burns the breath out of me. The pressure on my neck increases just slightly, and my heart is hammering at how close we are to enacting one of my fantasies.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
My heart is hammering so hard I’m sure he can feel it through my neck. I clench my jaw together and stiffen my legs to keep my hips in place, fighting the urge to move back to close the distance between us.
God, I’m fucking pathetic right now.
“Are you trying to give me an excuse?” His thumb traces the edge of my jaw. “To hurt you?”
“I don’t think you can,” I pant. “Not after last night.”
I don’t know where this defiance is coming from—maybe some suicidal corner of my brain that’s apparently decided now is the perfect time to poke the bear.
His grip tightens and I almost gasp at how good it feels. “And what makes you say that?”
I twist my head slightly, trying to see his face, but he keeps me pinned in place.
“Because you saved me. You carried me in your arms like you gave a shit about me.”
Silence.
His grip shifts. The hand around my neck starts moving up until it grabs a fistful of my hair. Then, he gives me a hard yank to bring me up until our bodies are pressed together. My hands are behind me, trapped between our bodies.
In this position, I can feel the heat of him everywhere. And then, to my own shock, my hands start to move, seeking a particular point of heat—the same one that’s throbbing between my ass.
The same one that feels rock hard and impossibly large.
He gives my head another pull until I can finally see him from the corner of my eyes. He pulls me tighter, sending his erection digging deeper against my ass and drawing a gasp out of my throat.
And I find that my hands are now pinned uselessly between us.
“Then why haven’t you done it yet?” My voice is barely a whisper.
He inches his hips forward to let me feel the full size of his cock while his other hand finds my waist to pull me closer.
Holy fuck, he’s huge.
Suddenly I become aware of just how little separates him and me, and I wonder if my body can even accommodate his size.
Will he ruin me completely when he fucks me?
When? My mind screams. Just how the fuck did it become “when?”
His breath laves my neck. His fingers around my hips begin to squeeze, and when he speaks, his voice is rough and strained, pouring molten fire from my ear down to my soaked pussy.
“I told you, malyshka.”
The Russian nickname sends a hot trickle of desire spreading in my belly. The sound rolls off his tongue—soft and mocking and deeply intimate.
“Not until you ask me to.”
My eyes roll into the back of my head as another pulse of heat thrums between my legs. I’m aroused. Furious and frustrated and aroused all at once while he manhandles me like he’s not breaking every fucking boundary that should exist between us. Like I’m not about to fucking come like this.
I feel his erection twitch in response when I clench my ass to keep myself in check, and a broken part of me wants to find a way to push him over the edge.
“Is that the real reason you brought me here?” I manage. “So that you can catch me in the act?”
“That’s exactly right, Ms. Farnassi.” He pulls my head down to the side to expose my throat and whispers against the sensitive skin of my neck. “Because if I catch you sneaking around my office again, then it means you want me to catch you.”
The words knock the air from my lungs. He’s not threatened by me. He’s not even angry—not really. He’s playing with me. Giving me rope and waiting to see if I hang myself with it.
“And if you don’t catch me?” I hear myself say.
His lips curve against my neck. “Then I guess you won’t get what you want.”
Damn him!
“Let me go,” I demand.
For a heartbeat, I think he’s going to refuse and press harder until I start begging him to hurt me. And I’d be lying if that wasn’t exactly what I would’ve wanted.
But just like when he brought me home last night, he does exactly what I ask him to do.
He steps back, and I grip the desk, not trusting my legs to hold me after what the fuck just happened. Somewhere in the room, the air conditioning has turned on, and chilly air kisses my cheeks. But I don’t feel it.
My skin is hot and tingling, and my breath comes out in ragged, uneven shudders.
I didn’t want him to let me go.
Without thinking, I reach over for the glass of water that he slammed down beside me. Condensation is beading on the crystal surface. And there, on the rim, I can see the faint impression of his lips.
I pick it up, and turn around to find that his pupils have dilated so much that his winter-gray eyes now look black as night. His chest rises and falls, and I know that I can’t back down now.
I have to one-up him.
So, without breaking eye contact, I lift the glass to my mouth. His jaw tightens when I line up the edge so his lip prints press against mine in an indirect kiss, and take a drink.
His eyes flicker as I watch, and his lips fall open slightly. His hands curl into fists at his sides and shake for a moment before he opens them again.
I lower the glass, lick a stray drop from my bottom lip, and swallow.
But the water goes down the wrong way, and I choke, coughing. Water splashes from the glass onto the front of my blouse, turning it translucent against my chest.
And that’s when Slava smirks.
That bastard.
He won this round.