Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Nikolai
Vivienne was panting hard, her soft breasts brushing against my suit jacket with every breath. Those blue eyes blazed, her cheeks flushed crimson.
Like a hissing kitten showing its claws.
I raised my left hand. Pressed my fingers lightly.
At the door, my guards' hands relaxed on their gun grips.
My gaze returned to Vivienne.
She had no idea how close she'd just come to death. She just glared at me, breathing hard.
"Don't you dare laugh!" She hissed through clenched teeth, trying to keep her voice down. "Make that sound again, and I swear I'll dump that goddamn salad on your head!"
Utterly harmless threat.
Her hands were shaking, but she kept them pressed firmly over my mouth.
I didn't pull them away. Instead, under her furious stare, I deliberately let my tongue slide out and dragged it slowly, maliciously, across the center of her damp palm.
"Ah!" She yanked her hand back like she'd been electrocuted, her body jerking backward.
Off balance, she ground down hard against my thigh. Through the expensive fabric of my suit pants, what was rapidly hardening beneath pressed unmistakably against her.
Vivienne froze.
Her blue eyes went wide as saucers, locked on that particular region. Her face flooded with shame and fury. "You... you perverted bastard!"
"Squirm around on a man's lap, you'd better be ready for consequences, Vivienne." I gripped her tiny waist, my voice rough.
I watched her flustered but defiant expression and smiled. "Though judging by the way you just threw yourself at me, you looked like some punk fighting over scraps at a dive bar. Your table manners need serious work."
She ground her teeth. "That's because you laughed at me first!"
"Nine o'clock tonight. My room." My hand tightened on her waist, forcibly lifting her higher. "I'll test you myself. If you don't pass, you can forget about walking into those charity galas with any dignity."
Vivienne's response came like a reflex. "What are you planning to do to me? The contract clearly stated no sex!"
I raised one eyebrow, putting on an expression of perfect innocence.
"I said I'd test your etiquette personally.
What's going through that head of yours, author?
" I paused deliberately, my gaze sliding invasively over her heaving chest. "Though if you're volunteering for certain 'nighttime fiancée duties,' I'm more than happy to oblige. "
"In your dreams! I would never—"
"Ahem."
A soft, perfectly timed cough echoed across the marble floor.
Vivienne jerked like she'd been electrocuted, her already crimson face looking ready to explode. She twisted around frantically and finally noticed Sophia standing with four maids not far away. They all had their heads bowed, but were clearly listening intently.
The little wildcat finally realized they had an audience.
She scrambled off my lap in a panic. Her legs, still sore and weak from this afternoon's dance practice, nearly gave out.
She barely caught herself before hitting the floor.
She stumbled back to her seat and stared at her plate of roast, head down, clearly wishing she could vanish on the spot.
I straightened my wrinkled suit and tie, standing leisurely.
"Don't forget to shower, sweetheart." I tossed the words over my shoulder and left the dining room.
Back in my room, I headed straight for the bathroom.
Hot water poured from the shower, beating against my tight muscles. I closed my eyes, trying to calm down, but all I could see was that moment—her straddling my thigh, face flushed, panting, chest rising and falling.
And the soft, full pressure of her ass on my leg.
Fuck.
My body responded again.
I looked down, drew a deep breath, and slowly wrapped my hand around myself.
Her eyes filled my mind—those wet, furious blue eyes. That face, pale from overtraining but still devastatingly beautiful.
My hand moved with purpose, slick with soap and need.
I'd step behind her, my chest pressing to her back, and shove her dress up around her waist in one rough motion. The fabric would bunch uselessly under her ribs, exposing the smooth curve of her ass and the delicate lace beneath.
" Nikolai—" Her gasp would cut through the quiet room, breathless and broken, half protest, half plea.
I'd kick her feet apart, spreading those long, elegant legs wide until she trembled on her heels.
My hands would grip her hips hard—fingers digging in deep enough to leave bruises.
She'd arch instinctively, pushing back against me, but I wouldn't let her rush this.
I'd pin her wrists together above her head with one hand, pressing them flat to the desk's cool surface.
Her body would stretch beautifully beneath me, spine curving, breasts flattened against scattered papers.
That smart mouth of hers—always ready with a cutting remark—would finally fall silent, reduced to desperate whimpers and soft, broken pleas. "Please... Nikolai, I—"
I'd take my time. Tease her until she begged.
My free hand would trace down her spine, over the swell of her ass, dipping between her thighs to find her already wet and aching.
I'd circle her clit slowly, deliberately, feeling her hips jerk helplessly against my touch.
Only when her thighs quivered uncontrollably and her voice cracked into a sob would I give her what she needed.
I'd free myself, hard and throbbing, and press the blunt head against her entrance.
Slowly, I'd push inside. Inch by inch. Feeling her tight heat clench around me, welcoming me, fighting me.
So perfect. So fucking tight. Her walls would flutter and squeeze as I bottomed out, buried to the hilt, her gasp turning into a long, shuddering moan.
"Look at you," I'd growl against her ear, my voice low and rough. "Spread open on my desk like you were made for this."
Then I'd move. Deep, rolling thrusts at first, savoring every ripple of her body around mine. Her head would fall forward, hair spilling across the desk like silk. I'd watch her fingers flex uselessly against the wood, wrists still trapped in my grip.
Harder. Deeper. The sound of skin meeting skin would fill the study, obscene and rhythmic, mingling with her growing cries.
I'd release her wrists only to tangle my fingers in her hair, pulling her head back so I could bite down on the delicate skin of her throat. Marks. I wanted my marks everywhere.
Her legs would tremble violently. She'd try to wrap them around me, but the angle made it impossible; instead, she'd push back desperately, meeting every thrust. "Nikolai, oh god, please, harder—"
I'd oblige. Pounding into her now, relentless, driving her closer and closer to the edge.
Her inner walls would flutter wildly, clenching so tightly I saw stars.
When she came, it would be spectacular—her whole body seizing, a broken sob of my name tearing from her throat as she shattered beneath me.
I wouldn't stop. I'd fuck her through it, drawing out every aftershock until she was limp and sobbing, completely wrecked.
Only then would I let myself go. One final, brutal thrust and I'd spill deep inside her, marking her from within as surely as the bruises on her skin.
The fantasy pushed me over the edge. My hand moved faster, strokes turning erratic as pleasure coiled tight in my gut.
I braced one forearm against the cold tile wall, forehead pressed to the slick surface, water cascading down my back.
Her name tore from my lips. I came hard—thick pulses that left me shaking, knees weak, vision whiting out for a long, blissful moment.
The fantasy had been so vivid I could almost taste her on my tongue, feel the ghost of her heat around me. But it wasn't enough. Not anymore.
The hot water washed away the evidence.
I leaned against the tile, catching my breath.
This woman was going to be my death.
Eight fifty-five.
I'd changed into a dark gray silk robe, hair half-dry, propped against the headboard with paperwork.
On the desk sat the tea Sophia had brought, along with several files of family relationships she needed to memorize.
I glanced at the wall clock.
Eight fifty-eight.
Would she come?
Or had my words at dinner scared her off completely?
Just as doubt crept in—
Knock knock knock.
Soft. Hesitant. Testing.
I set down my papers. A smile curved my lips.
"Come in."
The doorknob turned.
Vivienne pushed the door open and peeked in, just her head at first.
She'd showered. Her chestnut curls hung damp over her shoulders, water droplets trailing down the ends, soaking into the oversized white shirt she'd clearly grabbed at random from the closet.
Men's shirt. Way too big. Hanging loose and baggy, the neckline dipping low enough to expose her collarbone and hints of curves beneath.
She wasn't wearing a skirt.
Just black athletic shorts.
Those long, perfectly sculpted legs were completely exposed, still dotted with water droplets that gleamed under the light.
My throat tightened.
"That's what you're wearing?" I raised an eyebrow.
"Is there a problem?" Vivienne stood in the doorway, arms crossed, voice straining for nonchalance. "You didn't say formal wear. And I've been tortured all day—I'm not putting on anything tight again."
"No problem." My gaze traveled slowly over her, stopping at the wet, increasingly transparent white shirt. "Come in. Close the door."
Vivienne hesitated, then stepped inside and shut the door behind her.
She stopped three feet from the bed, twisting the hem of her shirt nervously, eyes darting everywhere but at me.
"Come here." I patted the spot beside me. "Sit."
"I'm fine standing." Stubborn as always. "You're testing me, right? Let's get started so I can go to bed."
I stared at her for a few seconds, then sighed deliberately. "Looks like you haven't learned the most basic etiquette yet—refusing when your host invites you to sit is extremely rude. My work tonight just got harder."
"You—" Vivienne bit back her retort but eventually walked over stiffly and perched on the edge of the bed, keeping at least two fists' width between us.
"Relax." I turned toward her. "I'm not going to eat you."
"Who knows?" she muttered. "That's not what you said at dinner."
I didn't respond. Just picked up the file from the desk and handed it to her. "These are the key families who'll be at the gala the day after tomorrow. Read through it first. Then I'll quiz you."
Vivienne took the papers and started reading.
I leaned back against the headboard, teacup in hand, pretending to drink while my gaze fixed on her.
The white shirt slipped lower as she bent her head, the neckline gaping. From my angle, I had a clear view of the valley disappearing beneath the fabric.
And her damp hair.
Water droplets traced down the strands, landing on her collarbone, then sliding along that elegant curve and vanishing into her shirt.
The white fabric turned transparent where the water touched.
I could see the pale, lace-trimmed bra underneath.
My breathing grew heavier.
"Nikolai?" Vivienne looked up, confused. "Are you listening? I just asked about the Marchetti family and—"
She stopped mid-sentence.
Because she finally noticed where I was looking.
She glanced down at her shirt, then realized what had happened—the damn thing had become nearly see-through thanks to the water.
Her face went scarlet.
"You—you pervert!" She shrieked, instinctively covering her chest with the papers. "You've been staring at my chest!"
"You're the one who came over without drying your hair properly." I maintained perfect innocence, but my eyes didn't move. "Besides, I can't help it. Your body is... visually overwhelming."
"You—"
She leapt up, furious and mortified, ready to storm out.
But she forgot she was sitting on a bed.
Her foot caught. She lost her balance and fell backward.
I moved fast, grabbing her and pulling her back.
Too hard.
Momentum sent her crashing into me.
I tightened my arms, locking her against me.
The distance between us vanished.
Her hands pressed against my chest. That soaked shirt plastered against my robe. I could feel her heart hammering. Feel the shocking heat of her skin.
I bent my head slightly.
One more inch and my lips would crush against her parted mouth.
She looked up at me. Those blue eyes filled with panic, shock, and something hazy she hadn't even noticed herself. Her lashes trembled violently. Her breath fanned hot against my jaw.
"Vivienne..." My voice came out wrecked, my hand on her waist tightening involuntarily, wanting to pull her deeper into me.
She stared at me. Her eyes went unfocused for a heartbeat.
In that last second before the paper-thin thread of control burned away completely, before my lips descended—
She snapped back to reality.
"I-I forgot my notebook!"
She shoved me away like I'd burned her. Like a startled rabbit, she stumbled around me and bolted for the door.
The door crashed shut.
I leaned back against the headboard, staring at the still-trembling door, and exhaled slowly.
Her scent lingered in the air—faint body wash and something uniquely her.
I looked down at my thoroughly disheveled robe, at what I couldn't possibly hide after that embrace.
Fuck.
Hard again.
I closed my eyes, fingers pressing against my temples.
This woman really was going to kill me.
And I was enjoying every goddamn second of it.