16. Dmitri #2
“It was like they planned this interrogation to poke around for weaknesses.”
Perceptive as always. “What do you think they were after?”
“Information about who I am and whether you’re hiding something about me. They think you’re being manipulated by a woman whose past you don’t understand.”
The elevator opens, and we walk toward the car. Adrenaline still hums in both of us.
“Did you enjoy tonight?” I ask as we drive through the city.
“More than I should have. Those men are dangerous, but I wasn’t afraid of them.”
“Should you have been?”
“Normal people would be.” She turns to look at me, and something hungry moves across her face. “But I’m starting to think I was never normal.”
“What do you think you were?”
“Something that fits better in your world than in art galleries.”
When we reach the penthouse, the tension that’s been building all evening reaches a breaking point.
Every time another man looked at her tonight, and every moment I had to watch them evaluate what’s mine, has wound me tighter than a spring.
She's been turning me on all evening with her confidence, her danger, and the way she commanded respect from men who respect no one.
The moment the door closes behind us, Katya pushes me against it with surprising strength.
“I need you,” she breathes against my throat. Then she freezes, eyes flicking with panic. “God, this is wrong. I don’t even know who I am, and still I—” Her voice breaks, but her body presses closer anyway. “Fuck, I can’t stop. I want you. Right here. Right now.”
I catch her wrists and pin them above her head against the door. She squirms, not in fear but in conflict, and I feel the tension between her words and her body.
“Tell me what you want, then.”
“Your hands. Your mouth. All over me until I forget my name.”
I capture her lips in a kiss that’s more claiming than caressing, and she responds with a moan. When I release her wrists, she goes straight to my shirt and yanks it open hard enough to send buttons scattering across the marble floor.
“Impatient,” I murmur against her lips.
“Desperate,” she fires back, shoving at my jacket until it hits the floor.
I spin her so her back hits the door again and work the zipper of her dress.
Midnight-blue silk pools at her feet. She falters for a moment, crossing her arms in front of her as if to hide herself, then she lifts her chin in defiance and kicks the fabric aside.
Black lace clings to her curves like it was made for my hands.
“You wore this for me.”
“I wore it because you picked it out.”
“And the lingerie?”
“That, I picked out.” She plants one hand on her hip, the other out in a silent dare. “Do you like it?”
The question is unnecessary. My stare says enough.
“Turn around.”
She obeys, placing her palms flat against the door, and I devour her body from behind.
I map her spine with my mouth to the small of her back. When I reach her ass, I slap, not soft.
“Dmitri,” she gasps as I move to unclasp her bra and let it fall.
“What do you need, kotyonok?”
She swallows. “Touch me. Please.”
I cup her breasts in my hands from behind, and I roll her nipples between my fingers until she’s pressing back against me with small whimpers of need. The sounds she makes are mine now. Every gasp, every moan is mine. And it turns me the fuck on.
“These, too,” I grumble, hooking my fingers in the waistband of her panties.
She helps me slide them down her legs, then kicks them aside with the rest of her discarded clothes. When I kneel behind her and press my mouth to the curve where her thigh meets her hip, she trembles and grips the door for support.
“Spread your legs for me.”
She widens her stance while I trail kisses up her inner thigh. When I finally reach my destination, she’s wet and ready for my tongue.
The first taste of her makes me groan against her flesh. She tastes like heat and salt and something that makes me lose control.
“Oh—God,” she cries as I work her with long, deliberate strokes.
I slide two fingers inside her while my tongue focuses on the bundle of nerves that makes her body shake. She rocks against my tongue, grinding harder for more.
“Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”
I have no intention of stopping. Not when she tastes this good. Not when every sound she makes goes straight to my cock.
Her thighs tremble, and I know she’s close. I curl my fingers inside her, finding that spot that makes her scream while my tongue works magic on her clit.
“Dmitri, I’m going to?—”
“Come for me. Now. I want to hear you.”
She shatters with a cry that rips through the penthouse, and her body convulses. I work her through it, gentling my touch as she comes down from the high. When the last tremor fades, I stand and turn her to face me.
“My turn,” she says, pushing me back toward the living room.
“What did you have in mind?”
Instead of answering, she shoves me onto the leather couch and starts working at my belt. My cock springs free the moment she opens my pants, hard and ready for whatever she wants to do to me.
“God, you’re huge,” she mutters, fingers tightening. “I want you in my mouth.”
She sinks to her knees, eyes locking on mine as if daring me to stop her. Just before her lips close around me, she whispers, “I can’t believe how much I want this.”
Then she takes me in. Hot, wet, perfect. It takes every ounce of control not to fist her hair and push deeper.
“Fuck, Katya.”
She works me with her tongue, slow at first, then takes me deeper, testing how far she can take me. The sight of her blue eyes on mine while my cock disappears between her lips nearly undoes me.
“You’re going to make me come if you keep doing that.”
She pulls back with a wicked smile, lips slick. “Good. I want you in my mouth until I can’t breathe.”
“Not yet.” My voice comes out rough, almost a growl. “I want to be inside you when I come.”
She groans in protest, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. “Don’t make me beg.”
“Good. Ride me, kotyonok. Now.”
She climbs onto my lap, straddling my hips, eyes wild with hunger as she reaches to guide me inside her.
“I’ve been ready since we left the hotel,” she whispers, lowering herself onto my cock inch by inch until I’m buried to the hilt.
Her head falls back, and a broken moan slips from her throat. “You feel—God—too good.”
“Move,” I order, gripping her hips. “Take what I give you.”
She starts slow, rolling her hips in a rhythm that makes my vision blur, but the desperation quickly takes over. Soon she’s riding me hard, her nails digging into my shoulders, her breasts bouncing with each frantic thrust.
“Harder,” I growl. “Fuck me harder.”
She braces her hands against my chest and slams down on me with a ferocity that steals my breath.
“That’s it. Just like that. Don’t stop.”
“I can’t—I’m so close,” she pants, sweat dripping down her flushed skin.
“Come for me,” I command, one hand sliding between us. My thumb circles her clit in brutal rhythm. “Come on my cock while I fill you up.”
Her cry rips through the room, sharp and feral, as her body clamps down around me. The spasms drag me over the edge, and I explode inside her with a roar of her name.
“Katya.”
She collapses against my chest, trembling, her breath ragged. I stroke her hair, possessive in the aftermath, my cock still buried deep.
“You belong to me,” I murmur against her damp skin.
She tilts her head, lips brushing my jaw, voice wrecked but steady. “Maybe I do.”
For a long moment, the only sounds are our breathing and the faint creak of the couch beneath us. The air still tastes like sweat and sex.
“Was it worth the risk? Bringing me to that meeting?”
I drag my palm down her spine, still claiming every inch of her. “You proved something tonight.”
Her head lifts, eyes catching mine. “And what is that?”
“That you belong in my world. You didn’t flinch. You made them fear you.”
Her lips curve, sharp and dangerous. “Maybe that’s who I am. Maybe the art curator was the mask.”
A low laugh rumbles from my chest. “Maybe she was.”
She studies me. “And if I’m not the woman you thought you married?”
“I married the woman in front of me.” My grip tightens on her hip. “Whoever you were before doesn’t matter.”
Her gaze flickers, testing. “Then what am I to you?”
Soft would be easy. Safe would be a lie. After tonight, there’s no point in pretending.
“You’re mine,” I say flatly. “Possession. Protection. Pride. And something darker that scares the hell out of me.”
Her breath hitches. “Why does it scare you?”
“Because I’ve never wanted anyone like this. It makes me want to burn the city down just to keep you here.”
A ragged laugh slips from her. “That’s a lot of fire for one woman.”
I grip her chin, force her to see the truth in my eyes. “You’re not just any woman.”
She kisses me again—slowly now, almost tenderly—but the smile she leaves me with is pure predator. “No. I don’t think I am.”
She lies against me, my cock still buried deep within her, the city lights burning on the glass like sparks from a fire I’ll gladly set.
Outside, Moscow waits with its threats and betrayals. But inside these walls, in this moment, I see her clearly—my most dangerous addiction.
God help anyone who tries to take her from me.