Chapter 13 Nadya
NADYA
I know he’s lying to me.
I watched him through the restaurant’s glass partition—Viktor on one side, the blond woman from the mall on the other, her hand resting on Konstantin’s sleeve as if it belonged there.
The thought should harden me, but his mouth is on mine now, warm and certain, and my body answers before my mind can protest.
His kiss deepens, coaxing me back to the mattress, his hands sliding over lace as if it were air. I taste wine on his lips, feel the faint scrape of stubble as he drifts from my mouth to my throat. A breath catches in my chest, half moan, half question. I bury the question for later.
He takes his time. Lips at the hollow of my neck, a slow path lower, pausing to savor the shape of my breast through black lace.
The heat of his tongue against skin melts the last edge of resistance until my fingers thread through his hair, urging him closer.
He murmurs my name against my skin, voice rough with need, and the memory of the restaurant fades like smoke.
His hand moves down the curve of my waist, following satin to the bend of my knee, then back up along the inside of my thigh.
My hips rise to meet his touch, every nerve lit.
I arch beneath him, lace sliding aside, his mouth closing over my nipple, drawing a soft cry from my lips.
Desire pushes out doubt, at least for now.
“Konstantin,” I whisper, though I no longer mean to question him. The word sounds like a plea, or maybe a promise. He answers by slipping his fingers beneath the silk, finding the heat of me, teasing until my breath tumbles into a low moan.
His mouth trails lower while his fingers work the last buttons of his shirt, fabric sliding from his shoulders to the floor.
I smooth my hands across the muscle of his chest, tracing the familiar lines and the rough scars time never managed to fade.
His breath hitches when my nails skim lightly down his torso.
He hooks a thumb under the waistband of his trousers and eases them past his hips, never breaking the kiss that has deepened into something molten and urgent. Warm skin presses to mine; every inch of him feels charged, like we are both pulled taut by the same thread.
He settles over me, bracing on one forearm while his free hand glides beneath the lace at my waist, guiding satin away in a slow, deliberate motion. I feel air against bare skin, then the heat of him replacing it, his mouth returning to claim mine.
He kisses the hollow beneath my ear, moves lower, lips painting heat across my throat, my collarbone, until I arch into him, head tipped back, a soft cry escaping before I can catch it.
He cups my breasts, squeezing, thumbs circling my nipples through the lace before pushing the fabric aside.
He lowers his head and takes one nipple into his mouth, biting just hard enough to make me gasp, then sucking until my back arches off the bed.
He gives equal attention to the other, licking and sucking until I’m squirming under him, my fingers tangled in his hair.
The jolt of sensation makes my back arch, my hand sliding to his hair to hold him there.
He licks and bites, sucking until I can’t keep quiet, gasping with every pull.
He gives the same attention to my other breast, lips dragging over sensitive skin, teeth scraping, sucking harder until my hips shift restlessly against his thigh.
When he finally lifts his head, my nipples are slick and aching, the rest of my body flushed with need.
He grins—a dark, hungry flash—then kisses down my chest, tracing a line between my breasts, tongue warm and wet.
He trails lower, nipping at my ribs, mouth worshipping every inch of skin down to my belly.
I’m panting now, completely open, letting him do whatever he wants.
He settles between my thighs, palms pressing my knees apart.
His stubble drags along the inside of my thigh, making me shiver.
He kisses a path from my knee to my inner thigh, lips soft, tongue flicking, sucking marks into my skin as he goes.
I’m throbbing, wet and desperate by the time his mouth finally finds my clit.
He starts with a gentle lick, just a tease, and then his tongue flattens against me, licking up and down.
He circles my clit, then sucks it into his mouth, slurping softly, the sound obscene and perfect in the quiet room. I can’t help the noise I make—somewhere between a moan and a plea—as his tongue works me, sucking, flicking, swirling in tight, relentless circles.
My hands clutch the sheets, hips rolling into his mouth.
He holds me open, tongue everywhere, licking and sucking until all I can say is his name, breathless, over and over.
His tongue slides lower, dipping inside me, tasting everything; then he comes back up to suck on my clit, harder this time, his mouth messy and hungry.
Every nerve is on fire, and he doesn’t stop. He eats me until I break apart, my whole body shaking, hips lifting helplessly into his mouth as he keeps sucking.
I’m still catching my breath, my pulse fluttering wild, when he finally lifts his head. His lips are slick, jaw shadowed with stubble and the wet sheen of me. He looks up at me, eyes dark and hungry, and I can’t help but reach for him, pulling him up over my body.
He settles between my thighs, his cock thick and hard against my skin. He kisses me deeply, letting me taste myself on his tongue, the kiss messy and desperate. His hand cups my face, thumb brushing my cheek as his hips press against mine, sliding through the slick heat at my center.
“Tell me you want this,” he murmurs, voice rough, almost raw.
I hook my leg around his waist, dragging him closer, no hesitation. “I want all of you. Now.”
He moves up to kiss me, his mouth urgent and wet, but I push at his chest until he rolls onto his back. I want to taste him, to make him fall apart the way he just did with me. I slide down between his legs, my palms gliding over his thighs, feeling the tension there.
He’s already hard, thick and flushed, and when I wrap my hand around him, his breath shudders out.
I stroke him slowly, teasing at first, then lower my head and lick the bead of precum at his tip, swirling my tongue around the head before taking him deeper.
His hand finds my hair, not guiding, just holding, as I suck him slowly, letting him fill my mouth, feeling him twitch against my tongue.
He groans, hips shifting, and I hollow my cheeks, bobbing my head in a steady rhythm, stroking what I can’t take with my hand. I love the weight of him, the taste, the rough sounds he makes as I work him deeper, then pull back and tease the sensitive underside.
I take him deeper again, swallowing around him, then suck harder, using my tongue to tease every ridge and vein.
He grits out my name, his hips starting to move, barely controlled.
I love how wrecked he looks, how undone.
When I feel him getting close, I slow down, wanting to stretch this moment, but his grip in my hair tightens.
“Enough,” he rasps, voice almost broken. “Come here.”
I climb over him, knees braced on either side of his hips, feeling him hard and slick between my thighs.
His hands grip my waist, guiding me down until he slides inside, thick and deep, the stretch making me shiver.
I sink onto him slowly, savoring every inch until I’m seated flush against his hips, completely full, a sweet ache pulsing through me.
He groans, hands sliding up my sides to cup my breasts, thumbs brushing over sensitive nipples. He sits up, strong arms circling my waist, mouth finding my throat as I start to move. I rock my hips, rolling in slow, deep circles, feeling him press right where I want it.
His lips trail along my neck, then down, taking my nipple into his mouth and sucking hard, teeth scraping, tongue flicking. I gasp, my fingers buried in his hair, holding him close.
I lift and lower myself over him, finding a rhythm that makes us both moan, his hands guiding me, mouth moving from one breast to the other, sucking until the skin is flushed and damp. I ride him harder, hips snapping, the sounds of our bodies slick and hungry, the bed creaking beneath us.
He buries his face in my chest, groaning my name, his hands sliding down to grip my ass, squeezing, urging me faster.
I brace my hands on his shoulders, leaning back so he can watch me, watch the way I take him, every roll of my hips making my clit grind against him just right. His eyes are dark, hungry, fixed on the place where we’re joined.
I gasp and shudder, every nerve lit up, chasing the rush building low in my belly. He moves one hand between us, thumb rubbing tight circles over my clit as I ride him. The pleasure spikes and I cry out, thighs shaking, hips jerking as the orgasm crashes through me.
He groans, burying his face in my neck, hips driving up into me, fucking me through every pulse and aftershock until he follows me over the edge, his body tensing beneath me as he spills inside, clutching me tight.
We collapse together, tangled, sweat soaked, still joined, breaths uneven and desperate, the heat between us lingering long after the last shiver fades.
We stay tangled together for a long time, his chest warm beneath my cheek, his hand tracing lazy circles along my spine.
My heartbeat finally slows, the heat between us settling into something softer.
He kisses my shoulder, lips gentle now, and for a few minutes there is only breath and skin, the quiet after a storm.
Eventually, he shifts beneath me, brushing hair from my face. “Did your friend ever figure out anything about that code?” he asks.
For a moment I just look at him, searching his face in the low light. I think about the conversation at brunch, the wives’ gossip, the numbers on the key card that match the private suites by the port. I know exactly what those numbers unlock.