6. Sofiya
SOFIYA
The sedan noses up to what I presume is Anton’s hotel. Anton’s hand stays wrapped around mine as we climb out. The concierge takes one look at him and vanishes into the shadows.
At the north end of a wide lobby is an elevator. The doors glide open and Anton ushers me in and punches a code. No floor number registers.
His gaze stays pinned to me during the silent ride upward. The elevator stops. A private corridor, framed by low yellow lighting and loaded with surveillance, stretches ahead. He leads me to the suite at the end.
Another code, a low click, and we’re inside. He locks the door and gestures to the window from where Prague is spread out like a jewel box. “Take in the view?”
“I came for you.”
He walks me backward until my spine hits the tall window. The glass is cold, the city dizzy behind me. He plants his palms on either side of my head, caging me in. “No more distractions.”
His eyes skim over my top, hunger sharpening every line of his face. “That high neck makes me want to tear it open with my teeth.”
I part my mouth slightly. “Then do it.”
He chuckles, dark and low. “You just want to hear me praise you.”
I tip my chin. “Then praise me, Reznikov.”
His answer is a kiss that steals all air from my lungs. I melt against the window, arms locking around his neck. His tongue is hot and sure as he bites my bottom lip, swallows my hiss, and drags the sound into his mouth. The city might as well not exist.
“Sofiya,” he murmurs against my throat. “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to worship this neck.” His teeth scrape over the fabric, searching for skin. I groan when he finds the edge of my collar and lifts it with a single finger, exposing a sliver of flesh.
He tongues the spot, making it burn. “Fuck, you’re too sweet.”
I reach between us and shove his jacket off his shoulders. He lets it drop. His hands find my waist, fingers digging in through the trousers that skim my hips. “This outfit is killing me,” he grits. “So clean. So collected. And you’re soaked, aren’t you?”
He slides one hand over the flat front of my pants, palm cupping my sex through the fabric. I jolt, cry out, “Ahh—Anton.”
“That’s it,” he growls. “Say my name. Let me hear how wet you are.” He rubs his thumb along the seam, pressure just right. “These are going to need to come off.”
“Oh,” I pant, hips shifting against his hand. “Yes, please, yes.”
He grunts, pleased. “You’re a dream. You know how much power you have?” He presses harder, grinding me into the glass. “You could tell me to get on my knees and I would.”
I seize his wrist, pressing him tighter against my aching center. “Maybe I want you standing while you fuck me,” I tell him. “Maybe I want to feel you hold me up.”
His eyes flare. “You’re too perfect.” He unzips my trousers with one swift pull, then slips his hand down, under the waistband of my underwear. Heat rockets through me as his fingers slide over soaked silk. “Holy fuck,” he breathes. “You’re so wet for me.”
He sinks one finger between my folds, just teasing, coating himself. “You like being trapped against my window like this? Knowing anyone looking up could see a Leonidov getting fingered by a Reznikov?”
“Yes,” I gasp. “I want them to see how you touch me.”
He kisses me hard, two fingers plunging inside at once. I choke on a cry, the stretch perfect, his palm grinding my clit. “Anton!”
“That’s it, take my fingers,” he urges, thrusting deep. “Fuck, you’re tight. Clench around me. Show me how much you wanted this.”
I roll my hips against him, bracing my hands on his shoulders. “More,” I plead.
He adds a third finger, filling me, stroking that tender spot with intent. “Already dripping down my hand. You going to come for me right here, Princess? On my fingers before I even get your clothes off?”
“Y-Yes,” I stutter, head falling back against the glass. “Don’t stop.”
His thumb circles my clit with steady, controlled pressure, the kind that makes my legs go liquid. “Look at me,” he orders. “I want to see your eyes when you break.”
I force my gaze to his. He’s watching me like I’m the only thing that matters in this city. “Anton,” I whisper.
“Come,” he commands.
The orgasm detonates, sharp and overwhelming. I cry out, “Ahh—fuck—Anton—” and clutch his shoulders. He rides it out with me, fingers stroking through each wave, thumb persuasive on my clit until I’m shaking and sobbing into his chest. “That’s it,” he murmurs, kissing my forehead.
My thighs tremble as he withdraws his fingers, glistening with my slick. He lifts them to his mouth and sucks them clean, eyes locked on mine. “Fucking delicious.”
I push him back and drop to my knees on the polished floor. His eyes flare, pupils swallowing the green. “No,” he rasps. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to taste you,” I cut in. “I want to swallow every filthy word you’ve ever planned to whisper in my ear.”
He exhales like I just shot him and threads his fingers through my hair. “You’re a fucking goddess,” he says. His belt comes undone with a metallic clink. I undo his fly, pull his trousers down just enough, and free him from his briefs.
He spills into my hand, thick and hot, veins pulsing. My mouth waters. “Look at you,” I murmur, stroking him.
I lick up the length of his cock, from base to tip, tasting salt and heat.
He curses, hips jerking. “Sofiya, fuck.” I take him into my mouth, lips sealing around the head, tongue swirling.
He throws his head back against the window, chest heaving.
“You look perfect with my dick in your mouth,” he groans. “You’re making me lose my mind.”
I sink deeper, swallowing as much as I can, and hollow my cheeks. His fingers tighten in my hair, guiding me. “That’s my good girl.” His voice breaks.
I bob my head, hand pumping what I can’t fit, saliva dripping down my wrist. His hips begin to thrust, fucking my mouth. I look up at him, eyes wide. He curses. “You’re going to kill me.”
I pull back with a gasp, spit shining his length. “Let’s see how you hold up,” I whisper with a grin, then take him deep again, humming. The vibration makes him snarl. “Sofiya, I’m gonna—”
I dig my nails into his thighs, urging him on. He groans, thrusting faster, but a second later, he pulls out and grasps the wall, breathing frantically. I stare at him, mouth parted in a helpless little “O” of pleasure as his lips quirk. “Not so soon, Princess. We’re not done.”
He takes me by my hair and tilts my mouth upward to kiss me before picking me up and backing me toward the bed, a low platform draped in charcoal sheets.
The city lights paint our bodies silver and gold.
He pushes me down onto the mattress, and I prop myself on my elbows, legs dangling off the edge.
He peels my trousers off with a furious urgency, dragging them down my legs, along with my underwear. He throws them aside. His eyes sweep up, devouring me. “Look at you,” he murmurs. “Bare for me. Leggy, perfect. That high-neck top makes your breasts look obscene.”
I reach down and pull the top over my head, tossing it away. He inhales sharply. “Fuck.” His gaze slides over my black bra, the lace tight.
I hook my thumbs under the cups. I tug them down, letting my breasts spill free, nipples hard. “You going to touch me or just stare?”
“I could stare all night,” he says, voice hoarse. He kneels between my thighs. “But I’d rather feast.” His hands skim up my thighs, spreading me wide. “You’re shaking,” he notes. “Let me taste you properly.”
He leans in and licks from my entrance up to my clit. I moan, “Ahh—Anton!” He groans, burying his face between my legs. “Fucking glorious,” he murmurs, then latches onto my clit, sucking hard. I arch, fingers tangling in his hair. “Yes, yes—don’t stop.”
His tongue works me mercilessly, lapping, flicking, dragging out every shiver. He slides two fingers inside me again, curling up to hit that tender spot while his mouth devours me.
“Give me everything you’ve got,” he growls into my flesh. He thrusts his fingers faster, tongue circling my clit.
I’m already climbing again, breathless. “Anton, please—”
“Come,” he orders, voice a rumble against me.
I explode, screaming his name. “Ahh—Anton!” I clamp around his fingers, thighs shaking as he rides me through it, lapping every drop. He keeps his mouth on me until I push at his head, overstimulated. He kisses my inner thighs, leaving wet marks.
I pull him up and he crashes his mouth to mine, kissing me hard. He strips off his shirt, muscles gleaming in the low light. “You ready for me?” he asks, voice guttural.
I wrap my legs around his waist. “Fuck me.”
He shudders. “God, I love your mouth.” He grabs his cock and guides it to my entrance, rubbing the head against my slick folds. “You want it?” he murmurs, teasing.
“Yes,” I snap, nails raking down his back. “Stop teasing and fuck me.”
He thrusts in with one hard stroke, burying himself to the hilt. I cry out, “Oh, fuck!”
He groans, eyes squeezed shut. “You’re perfect.” He pauses, breathing hard, letting me adjust.
“Move,” I demand, rolling my hips.
He pulls back and slams into me again, setting a brutal pace. The bed rocks, headboard thudding softly against the wall. My nails gouge his shoulders as he pounds into me. “That’s it,” he grits. “That’s my good fucking girl.”
“Ahh—yes—” I gasp, writhing under him.
He thrusts deeper, each stroke hitting my cervix. “You feel like heaven,” he praises into my ear. “Your pussy is gripping me so hard. I could fuck you all night and still keep wanting more.”
I moan, “Yes—oh, God, Anton.”
He braces one forearm beside my head, the other hand capturing my throat again. “Look at me,” he rasps. I meet his gaze, drowning in it. “This pussy is mine tonight. Say it.”
“It’s yours,” I choke out.
He groans, hips slamming harder as he leans down and bites my shoulder, sucking a mark into my skin. A moment later, he shifts, hooking my legs over his shoulders. Suddenly, he’s deeper, angle impossible.
I scream, “Ahh, fuck!” He pistons into me, sweat dripping onto my breasts in spite of the cold. He catches my nipples between his teeth, sucking and biting while he drives into me.
“Look at you,” he pants. “Breasts bouncing, mouth open. You’re the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Anton—ahh—don’t stop,” I babble. “I’m close.”
“Come for me,” he snarls, hand sliding down to slap my clit. The sharp sting sends me over the edge. I convulse, screaming his name.
“Anton! Fuck.” My walls clamp down on him, milking him.
He groans, eyes rolling back. “That’s it. Squeeze me. Give me everything.” He keeps thrusting through my orgasm, relentless. “I’m going to wreck this bed,” he mutters. “You’re going to feel me for days.”
I whimper, “Yes—do it.”
He pulls out suddenly, flips me onto my stomach, and drags my hips up. “Hands on the headboard,” he orders. I obey, gripping the wood. He lines up behind me and plunges in from behind.
I cry out, “Oh, God!”
He grabs my hair, yanking my head back. “Such a perfect ass,” he snarls. “Look at you taking me. Fuck.” His thrusts get even deeper from this angle. His free hand smacks my ass, sharp and hot. I yelp.
“You like that,” he notes, voice wrecked. He spanks me again, watching the red bloom. “Say you like it.”
“I like it,” I whimper. “I like how you handle me.”
He growls, pounding me into the mattress as he bites the back of my neck, tongue soothing over the mark. “I’ve been obsessed with fucking you like this since the night I laid my eyes on you,” he admits, voice ragged in my ear.
I shudder, his words shooting straight to my core. “Anton,” I plead. “Fuck—”
“I’m going to fill you up,” he snarls. “You want that? You want my cum deep inside you?”
“Yes,” I scream. “Give it to me.”
He thrusts harder, driving me up the headboard.
My arms shake, but his grip on my hair keeps me steady.
He slams in once more and groans, “Sofiya, fuck—” He spills into me, hot and pulsing.
I feel it flood my womb, and it triggers another orgasm.
I cry out, clenching around him as he throbs inside me.
He collapses over my back, breathing hard, fingers still tangled in my hair. “Shit,” he pants. “Shit, Sofiya.” He presses kisses down my spine, soft amid the aftershocks. “You good?”
“Yes,” I breathe, collapsing onto the sheets. He pulls out slowly, and I whine at the emptiness. He flips me onto my back and kisses me tenderly. “You were perfect,” he murmurs against my mouth. “Every second.”
I cup his jaw. “That was… out of the book.”
He smirks, brushing hair out of my face. “You started this,” he reminds me. “You walked into my territory and tempted me.”
“I don’t regret it,” I admit.
“Neither do I.” He trails kisses down my throat, lingering over the fresh marks. “I’m going to stare at these bruises all week and remember you screaming my name.”
Heat surges through me again. “You planning to leave more?”
“Oh, definitely.” He sucks another hickey onto my collarbone. I moan, tangling my fingers in his hair.
“Then take what you want,” I whisper.
He grins, wicked and satisfied. “Gladly.”
He does.
After the rush burns down into sweat, tangled sheets, and the kind of silence that only comes when two people have gone too far to pretend otherwise, he rolls me onto my side and pulls me back against his chest. His mouth drags over the back of my neck, slow and lazy now, and his hand settles low on my stomach like it belongs there.
I turn my head, catch the dark gleam of his eye in the half-light, and kiss him again.
When we finally fall asleep, it happens without discussion. One minute, his hand is spread over my hip and his breath is warm against my hair, and the next, the room has gone heavy and still around us.
I wake while the windows are still dark.
For a moment, I lie there and do nothing. Anton is half on his stomach beside me, one arm thrown toward the space I occupied, his face slack with sleep in a way that makes him look younger and somehow more dangerous for it.
Men like him shouldn’t look peaceful. They should not look like something a woman could wake beside twice.
I can see it too easily, and that’s the problem. Me learning this suite, this bed, the look on his face when he wants me. Him learning how to get under my skin so thoroughly, I stop hearing the alarms.
My chest tightens.
I don’t know the full shape of what Maks is trying to build, but I know enough of Leonidov and Reznikov history to understand this cannot become personal without turning catastrophic.
Whatever passed between the families at dinner, it didn’t go well, and if I keep stepping toward Anton like this, I won’t just be risking myself. I’ll be handing my family another reason to turn vicious, and I’m already standing too close to that fire.
So I slide out of bed carefully, dress in the dark, and slip out.