Chapter 9 #2
Fuck yeah is what I want to say, in the guttural tone of a man buried balls-deep in his lover’s pliant body.
That’s how completely it unravels me. It’s not lost on me that her curves are molded to me from chest to thighs, or not quite to the floor, because when I hauled her up, I lifted her.
Her feet dangle a few inches above the carpet.
She doesn’t seem distressed; the unconquerable flash of her glare is still leveled at me.
The soft heat of her body presses so close she must feel the rigid proof of my reaction, the unruly prod of my hardness against her belly.
I set her on her feet and brush my hands off as though I’ve just finished a job.
“Now that we’ve established you’re in charge,” she says, striving for boredom. “What other duties are part of my job, apart from being stripped of my stake in the software firm I founded?”
“I won’t make you divest your ownership,” I say magnanimously, “but there’s no chance you’ll stay involved in day-to-day operations. You’ve got a VP with enough experience to take over as COO.”
“As much as I appreciate your interest in my leadership decisions, I’m confident you couldn’t rifle through my personnel database,” she says smugly.
“I don’t have time in my schedule to hunt for HR forms on a small company outside my purview,” I say dismissively. I don’t intend to tell her I put my best IT guy on it and he still couldn’t crack her software after forty hours of trying.
“Let me guess, you couldn’t access any of the encrypted information,” she says.
“Your approach would be the traditional bratva take-a-sledgehammer-to-it strategy: destroy what I’ve built and transfer total control to an employee who’s been in his role for seven months.
Or perhaps I should use the bratva model, treat him as my brigadier, then hire a couple of guys to spy on him and make sure he’s loyal? ”
Fine. She knows the traditional organizational model for the bratva. That’s not news. She’s trying to provoke me, I know it, but it’s working.
“Whatever management model you put in place, you’ll need to move quickly. Be decisive. Because you’re about to be my wife and I intend to exercise my rights extensively.”
“Your rights?” she challenges.
“To you in my bed. Every night. And every day.” I inform her as coolly as possible.
“You must have excellent brigadiers if you can be absent from the management elite so often,” she counters. “But I guess an autocrat like you does whatever he wants.”
“No one in the organization would dare to cross me.”
“Let me guess, you made an example of someone during your first week on the job.”
She sounds disgusted, and she’s not far from the truth.
“A crude but effective technique to ensure loyalty,” I tell her.
“You think I should slaughter one of my VPs and make it a lesson to the others?” she says, and it might sound teasing if she didn’t look so scornful. Turns out I can’t endure her scorn.
“However you want to adjust the leadership before our marriage is up to you,” I say flatly.
“Any other orders I need to carry out? Besides giving up my business and transforming into an ornament for you at social occasions?”
“Sergei did warn me,” I say with a cold laugh.
I reach into my desk drawer and set a bottle of ibuprofen on the blotter between us. “He gave me this as a wedding gift and said I’d need it.”
She stares at the bottle of headache medicine and goes utterly still. Hurt flashes across her face before she masks it behind that unflappable engineer’s facade. She snatches up the plastic bottle and hurls it at my head. I dodge just in time, and she yells in frustration when she misses.
“I can’t believe you did this!” she rants. “You just had to refuse my offer to make me feel smaller. Of course you don’t want a partner. I’m something to put on your shelf, a prize broodmare with the right bloodlines and the right connections.”
She’s furious, fiery and ready to claw at me.
A strange lightness floats inside me; maybe I’m amused, or maybe I just relish the triumph of winding her up.
She charges, arm raised to slap me. Reflexes honed by decades in the bratva serve me well.
My hand darts out; I snatch her wrist and haul her against me.
My other arm snakes around her waist, and I lift her, pivoting until she’s seated on the edge of my desk.
Her eyes widen for an instant, the only hint that I’ve surprised her.
“You think you can manhandle me like—” she snaps. I cut her off with a kiss, the chemistry and conflict sparking between us.
I expect her to bite me or knee me in the nuts.
Instead, Karina shocks me. She winds her arms around my neck and, with a soft sigh, lets the tension drain from her body.
She molds her lips to mine, welcoming my tongue into the recesses of her perfect mouth.
Heat burrows at the base of my spine, and my hands tangle in her hair.
It’s too good, and the rush rockets to my head like too much vodka.
She’s a shot of something addictive, fogging my brain.
I break the kiss, and she lifts her arm to slap me again.
I stop her easily. She glares, snarls a small noise of fury, and searches for another way to strike me.
With her free hand, she unbuttons her jacket, revealing the lacy white bra beneath.
The full globes of her breasts press against the stiff fabric, threatening to spill free.
My mouth goes dry. With a flick of her thumb, she unhooks the front clasp, giving me an eyeful of her gorgeous tits.
I’ll give her this, as a strategist, she knows exactly how to stop me in my tracks.
“What happened to waiting until the wedding night? Doing only your duty and no more?” I challenge, but my voice sounds throttled and I can’t take my eyes off her bare breasts, the pretty pink nipples tightening in the cool air.
“That’s always been the plan,” she says, her voice as ragged as mine. “My theory is that if we indulge in a one-time hate-fuck, it’ll take the edge off, and we won’t murder each other before the ceremony.”
“There’s something to be said for that logic,” I admit, my gaze still locked on her breasts.
She lifts one hand and toys with her own nipple almost absently.
My cock likes that too much, and I step closer.
I can’t get between her knees because of the tight little skirt, so I skate my hands up the outside of her thighs and shove the fabric higher, freeing her legs so I can slip between them.
I catch her wrist and pull her hand from her nipple, shaking my head.
“That’s my job, surely,” I scold. She clutches the front of my shirt, and I drag her jacket and bra off, clumsy in my haste.
I can’t wait another second to get my mouth on her.
I bend her back over my arm, relief flooding me when my lips close over her tight nipple and I give a long, hard suck.
She squirms, her body heating even more.
I palm her other breast, teasing the sensitive flesh.
Karina gives in for a moment, and I feel her surrender all the way to my teeth.
I nearly growl with satisfaction. Her fingers are in my hair, her nails scratch lightly at my scalp, a sensation that drives chills all down my body.
Her tenderness and sensuality kindle such a response in me that the tether I had on my desires snaps at once.
My fingers dig into the flesh of her full hips and I claim her mouth again.
The kiss sears me, her tongue slides along mine and her fingers tighten in my hair.
I bear her back onto the desk and climb over her.
When her spine hits the wood, she seems to shake off the spell of surrender and tries to wriggle away.
I hold her fast, pinning her down with my body and put my mouth to her neck.
She shoves at my shoulders ineffectually.
I’m not letting her go so easily. Not when she’s pushed me this far.
I stroke her nipple deliberately, making her flesh pebble and strain into my touch.
I lick and suck at her throat, drawing a rich scent that drives me mad.
Levering off her, I yank off my belt and unzip pants now painfully tight.
She scrambles off the desk. Exasperated, I follow, stalking her.
She covers her breasts with one arm, as if hiding them could erase the memory of my mouth on her moments ago.
She grabs a bronze duck, one of my father’s knickknacks, and hurls it at me.
I dodge. Apparently, I haven’t turned her on enough to ruin her aim.
She snatches her jacket off the floor and clutches it to her chest.
“I’m supposed to just melt and be putty in your hands? That’s how potent your charm is?”
“That’s how it usually works,” I say with a half smile. I’m closing in on her and almost have her backed into a corner. She fakes to one side and slips away to the left, lunging for my door. I chuckle.
Within seconds I have her pinned against the door, and I take the risk I’ve been dying to take.
Dropping to my knees, I grab her thighs and press my face to her.
I kiss her plump mound through the fabric of her skirt, tasting her desire there.
I slide her skirt up those long, smooth legs and lean back just enough to meet her gaze.
Her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, lips parted, pink, swollen, damp from my kisses.
I surge up her body to catch that plush lower lip between my teeth.
She gasps into my mouth, and then our lips, tongues, and teeth clash. The fire between us is out of control.