Chapter 7 #2
He looks at me and sees me, not Katya. His gaze is clear. His thumb traces the line of my jaw carefully, completely at odds with everything else happening between us.
“Margot.” My name. Mine.
I pull him closer and reach for his belt because waiting is worse than moving. He lets me unfasten it. He lets me push his trousers down his hips. His cock is hard against my thigh. My anger and refusal to be a copy of someone else turned him on harder than compliance ever could. I want more of it.
He pushes aside my underwear instead of removing it, and the urgency says more than any word he’s spoken all week.
He slides two fingers against my pussy first, checking my arousal.
I’m wet enough that the sound is audible in the quiet room.
I grip his wrist and push his hand harder against me because I’m done being handled carefully.
“Stop being gentle.” I dig my nails into his forearm. “I’m not fragile.”
He turns his hand and circles my clit. I exhale sharply. “More.”
“Whatever you want.” He applies more pressure, circling my clit with his thumb while I rock against him. I bite back a cry when he slips a finger inside me, working both pleasure spots.
I grind against his hand while burying my face against his shoulder to quiet the sounds coming from me.
When I’m on the verge of coming, he pulls back. I lift my head to glare at him, and he gives me a crooked smile.
“Together is better.” He repositions himself while speaking and lines up his cock with my opening.
He enters me in one steady push that makes me gasp and grip the edge of the desk while arching into him.
His shaft is thick, and the stretch of it aches in a way that sits right on the line between too much and exactly enough.
I lock my legs around his hips and pull him deeper.
He swears against my throat, low and wrecked, nothing like the controlled man who drills me on Katya’s route schedules.
Neither of us stops. Neither of us reaches for anything.
No condom, no conversation, not even a pause long enough for logistics to interrupt what’s been building for seven days in a locked building.
The thought registers and dissolves because his hips are moving, and I don’t want him to stop.
I’ll deal with reckless later. Later is when I’m good at consequences.
What follows is reckless, angry, and raw as two people who’ve spent too long controlling everything find out what happens when they stop.
His hips snap against mine with a rhythm that builds from careful to hard to a pace he can’t moderate anymore, and I don’t want him to.
I want this to be the one thing in this building that isn’t scripted, rehearsed, or controlled by his schedule.
I grip the back of his neck and drag his mouth to mine. He fucks me harder, and I make a sound I haven’t made in three years because Grant didn’t approve of sounds during sex. He said it wasn’t dignified. I faked it with him almost every time, so I was rarely tempted to cry out.
I don’t have to modulate myself with Valentin.
The desk shudders under us. The printouts slide to the floor in a cascade of paper, and he braces against the desk surface beside my hip while holding my thigh open so he can drive deeper.
“Right there.” He stays exactly where I need him, hitting a depth that makes my vision blur at the edges. The pressure builds from deep inside my pussy, radiating outward, hot and persistent. I come with my hand gripping his shoulder hard enough to leave marks and his name a cry on my lips.
He follows a second later. His cock pulses inside me as his rhythm breaks, and he presses his forehead hard against my collarbone. The groan he makes is involuntary, rough, and honest.
We breathe. Neither of us moves for several seconds.
Then he pulls back, and I straighten the skirt. He restores his appearance without looking at me, and I let him, not ready to face what we’ve done.
The crumpled route maps under me show Katya’s drop locations in blue ink.
The printout I was drilling from twenty minutes ago lies facedown under my left hand.
I’m sitting on top of the operation that brought me here while the man who runs it refastens his collar and tries to pretend he isn’t still shaking like I am.
He opens his mouth. My name starts to form.
“Don’t.” I hold up one hand. “Don’t turn this into strategy. Don’t sort it into operational complications. Whatever you’re about to say to make this manageable…don’t.”
He closes his mouth with his eyes narrowed. He looks confused and stunned. Welcome to the club.
I slept with the man who took me from a motel and locked me in his building, and I did it because I wanted to. Grant never made me want to stay. Valentin did, and the wanting is harder to carry than rage.
The door opens.
Nadia stands in the hallway with her tablet in one hand. Whatever she sees in the room, she processes and dismisses without visibly reacting. She’s too good at her job to comment on what she can obviously read in the state of the desk and the state of us.
“Kirill’s channel just activated.” Her voice is calm but urgent at the same time. “He received the false Katya message. He’s responding.”
The route maps are still crumpled under my thighs. Valentin stands on the other side of the desk, already recalculating.
The man who just slept with me is already planning how to deliver me.
I should’ve stayed angry. Angry has clean edges, a single direction, and a version of me I understand. Whatever I’m feeling now points at a man whose hands were careful when they didn’t have to be—and who is already willing to send me into danger.