Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
T he front door shutting feels like the final click of a trap we walked into on purpose.
Mikhail doesn't wait for me to take off my heels.
He grabs my hand, his palm burning, and pulls me up the curved marble staircase.
His grip is bruisingly tight, his shoes loud against the steps.
I jog to keep up, the hem of my dress scratching my thighs as the adrenaline from the game sours into cold panic.
I have to tell him. Right now, before I lose my nerve.
In our suite, Mikhail yanks the doors open, hauls me inside, and kicks them shut. The lock clicks with a heavy, metallic thud.
I spin, pressing my hands against his chest. "Mikhail, stop. J-Just listen to me for one second."
"I’m done listening, Irina," he growls, looming over me, a massive wall of black wool and muscle, his chest rising and falling in ragged drafts.
"I… I need to tell you, Mikhail," I say, pushing against him with all my remaining strength. "My father?—"
"Fuck him," he interrupts.
"Mikhail!" My voice rises, sharp and desperate. "I’m trying to warn you, you stubborn idiot!"
"And I told you, I don't give a damn," he growls. "Not fucking now, Irina."
He grabs the low, draped neckline of my dress. With one sudden downward jerk, the fabric tears down the center, the seams ripping open to my waist, then down to my thighs. The cool air hits my bare skin. I gasp, standing in nothing but my black heels and a tiny scrap of lace.
"You! You are unbelievable," I whisper, my breath catching. "Do you idea how hard it was to find a dress like that?"
"I’ll buy you a thousand more," he murmurs, his dark eyes tracing the curve of my collarbone to my bare breasts.
His hands slide up my waist, rough and heavy.
"Fucking hell, Irina, I spent the last three hours watching every bastard in that room look at you. I watched Silas stare at your back. I watched Vance try to slide his eyes down your front. I’ve been going out of my mind. "
He pins me against the door, his heat swallowing me. His large hands frame my face, thumbs tilting my chin until I have no choice but to look into the blue fire of his eyes.
"Do you trust me, Irina?" he asks, his low voice leaving no room for a lie.
I stare at him, chest heaving. I’ve spent my life surrounded by predators—my father, his enforcers, a system that traded me like a commodity.
I’ve never trusted a single soul. But looking at Mikhail—at the bruised jaw he got defending his brother, the raw knuckles from protecting me—the wall in my chest crumbles.
"Yes," I say, the word small but entirely honest. "Yes, Mikhail. I trust you."
He freezes, his jaw tightening, before his eyes darken further. "Good."
He claims my mouth in a dirty, desperate kiss, his tongue sliding past my lips before I can draw a breath. I whimper, wrapping my arms around his neck, my fingers tangling in his dark hair. He tastes of expensive whiskey, his mouth moving with a heavy pressure that makes my knees weak.
He slides his mouth down my jaw to my neck. He bites—just hard enough to make me arch—and sucks a mark into my shoulder that will be bruised by morning.
"Mikhail..." I gasp, my head falling back against the wood.
"I’ve got you," he mumbles against my skin.
He lifts me, my thighs wrapping around his waist, and carries me to the bed.
Throwing me onto the silk duvet, he crawls over me before I can scramble back.
He yanks his shirt off, buttons popping and clinking against the floor.
In the dim light, the serpents and stars tattooed across his chest seem to twist with every breath.
Pinning my wrists beside my head, he traces a wet path from my throat down to my breasts. He cups one side, his fingers digging into my flesh, and takes my nipple into his mouth. The hard, rhythmic suction sends a bolt of electricity straight between my thighs. I cry out, pulling against his grip.
"You're so sensitive," he growls, moving to the other breast, swirling his tongue until I’m squirming. "So beautiful."
"Mikhail, please," I sob, my hips twitching against his. "You're torturing me."
"I've barely started, dorogaya ," he murmurs.
His mouth moves lower, trailing over my ribs to my stomach.
He stops at the silver scar above my hip.
He presses a slow, hot kiss directly against the surgical line, his warm breath fanning my skin.
It’s a gesture so intimate, loaded with quiet worship, that my eyes sting with tears.
He is looking at the part of me I hate, and choosing to stay.
He slides down, grabbing my ankles to pull my legs wide. He hooks my knees over his shoulders, exposing me completely. I try to pull back in a sudden wave of embarrassment, but his grip is iron.
"Don't hide from me," he says, his dark gaze locking onto mine.
He leans down, his hot breath hitting my wetness, and then his tongue finds me.
A shattered gasp tears from my throat as his mouth connects with my clit.
He licks me in long, wet strokes that make my fingers claw the sheets.
He is ruthless, swirling around the sensitive peak before sucking it into his mouth, his fingers sliding inside my wet heat.
The throbbing pressure builds in my gut until I’m shaking from head to toe.
"Mikhail... Gospodi ... please," I cry, my hips lifting off the mattress, seeking his mouth.
He doesn't slow down. Growling against my inner thigh, his jaw clenches as he licks and sucks, his fingers working inside me until I’m frantic. He knows exactly how to read my body, pushing me higher until the pleasure turns into a sharp, beautiful ache.
"Come on, Irina," he rasps, his breath hot against my skin. "Let me taste it."
My body convulses. A broken scream escapes me as my climax hits, my muscles clamping around his fingers as wave after wave of heat shatters through me. He doesn't pull away, keeping up the relentless suction through the vibrations until I’m gasping, my head thudding back against the pillows.
He pulls back, his face flushed and lips slick. Standing over me, his trousers already pushed down, his cock springs free—massive, thick, and dark in the shadows. My throat goes dry. I reach out, my hand wrapping around his hot length, my thumb tracing the pulsing vein.
"Let me," I whisper, my voice wrecked. "Mikhail, let me taste you."
He stares at my hand, his chest heaving as if he’s run a marathon, his jaw clenching hard. For a second, I think he’ll yield.
"No," he rasps, firmly pulling my hand away. "While that is the most tempting offer I’ve ever had, not tonight. Tonight, I want to devour you over and over. And I need to stay in control to do that. If you touch me like that, I won't last a minute."
He steps back, walks to the dresser, and pulls a long, black silk tie from the drawer. Returning to the bed, his dark eyes fix on mine.
"Hands behind your head," he commands.
I look at the tie, my stubbornness flaring. “Are you really going to tie me up?"
"I asked if you trusted me," he says, a wicked grin touching the corner of his mouth. "Now let me have my way."
I swallow hard, my pulse thumping, but I lift my hands to the carved wooden slats of the headboard.
Climbing back over me, his knees pin my thighs.
He loops the black silk around my wrists, securing them to the wood.
It locks my arms above my head, leaving me completely exposed—chest arched, thighs parted.
"You're a monster," I whisper, my voice shaking with heat.
"I know," he murmurs.
Positioning himself between my thighs, he grabs my hips, his fingers leaving marks that will turn to bruises. He looks into my eyes, then enters me in one slow, agonizingly deep thrust.
I let out a sharp gasp, my bound hands straining against the tie as he fills me. He is thick, stretching my walls, but the slickness from my climax makes the entry smooth. He stays there for a moment, buried to the hilt, his forehead resting against mine as we pant.
"You're so tight," he growls, his hips shifting in a slow, punishing grind. "So perfect."
He picks up the pace, his thrusts turning into a hard, rhythmic pounding that rattles the headboard.
I pull against the silk, twisting my wrists as I arch to meet every stroke.
The eye contact is relentless. He watches every twitch of my face, every gasp, his blue eyes dark with a raw intensity that goes deeper than any physical connection before.
"Mikhail... yes... right there," I sob, thrashing on the pillow.
"Mine," he growls, driving harder, his chest slick with sweat. "Say it, Irina."
"Yours," I cry out, my voice cracking. "I'm yours."
Before I can reach the edge, he pulls out with a wet sound that makes me whimper. He unties the silk from the headboard, but leaves my wrists bound. Grabbing my waist, he flips me onto my stomach, my hands tucked under my chest.
He yanks my hips up onto my knees, my head pressed into the pillows. Standing behind me, his hands grip my lower back as his heavy heat presses against my rear.
He slides back inside me.
The change in angle is electric. He hits me deeper now, his cock rubbing against my G-spot with every brutal thrust. I scream muffled into the pillow, bucking against him. He grips my hips, driving into me with a relentless, primal force.
"You're so loud, Princess," he pants, his hand coming down to give my thigh a sharp, stinging slap. The smack makes me gasp, my back arching as the sting of pain turns into a fresh wave of heat. "I told Silas you weren't a doll. You're a tiger, aren't you?"
"Mikhail... harder... please," I beg, my face buried in the sheets, my bound hands straining.
He doesn't hold back, thrusting with a hard, snapping rhythm. I can feel his sweat dripping onto my back, his breath hot against my neck as his teeth graze my shoulder, marking me over and over as I climb toward another peak.
Just as I’m about to go over, he pulls out again. I let out a sharp, frustrated cry, but he doesn't let me rest. Sitting back on his heels, his cock hard and leaking, he yanks me onto his lap to face him.
My bound hands drape over his neck, my thighs wrapping around his waist. I sit on him, his cock sliding all the way back inside as I settle. The fullness is dizzying, my wetness keeping us locked together.
"You set the pace, Irina," he rasps, his hands cupping my breasts, thumbs flicking my nipples. "Show me how much you want it."
Looking at him, my eyes dark with desperate desire, I begin to move, sliding up and down his length. The control is intoxicating, but Mikhail isn't passive; he thrusts upward with every downward stroke, driving me to a frenzy.
"Mikhail... I can't... I can't hold it," I sob, my head falling onto his shoulder, my bound hands tightening around his neck.
"Don't hold it," he growls, his hands moving to my waist to take over the movement, slamming my hips down with a breathless, intense speed and puts his hand on my clit. "Come with me, Irina. Now."
The tension snaps for both of us. My climax hits like a freight train, my body locking around him as I scream his name. Mikhail lets out a guttural roar, tensing as he thrusts upward one last, deep time, spilling his heat inside me in a powerful rush.
We stay wrapped around each other, our breathing the only sound in the room. My head rests on his shoulder, my heart hammering against his chest. Mikhail’s arms are locked tight around my waist, as if he’s still afraid I’ll disappear.