Chapter 34
IVAN
I tense, waiting for her to hit me with the fist she just dropped on my chest. But instead, that fist flattens and slides up, over my pec, to my shoulder, and suddenly she’s holding onto me, burying her face into my neck. The exact opposite reaction I expected. And somehow worse.
I wanted her to surrender, sure—but not like this. I sink my fingers into her hair and use my grip to tug her head back until I can see her face.
A fist clenches my heart so hard I lose my breath for a moment. Her eyes are red-rimmed and glossy with unshed tears, and it fucking shreds me. Is she really that upset because I listened to her conversation with her mother?
“If the information you got from your mother is about a meeting this weekend at some warehouse near the East River,” I say slowly, the words slipping out of my lips reluctantly, “then I already know about it.”
Aleksei would go nuts if he knew the information I’m giving her. But I don’t see how telling her would hurt anything. She’ll be here. Safe. And Aleksei will be none the wiser.
“A seven o’clock meeting? Where the kidnappers are meeting their boss?”
“The very one. I already know about it.”
Her eyes narrow at me, and I’m relieved to see the tears disappearing. “Were you listening in on my conversation with my mom tonight?”
“Of course not,” I huff, tightening my grip on her hair. “While you were having your little conversation with Linda, I was having one of my own with my investigator. He gave me the information.”
“Wh–why are you telling me this?”
So when she finds out I went to that meeting, she won’t think it’s because I listened to her conversation with her mother. Because I won’t. I don’t want her getting hurt from that if I can help it. “To avoid misunderstandings.”
Her lips twist sadly. “And because you know it doesn’t change anything. Whether you got the information from your investigator or from listening to my conversation with my mom, you still won’t take me with you.”
The fist around my heart tightens as I watch her. But I can’t take her. I just can’t.
“It’s too risky, Melani.” She doesn’t understand what she’s asking for. I’m not going to risk her getting hurt. I can’t lose her. The certainty of that thought only hardens my resolve.
She makes a low sound at the back of her throat, and I brace myself for another argument. But she only goes on her tiptoes, brushes her lips to my ear, and whispers, “Kiss me.”
The words go through me like a struck match—sudden, total.
My entire body locks up at once, every muscle straining as the blood drains from my head and floods straight to my cock, which jerks hard against the towel like it’s about to tear through the damn fabric. It’s like those two words flipped a fucking switch that has no off position.
I know—somewhere beneath the rush of heat—that this conversation is far from over.
That the acceptance I saw in her eyes a moment ago is not what it looked like, that she is absolutely not the kind of woman who lets things go.
I know all that. But right now, she’s offering me a reprieve—and I’ll take it.
Gladly. I’ll take every single thing she offers me and more.
Without hesitation, I drop my head and slam my mouth down on hers, pulling her so close it feels like I’m trying to drag her under my skin. My fist tightens in her hair, holding her exactly where I want her while I take her mouth deep and rough.
Her lips part for me instantly, giving herself freely, and I take them greedily. The sweet taste of her makes me go crazy with want, makes me forget why we were fighting, makes me forget my own damn name. All I know is that I need more—I need every part of her.
I kiss her harder, my tongue pushing past her lips, my teeth grazing, making her gasp into me.
She sounds breathless, like she can’t keep up, but she doesn’t pull away.
I angle her head back with the grip in her hair and drive my tongue deeper into her mouth, swallowing the intoxicating sounds she makes.
At the same time, I grind my cock against her stomach so she feels how hard I am for her.
It's a miracle the goddamn towel doesn’t unravel and leave me exposed. Not that I’d hate that outcome.
I drag my mouth to her jaw, her ear, her throat, biting down just enough to hear her sharp intake of breath, to feel her body press closer. Then she tilts her head and whispers again, “Take me to your room, Vanya.”
My gut clenches hard. Christ. Who the fuck is this temptress?
For a split second, my brain clears enough to recognize she’s up to something and trying to distract me.
I can feel it in my bones. But then her hand slides between us, grabs my cock through the towel, and squeezes, and the thought burns to ash.
I growl, scooping her up against my chest like the treasured possession she is, and stride out of the office without a backward glance.
My men snap their heads up as we pass through the suite, but I level one look at them, and they clear the room so fast I barely hear them go.
She doesn’t notice. She’s brushing her lips along my jaw like she’s measuring exactly how much damage she can do before we get to my room.
By the time I reach the door, my cock is in genuine pain.
I shoulder it open and shut it behind us, twisting the lock—I want no interruptions.
Still holding her close, I let her body slide down mine—slowly, on purpose, every inch of her dragging against me, my cock tracing a hard, aching line along her stomach until she’s on her feet.
Her breath catches, her lashes fluttering, and I watch her chest rise and fall quickly, every tiny reaction feeding the hunger ripping through me.
She steps back, her eyes locked on mine. Then, in one rough pull, she yanks her dress over her head and drops it to the floor.
My lungs seize.
She’s bare in front of me, her nipples tight, her thighs pressed close together, and a glint in her eyes like she knows exactly what kind of torture she’s putting me through. I want her to feel the same torture, so I drop my towel.
She inhales sharply, a little vulnerable light entering her eyes, but she blinks, and it's gone. Then she closes the distance between us and runs her palm up my chest. The touch burns straight through me, every stroke of her hand branding my skin.
I grab her wrists, my voice rough as I tell her, “You’re playing with fire, myshka.”
“Maybe I want to get burned.” Her smile is taunting. She has no idea how much she affects me, but that wicked look suggests she enjoys getting a rise out of me.
It makes something snap inside me. I sweep her up in my arms and crush her against me, her breasts flattened to my chest, her nipples rubbing as I move.
Her pussy is already wet, and my belly clenches as the slippery proof of her desire smears across my skin. The friction almost undoes me.
Every step makes my cock harder, and I clamp my jaw so tight my teeth hurt. I carry her into my walk-in closet, heading straight for the tall mirror before setting her down. She barely has time to steady herself before I’m spinning her to face it.
Her hands twitch like she wants to cover herself, but I drag her back against my chest, my cock pressed thick and insistent against her ass, my palm sliding over her shivering stomach.
“Watch,” I growl into her ear. “Watch yourself while I touch you.”
Her lashes flutter again, her lips parting, and the sharp, helpless inhale she takes is like gasoline poured straight into my blood. I spread her legs with my knee, move my hand down, and slide my fingers through her folds.
She’s drenched, slick and hot, and the feel of her nearly buckles my knees.
“Fuck,” I grit out under my breath as I push one finger inside her.
She’s so tight. Her cunt clamps down on me instantly, her body clenching like it doesn’t want to let me go. She moans, breathy and desperate, her head falling back against my shoulder.
“Eyes forward,” I snap, fisting her hair and yanking her chin towards the mirror.
She obeys, her eyes meeting mine through the glass, wide and glazed with need.
Her lips part on another shaky moan as I sink a second finger into her, stretching her, working her deeper.
Her pussy grips me like a vice, pulling my fingers in tighter every time I thrust. The wet, squelchy sounds coming from her cunt as I fuck her make my cock jerk against her ass, and my eyes squeeze shut for a moment as the room seems to tilt around us.
I open my eyes again, needing to see how her body reacts to my touch.
I twist my fingers inside her, and a long drawn-out moan spills out—my name breaking through it like a prayer.
Her hips start to move, rocking down against my hand, chasing the pressure, chasing me.
In the mirror, her face is flushed, her mouth open, lashes falling and rising as she fights to keep her eyes on mine.
“Keep looking,” I growl, twisting my fingers again and dragging them hard against the spot I know will make her jolt.
Her knees buckle, but I catch her against my chest, holding her tight even as my cock throbs against her back, precum leaking and smearing her skin.
She whimpers and tries to shut her eyes, but I tug her hair harder until she gasps. “Don’t you fucking close them.”
They snap back open, locking on mine again. Her whole body is shaking now, her chest heaving with every breath, nipples standing stiff and proud in the air. Unable to resist, I release her hair and slide that hand down to cup one breast.
I pinch and roll her nipple between my fingers, twisting it hard enough to make her cry out in a mixture of pain and pleasure, the sound tears down my spine and pools at the base of my cock, making it pulse, the organ aching, leaking more against her back.
I work my fingers faster, pumping into her, curling them deep until her wetness gushes down my wrist.
The mirror fogs faintly with her ragged breaths, and her moans climb higher, turning to near screams as I push her closer and closer to the edge.
She moans my name again, broken and raw, her voice a desperate plea.
She’s close. Really close. Her cunt is clenching and unclenching around my fingers, her thighs shaking, her back arching against my chest. I bite down on the side of her throat, teeth pressing into her skin hard enough to mark her, and at the same moment I twist her nipple and curl my fingers one final time, scraping against that bundle of nerves that's her g-spot.
Her scream tears out of her and rattles through my skull. Her cunt clamps down so hard on my fingers I can barely move them as her whole body convulses against me, shattering apart.
I hold her in place, forcing her to keep her eyes on mine in the mirror while she comes undone, her reflection wild and desperate—beautiful in its ruin.
I watch her face, her mouth open and still screaming my name, her body trembling in slow, rolling aftershocks, and the sight carves itself into me. My heart pounds against her back so hard I’m sure she can feel it, each beat hammering home what I already know.
She’s mine.
Every inch of her. Every sound she makes. Every sharp inhale. Every flutter of her lashes. Every broken scream of my name. I feel it in my bones, a raw certainty that nothing else will ever matter. This is no longer a game I’ll walk away from. Perhaps it never was.
This is it. She’s it.
And I’ll never fucking let her go. I'll make her want to stay.