Chapter 13 Vera
VERA
Misha’s mouth crashes into mine before I can take another breath. His hand knots in my hair, pulling hard enough to make my scalp sting, his tongue forcing its way past my lips. The taste of wine floods me, and the heat that’s been building since lunch ignites all at once.
He doesn’t wait. His other hand cups my throat, thumb pressing just under my jaw as he angles my head back. My pulse hammers against his palm. He growls against my mouth, deep and hungry, and my thighs clench together at the sound.
“You’ll give me every part of you tonight,” he rasps, his voice rough as gravel, his lips sliding along my neck. Teeth scrape my skin. I gasp, arching into him, already gone.
His hand slides down, gripping my breast through the thin fabric of my dress, squeezing until I whimper.
He doesn’t soothe me. He shoves the strap off my shoulder, baring me, his mouth closing over my nipple before I can even register the cool air.
The suction makes my knees weak, my nails digging into his shoulders.
His teeth tug at my nipple before he lifts his head, his mouth brushing my ear.
“You’ve been thinking about the way I fucked you,” he murmurs, his voice low and certain. “I can see it every time you look at me.”
His hand doesn’t leave my breast. He kneads hard enough to make me gasp, his thumb scraping over my nipple until it stiffens under his touch.
“You remember how deep I was inside you. How you shook when I made you come on my cock.” His lips drag down my throat, biting at the soft skin below my jaw. “And you’re going to give me more tonight.”
Heat coils through me, not the sudden rush of fantasy but the deep ache of wanting him, of knowing he means every word.
He doesn’t give me time to respond. His palm slides down, bunching my skirt higher, his knuckles grazing my thigh. I suck in a breath, my body arching toward his hand before I can stop myself.
“That’s it,” he growls against my mouth, kissing me hard, swallowing the sound I make. “Show me how much you missed me inside you.”
His fingers trace up the inside of my leg, stopping just short of where I ache for him. The pressure, the promise, has me trembling. He doesn’t touch me there yet. Instead, he pulls back enough to look into my face.
“I’ll take my time with you. Stretch you open until you’re begging for more.”
My lips part, but nothing comes out. He smirks, sliding his hand higher until his knuckles brush over damp lace, proof that my body has already betrayed me.
“Good,” he mutters darkly. “That’s how I want you. Already ready for me, and I haven’t even started.”
His knuckles graze over the lace again, and his mouth curves into a hungry smile. Then he pulls his hand away, leaving me aching, empty.
“Stand up.”
The command is low, firm, no room for argument. I rise unsteadily, my skirt still bunched high on my thighs. He leans back on the sofa, legs spread wide, watching me with that unblinking intensity that makes my pulse stumble.
“Take it off.”
My breath catches. “Here? Like this?”
“Yes. Every piece. I want to see you bare for me.” His voice roughens as his gaze drags down my body. “I want to watch you undress knowing you’re already wet for me.”
Heat floods my cheeks, but I hook my fingers under the straps of my dress and push them down. The fabric slides lower, baring my breasts before slipping to the floor around my ankles. I stand there in lace, my chest rising fast, his eyes devouring me.
“Keep going.”
I reach behind me, unclasping the bra. It falls away, and my nipples tighten in the cool air. His jaw flexes.
“You like this?” I ask, my voice softer than I intend. “Me standing here while you just look?”
“I fucking love it,” he growls. “Watching you strip for me is almost as good as having you. Almost.”
My fingers find the edge of my panties, hesitating, and he leans forward slightly, eyes burning into mine.
“Do it slow.”
I obey, dragging the lace down my hips, letting it cling before I finally bare myself completely. I step out of them, every nerve alive under his stare.
“Beautiful,” he mutters, stroking himself lazily over his trousers. “Now come here.”
I cross the space, my body trembling with equal parts nerves and need. His hand fists in my hair when I reach him, pulling me down for a kiss that steals the breath from my lungs.
“You’re mine tonight, Vera. Say it.”
“I’m yours,” I whisper against his mouth, my hand braced on his chest.
“Louder.”
“I’m yours.” The words rip out of me, shaky but true.
His mouth crashes over mine again, and this time, his hands roam with no restraint, grabbing, squeezing, pulling me into his lap.
He drags me across his lap until I’m straddling him, my knees digging into the cushions. His cock is thick and hard under his trousers, pressing hot against my bare heat. The friction makes me gasp, and his hand snaps to my throat, tilting my head back.
“You know what you do to me.” His teeth scrape my jaw, his other hand gripping my ass, dragging me tighter against him. “Grinding on my cock like that—getting me hard enough to tear you apart.”
I move against him without thinking, desperate for more. The rough fabric of his trousers catches on my clit, sparks shooting through me, and a broken sound leaves my throat.
“That’s it. Rub yourself on me. Show me how much you want it.”
“I want it,” I pant, heat curling low in my belly. “God, Misha—I want you.”
He chuckles darkly, sliding his hand between us. Thick fingers stroke through my folds, teasing, keeping me on edge. My body jerks against him, chasing the pressure.
“Greedy little thing,” he mutters, slipping one finger inside, then another. “Clenching around my hand like you’re begging for more.”
The stretch burns, then melts into pleasure. I ride his fingers, his thumb circling my clit. My head falls forward, mouth against his throat, panting into his skin.
“You’re going to come on my hand first,” he growls, curling his fingers deeper. “I’ll have you shaking before I bury myself inside you.”
My body tightens, the sensation spiraling out of control. I grip his suit jacket, shaking, the orgasm tearing through me fast and rough. I cry out against his neck, hips jerking uncontrollably. My body spasms and contorts and when I calm down I can barely breathe.
“Good girl,” he rasps, pulling his fingers free, shining with my slick. He shoves them between my lips, making me taste myself. “Now you’re ready for my cock.”
He pulls his fingers from my mouth and stands, hauling me up with him. His chest rises against mine, his hand still tangled in my hair.
“Stay right here.” His voice is dark, final. “Don’t move.”
I freeze, my breath caught in my throat, watching as he tears open his shirt, buttons scattering across the floor. He shrugs out of the fabric, then strips off his jacket and tosses both aside. The hard lines of his chest, the tattoos spread over muscle and scar, steal my words.
My fingers twitch with the urge to touch. “You’re beautiful,” I whisper before I can stop myself.
He smirks, eyes narrowing. “Beautiful isn’t the word, little one.
Dangerous is.” His belt snaps open, trousers shoved down with rough efficiency until his cock is free and heavy, flushed and hard.
He grips himself once, stroking slowly, his eyes locked on me.
“And this is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I breathe, my thighs pressing together. “I want you.”
“Then come take me.”
I step forward, my hands trembling as I push at his chest, guiding him back against the sofa. He lets me, but the moment he sits, his grip clamps around my wrist, pulling me down onto his lap with a grunt. His cock presses hot against my stomach, my breasts crushed against his chest.
“You’re not in control here, Vera,” he growls into my ear. “I am.”
“Then make me yours,” I fire back, my nails dragging down his shoulders.
His eyes blaze at the challenge. “Gladly.”
He grabs my hips, lifts me, and lines me over his cock, the blunt head pressing against my entrance.
He holds me suspended for a beat, his cock thick and straining at my entrance, the head nudging just inside. My whole body tightens, desperate for more.
“Look at me,” he demands, his grip bruising on my hips. “I want to see your face when I stretch you.”
My eyes lock on his, wide and hungry, and then he drags me down. The air tears out of my lungs as he sinks deep, inch by inch, filling me until I can’t breathe. The stretch is relentless, my body clinging to him, trying to take all of him.
“God,” I choke out, my nails biting into his shoulders. “You’re—so deep.”
“Every inch,” he snarls, grinding up hard. “You take me better than anyone. You were made for this cock.”
A cry breaks from my throat as he thrusts again, harder this time. His hands guide me, forcing me to ride him, bouncing me onto his lap with a punishing rhythm. My breasts press against his chest, my clit catching on the thick base with every movement.
“Yes,” I gasp, clinging to him. “Don’t stop—don’t you dare stop.”
His mouth crushes mine, his tongue rough and demanding. He breaks away only to rasp against my ear, “You’re mine, Vera. Say it while I fuck it into you.”
“I’m yours,” I cry, my body clenching hard around him. “Yours, Misha—every part of me.”
He growls, gripping my throat with one hand while the other spreads across my ass, dragging me down faster, harder, until the wet slap of our bodies echoes through the suite. My orgasm builds quickly, stealing my breath.
“Come on my cock,” he orders, his teeth scraping my jaw. “Give it to me now.”
The command rips me open. Pleasure crashes through me, violent and blinding, my body shaking against him as I come undone. I scream his name, clutching him, my walls spasming tight around his cock.
“Fuck—” His snarl is guttural as he drives up into me, once, twice, then spills deep, hot and heavy, pulsing inside me until I can feel nothing but him. His hand locks on the back of my neck, holding me against his chest as his release throbs through me.
We collapse into the cushions, tangled, sweat-slick, my body trembling from the aftershocks. His cock still pulses inside me, his breath harsh against my ear.
I'm sprawled across the cushions, still straddling him, his cock still buried inside me, his breath hot against my neck. The room smells of sex and sweat, the city lights spilling gold across his skin. I should feel used, consumed, but instead there’s a strange calm in the wreckage of my body.
He shifts, rolling us onto our sides without letting me go. His arm wraps around my waist, pulling me flush against him, his mouth pressed against my neck. It feels startlingly genuine—like something far more dangerous than sex.
“Misha…” My voice is rough, still trembling from what he pulled out of me.
“Mmm?” His tone is quiet, almost soft, nothing like the man who just demanded I scream his name into the dark.
For a moment I let myself believe he could be in love.
The thought makes my chest ache. He’s older, harder, a man whose world is likely violence and power.
And yet his arm around me feels steady, grounding.
The age gap flickers in my mind—the dangerous thrill of being younger, reckless, stretched across a man who carries years of power and experience.
It’s intoxicating, the way he handles me like he knows exactly what I need, the way his authority feels as solid as the body still inside me, but he brushes it aside with a quiet murmur, his lips against my temple.
He seems to hear the doubt in my silence, brushing it aside with a quiet murmur against my temple. "You're perfect…" he whispers, and I swear it feels like our hearts are in sync.
He studies my face when I tilt toward him, his gaze sharp, searching. His thumb brushes my lower lip, his voice low. “What are you holding back from me, Vera?” He pauses, watching my reaction, then adds more pointedly, “Tell me about Sonya.”
The name scrapes through me like broken glass.
I flinch, my body stiffening against his.
Part of me wants to spill everything—that Sonya terrifies me, that I never should have been near her, that I’m still carrying choices too reckless to admit.
He deserves honesty. He deserves the truth about the hole I dug for myself.
And why is he asking this now? Am I that obvious?
Is the anxious tension I carry because of her that real that even after a moment like what we just shared, he can see right through me?
I know he's not pleased about my speaking with her.
Otherwise he wouldn't have warned me, but the pull of safety I feel with him just isn't enough.
Fear wins. If he learns about what Sonya is, he’ll stop seeing me as the woman who caught his attention with her mind and her fire. He’ll see a foolish girl who made bad choices, who stumbled into waters too deep for her.
So I say nothing. I kiss him instead, hoping he won’t push further.
For a beat, I think he might confess something himself—something tender, something I’m not sure either of us is ready for.
But I force a smile, press my hand to his chest, and deflect.
“I’ve already told you about Sonya,” I murmur, steering the moment away from what scares me. “Tell me about your family instead.”
The effect is instant. His expression hardens, the warmth draining from his eyes, the muscle in his jaw tightening as though I’ve stepped onto forbidden ground.
He doesn’t answer. He only pulls me tighter, leaving a cold silence between us as he bites my shoulder and grinds his hips against my side, insinuating he's ready for more sex.
And I’m left staring at the ceiling, realizing my attempt at intimacy has backfired and wondering what it is he’s hiding—and why the truth feels like it could shatter us both.