Chapter 9 Raina
RAINA
Sergei’s jaw tightens beneath my fingertips, the scrape of fresh stubble a raw contrast to the soft heat of his mouth hovering close without quite touching.
Wind gusts in from the balcony, tossing loose strands of my hair across my cheeks, yet his dark gaze holds me still, intense enough to make the whole skyline blur.
He leans in finally, lips brushing mine in a slow, deliberate test. I part for him, taste salt, taste the faint leftover sweetness of Nadia’s morning pancakes.
A low, throaty sound from him vibrates against my tongue, and he deepens the kiss until the city below us falls away.
He breaks it on a ragged inhale against my mouth.
“Inside,” he says, that gravel voice barely above a whisper.
He laces our fingers and pulls me through the sliding door, shutting the night out with a purposeful click.
Nadia’s door sits quiet down the hall. Vera stands guard in the shadows, giving us a single, knowing nod as we pass.
The bedroom swallows us in gold light, dark silk sheets stretched taut over the massive bed, floor-to-ceiling windows framing the jagged skyline and the river glinting like dull steel.
No guards, no clutter, only the muted hum of the city and the hush between us.
He backs me against the door, heat crowding in, six-four of solid menace and control.
His hands bracket my face, thumbs tracing slow arcs that almost soothe until he breathes my name so softly it’s barely a sound.
Raina. Then he crushes his mouth to mine again, and the hunger burns brighter.
His tongue dives deep, exploring with a possessive glide that drags a muffled moan from my throat.
I clutch his shirt, feel his heartbeat thundering under my palms. He pulls back an inch, eyes searching me. “You’re shaking.”
“It’s everything,” I whisper, breath catching. “Today. You.” The truth slips out raw, unedited.
His mouth curves, fingers sliding under my sweater hem. “Arms up.” The command rumbles low from his chest.
I obey. Cool air skates up my stomach, ribs, breasts as he peels the sweater off and tosses it aside. One deft motion, and my bra falls. His palms cup me, thumbs circling my nipples until they stiffen under his touch.
“Christ,” he mutters against my skin, voice gone rough and reverent. He dips his head, lips closing over one nipple, tongue flicking slow, controlled, until his teeth graze the tip and pleasure shoots straight through me. My head falls back against the door. “Sergei,” escapes as a hushed plea.
He shifts to the other breast, lavishing the same thorough attention while the first gets squeezed and kneaded, slick with his mouth.
Heat pools between my thighs, and I clamp them together, a futile attempt to cling to composure.
He drops one hand, drags my leggings and panties down in a single impatient jerk.
I step free, naked except for socks I kick off, and his stare devours me.
He strips fast—shirt gone, scars crossing his ribs like quiet confessions, muscles rolling under tight skin.
His pants fall, and his cock springs free, thick and heavy, the head shining.
He palms himself once, eyes never leaving me. “Bed?”
“Door,” I say, voice hoarse. I hook my fingers around his waist and yank him closer. “I want to feel it.”
His grin darkens. “You will.” He lifts me by my ass, pins me against that door again, my legs locking around his waist, ankles crossed behind him.
His cock slides along my slick folds, painting himself with slow, teasing nudges that have my breath shivering.
“Wet for me already,” he growls in my ear.
“Always,” I whisper.
He pushes inside inch by slow inch, stretching me open with focused patience.
Halfway, he stops, his forehead resting against mine.
“Look at me.” I do. His gaze holds me steady while he presses deeper until his balls are snug against my ass.
He stays there. “Perfect fit,” he breathes. “Like you were built for my cock.”
I clench just to break that control, and he hisses.
“Move,” I demand, breathless. He obeys, starting with gentle rolls that caress every inch of me, our bodies grinding together with quiet creaks from the door behind us.
He catches my mouth again, tongues tangling in a deep kiss that tastes like hunger and promise.
Heat builds low and tight, my clit brushing his base with every stroke.
I break the kiss, panting against his cheek. “Harder.”
His eyes flare. “Say it again.”
“Harder. Deeper.” My voice shakes as I bite back a louder sound.
“Fuck, I love that.” He thrusts harder, snapping his hips, barreling straight into that spot that makes sparks burst behind my eyes. My nails dig into his shoulders. “You’re close,” he murmurs, breath hot against my ear.
“Yes.” I barely get it out, my voice strangled.
“Stay quiet.” His thumb finds my clit, grinding tight circles. The orgasm slams through me, a silent scream trapped against his neck while my body convulses around him. He holds me through it, murmuring ragged praise against my skin. “That’s it. Milk me. Keep that pretty mouth shut.”
He slows only enough to let the aftershocks fade, then sets me down carefully.
My knees wobble. He steadies me. “Bed now.” No argument allowed.
He guides me across the room, the silk sheets cool beneath my barely grounded body as he kneels between my thighs.
His gaze devours me, eyes darker than the skyline behind him.
“So fucking gorgeous,” he murmurs, more to himself than me. Fingers spread me open. He dips his head and drags his tongue along my slit in one long, possessive stroke.
My hands fist the sheets. “Sergei,” slips out as a hiss.
He hums a low sound, mouth sealing around my clit, tongue flicking relentless pulses that make my hips jerk.
I try to keep quiet, biting my lip, but the steady drag of his fingers pushing inside me—curling, finding that spot—tears a muffled cry from my throat.
He pins my hips down hard, keeps eating me like a starving man.
“Tastes like sin,” he mutters against me before sucking harder.
“Gonna come,” I whisper, voice trembling.
He doesn’t let up. “Give it here.” The second climax crashes into me, thighs clamping around his head, hands yanking his hair. He holds tight, riding every wave until the tremors slow. He comes up with a victorious grin, mouth slick with me. “Still want control?”
I nod, ragged. He lies back, arms spread, cock thick and pulsing against his stomach. I straddle him, sink down slow, savor every inch spreading me open again. He exhales through his teeth, fingers digging into my hips. “Eyes on me.”
“I know,” I whisper, rolling my hips, grinding my clit against his base. “Watch me.”
He watches. His stare burns into me, hands guiding but letting me set the pace. “Ride me how you need it,” he says, voice low. “No noise.”
“Try telling my body that.” I lean forward, lips brushing his. “Quiet me.”
He kisses me, swallowing the soft sounds as I build my rhythm, lifting and dropping, the slap of skin filling the room. He’s breathing harder now, thumbs teasing my nipples, rolling them until I break the kiss with a gasp. “Sergei,” I pant. “I can’t—”
“You can.” He grips my shoulders, pushing me upright, holding me down while he thrusts up, taking control. My third orgasm explodes like lightning, and I collapse over him again, face buried in his neck, muscles shaking as my walls clamp around him.
He wraps me in his arms, rocking us gently.
“Love watching you shatter quietly,” he murmurs against my ear.
“Our secret.” He rolls us seamlessly, spooning me, sliding back in from behind.
His hand cups my breast, thumb brushing lazy circles over my nipple while the other drifts down to circle my clit.
He thrusts slow and deep, intimacy winding tight between us.
“Feel that?” he whispers against my nape.
“I’m buried so deep you’ll feel me for days. ”
“Yes,” I breathe, pushing back into him. “Right there.”
“Good girl.” His pace quickens, still controlled but urgent. He grinds at the perfect angle until I’m trembling again, hips jerking out of sync. He pulls out suddenly, flips me onto my stomach, lifts my hips. His palm comes down on my ass with a sharp crack. “Count.”
“Sergei—”
“Count.” His thrust drives the word from my lungs.
“One,” I gasp into the pillow. He slams in again.
“Two.”
“Louder,” he growls, hand sliding up my spine to press me down.
“Three.” My voice shakes.
He spanks me again. “Don’t lose track.”
“Four.” He circles my clit. “Fuck. Five.” The pleasure spikes sharp as glass.
“Keep going,” he urges, pace vicious.
“Six.” My voice fractures. “Seven.” I bite the pillow. “Eight.” My whole body tenses. “Nine.” The orgasm hits like a flash flood, tearing everything loose. I scream into the silk, muffled. My cunt spasms around him wildly. He groans, stills, fighting for control. “Ten,” I whisper, hoarse.
“Good,” he rasps, pulling out carefully. His cock throbs, head flushed angry red. “Window.”
I shuffle to the edge of the bed, bracing my hands on the glass while the city sprawls indifferently below.
He slams into me from behind, grabbing my hair and forcing my gaze to our reflection.
“Look,” he orders. “See what we look like when I’m balls-deep, ruining you.
” His free hand comes around, fingers rubbing my clit in tight, ruthless circles. “Watch, kotyonok.”
“I am,” I pant, eyes glued to the mirror. “It’s obscene.”
“It’s perfect.” He yanks my head back, kisses the curve of my throat, thrusts until I’m seeing stars. I clamp a hand over my mouth to trap the sob tearing free. He fucks through every pulse, sweat slicking our skin.
He shifts again, lifting me effortlessly so my back slams against his chest, legs spread wide as he hooks his hands under my thighs.
We face the mirror now, reflection tinted gold.
His cock pistons in and out of me while my toes barely touch the floor.
“See how this pretty cunt swallows me?” he rasps in my ear.
“Look at those tits, bouncing for me. Look at your face.”
“I can’t,” I choke.
“You will.” His fingers pinch my nipple. “Take every inch.”
“Sergei,” I gasp, shaking. Another orgasm surges through me, and he holds me through it, eyes locked on the mirror.
Finally he backs me toward the cold glass, hands gripping my ass as he lifts me again, legs wrapping his waist. The skyline spreads wide beneath us. He slams in, fucking with ruthless intent now. “Almost there,” he grits out.
“Come inside me,” I plead, voice a desperate whisper. “Please.”
“Quiet,” he warns, but he’s right there. I bear down, milking him with everything I have. The last orgasm erupts, dragging a silent scream from my throat. He buries his face in my neck, muffling his groan as he spills hot inside me, pulse after pulse.
A few minutes later, Sergei rolls onto his back with a soft grunt, breath still uneven, but the hunger in his eyes has eased to something gentler.
I curl against his chest, cheek pressed to the faint sheen of sweat cooling across his skin.
His heartbeat thumps solid and steady under my ear, anchoring me.
He exhales slowly, arms slinging around me, one hand stroking the curve of my spine in lazy, unhurried motions.
“You always run hot,” I murmur, fingers tracing the faint scars across his ribs.
He chuckles softly, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Occupational hazard.” He shifts just enough to look down at me. “You good?”
“Better than good,” I answer, voice hushed. “You?”
His mouth softens into a rare, almost shy smile. “Never better.” His thumb catches a strand of hair mashed against my cheek, smoothing it back. “Stay right here,” he whispers. “Need to feel you breathe.”
I tighten my arm around his waist. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Silence settles, but it’s thick with warmth, not distance.
The city hum fades to white noise beneath the faint whir of climate control.
My muscles feel boneless, lulled by the slow glide of his hand over my back.
Every so often he presses his lips to the crown of my head, murmuring my name like it’s both a prayer and a grounding point.
“Raina,” he says after a quiet stretch, voice gentled. “I know today was hell. Thanks for coming back.” His fingers pause over my spine, trace one vertebra at a time as if counting proof that I’m here.
I tilt my head up. “You’re the reason I did.” My palm covers his heartbeat. “You always were.”
His eyes flare, then gentled admiration floods them. “You have no idea what that does to me.”
“I might.” I smile faintly. “You’ll show me.”
“In the morning,” he murmurs, brushing his mouth over my temple. “Tonight, you sleep.” He reaches down, pulls the sheet over us, tucking it around my shoulders with unexpected tenderness. His hand returns to my back, drawing lazy circles.
I snuggle closer, matching my breaths to his slow rhythm until the adrenaline ebbs completely.
He falls asleep first, but I can’t get to that point of peace.
The weight of his hand, relaxed now, feels heavy on my stomach.
I turn my head. His breath is slow and even against the back of my neck.
I inhale deeply—clean sheets and him. My body wants to stay right here.
The lines in his forehead are gone, his fingers curled like they finally remember how to hold someone.
I slide out from under his arm inch by inch.
He murmurs something in Russian and settles again, one hand catching my pillow instead of me.
The bedside clock throws a soft red glow over his face. Relaxed, he looks younger. Less like a man people fear and more like someone a little girl might trust. My chest tightens. I don’t deserve the warmth sitting there.
The phone rings. The sound cuts straight through the quiet.
My whole body goes tight. It’s sharp and old-fashioned.
Not a cellphone, but the landline by the kitchen, wired into the bones of this place, a phone that almost never speaks.
I cross the room in three strides and grab the handset, breath caught between inhale and exhale.
“Da?”
“Ms. Morozova?” The concierge’s voice is polite, strained, echoing off too much marble. “I’m sorry to disturb you. A parcel was just left at the service desk for a… Nadia. Four years old.” A pause. A swallow. “It’s addressed with her full name.”
My skin goes cold.
“Don’t touch it,” I say. My voice sounds thin, distant. “Don’t open it. Don’t go near it. Step back from the desk.”