Chapter 8 #2
I don’t like to be questioned, but I let it slide.
Maybe I’d be more inclined to handle it the way my father and his generation would have if I didn’t truly believe Viktor made a bad judgment call.
Not bad enough to warrant death, but certainly serious enough to make me lose trust in his abilities.
I reply: I’ve decided. Let him go. I’m also in a better mood than most mornings after last night, so that slightly colors my decision to bar him from working for us instead of killing him.
He doesn’t text back other than a few minutes later to let me know Viktor is driving away now in his sedan.
The morning’s security breach weighs on my mind as I handle the rest of my business.
If someone can convince a trusted employee to compromise dormant accounts, we need better verification procedures and clearer consequences for unauthorized access.
The Nikitins are clearly testing our defenses, and I won’t give them any more opportunities.
Katya isn’t setting the right note for starting out in marital bliss, but I’d rather she play these games.
It frees me from committing to the engagement if I can be sure she and her family did this.
Around two o’clock in the afternoon, I’m walking through the main house when I see Sarah in the hallway outside the supply room, gathering files and office materials.
She’s wearing a different dress today, a charcoal gray that brings out the green in her eyes, and she looks professional and composed.
Until she sees me approaching. Then her cheeks flush slightly, and she fumbles with the papers in her hands. “Mr. Barinov.” Her voice is professional, but I catch the slight breathlessness that tells me she’s remembering last night as clearly as I am.
“Sarah.” I move closer, noting the way she straightens against the wall as I approach. “How was your day?”
“Productive. I finished reviewing the quarterly reports and identified several discrepancies that need attention.”
“Good.” I step close enough that she has to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact, and I see her pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. “Very good.”
She glances toward the main corridor. “Someone might see.”
“Let them see.” I brace one hand against the wall beside her head, effectively caging her in place. “I’m talking to my assistant about work.”
Her lips twitch in spite of nervousness. “This doesn’t feel like talking about work.”
“Doesn’t it?” I brush a strand of hair back from her face, enjoying the way her breath pauses at the simple touch. “Maybe I’m discussing your performance review.”
“My performance review?”
“Exceptional marks across all categories.” I lower my head until my mouth is inches from hers. “Particularly your attention to detail.”
“Yarik—”
I silence her with a kiss, tasting her surprised response before she melts against me. She grips my shirt, and I feel her heart racing where our bodies press together. When I break the kiss, her pupils are dilated and her breathing is unsteady. “Someone could walk by.”
“The hallway’s been empty for the past ten minutes.” I slide my hands beneath the hem of her blouse, finding the warm skin of her waist. “I’ve been watching.”
“That doesn’t mean—” Her protest dies when I find the sensitive spot just below her ribs that made her arch beneath me last night.
“What doesn’t it mean?” I trace slow circles on her skin, enjoying the way she shivers at my touch.
She tries to form a coherent response, but I see her resolve weakening. “We agreed to keep this separate from work.”
“Did we?” I lean down to kiss the sensitive spot where her neck meets her shoulder. “I don’t remember agreeing to that.”
She tightens her hands on my shirt. “Yarik, this is dangerous.”
“I know.” I pull back to look at her, noting the way her lips are swollen from my kiss, and her eyes are dark with desire. “Do you want me to stop?”
She stares at me for a long moment, waging an internal war between logic and desire that plays out across her face. Finally, she shakes her head.
“Good.” I take her hand and pull her toward the nearest door, which leads to a small conference room that’s rarely used. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.” I lock the door behind us and turn to find her standing in the middle of the room, looking nervous and excited and beautiful.
“Here?” She glances around the conference room with its polished table and formal chairs.
“Here.” I move toward her slowly, giving her time to object or change her mind. “Unless you’d rather wait until tonight?”
“I don’t want to wait.” The admission comes out breathlessly.
I reach her in two steps, pulling her into my arms and claiming her mouth in a kiss that’s hungrier than the one in the hallway. She responds immediately, winding her arms around my neck as she presses closer.
I walk her backward until her legs hit the edge of the conference table, then lift her onto the polished surface. She gasps at the cold wood against her skin but doesn’t protest when I step between her knees.
“Someone will hear us,” she whispers against my mouth.
“Then you’ll have to be quiet.” I slide my hands up her thighs, pushing her dress higher. “Can you do that for me?”
She nods, but her breathing is already unsteady, and I haven’t even really touched her yet.
I find the edge of her panties and trace the lace with one finger, enjoying the way she trembles at the light contact. She’s already wet for me, and the knowledge makes my blood race. “You’ve been thinking about this too,” I say, slipping one finger beneath the lace to find her slick heat.
“Yes.” The word comes out as a gasp when I find her clit and circle it slowly.
“What have you been thinking about?” I add a second finger, stroking her in the rhythm I learned last night makes her fall apart.
“Your hands.” She grips my shoulders, her head falling back as I work her with increasing pressure. “Your mouth. The way you made me feel.”
“How did I make you feel?”
“Like I was drowning in you.” Her voice breaks on the last word as I curl my fingers inside her, finding the spot that makes her arch against me.
I increase the pace, watching her face as the pleasure builds. Her cheeks are flushed, and she’s biting down on her lower lip to keep from crying out.
“Let go,” I whisper against her ear. “Come on my hand, lyubimaya .”
With a few more strokes, she jerks and presses hard against my palm as she shatters around my fingers with a muffled cry. She clenches her inner walls as the orgasm crashes through her while I work her through it, gentling my touch as the aftershocks fade.
When she can breathe normally again, she opens her eyes and looks at me with an expression that’s part satisfaction and part hunger. “Your turn.” She reaches for my belt.
“Sarah, we don’t have to?—”
“I want to.” She slides off the table and drops to her knees before I can protest further.
The sight of her kneeling in front of me, with her dress rumpled and her hair mussed from my hands, is almost enough to undo me completely. When she frees my cock from my pants and takes me in her mouth, I have to grip the edge of the table to stay upright.
She works my erection with the same focused intensity she brings to everything else, using her tongue and lips in ways that make me see stars. I thread my fingers through her hair, not to control her movements but to anchor myself as she takes me deeper.
“You’re going to kill me.” My voice is rough with need.
She pulls back to look up at me, her lips swollen and her eyes bright. “Good. You deserve it after what you just did to me.”
Before I can respond, she takes me in her mouth again, and rational thought becomes impossible. The combination of her wet heat and the risk of discovery has me racing toward the edge faster than I expected.
“I’m close,” I warn her, but she doesn’t pull away.
Instead, she increases her pace, and when she hums around me, I lose all control.
I come with a force that leaves me shaking, and she takes everything I give her without protest. When I’m finally spent, she releases me and rises gracefully to her feet.
“Better?” She smooths down her dress and tries to fix her hair.
“Much.” I tuck myself back into my pants and straighten my tie. “Now, I’m going to have trouble concentrating on work for the rest of the day.”
She laughs. “Good.”
I pull her close for another kiss. “Come to my suite at six. We can have dinner and continue this conversation properly.”
She looks intrigued. “What conversation?”
“The one about what happens next.”
She studies my face, searching for something I hope she finds. “I’d like that. Six o’clock. Your suite.” She moves toward the door, then pauses. “Yarik?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for making me feel wanted.”
Before I can respond, she’s gone, leaving me alone in the conference room with the lingering scent of her perfume and the memory of her mouth on mine.
I straighten my clothes and try to compose myself before returning to my office, but my mind keeps drifting back to the way she looked kneeling before me, the way she responded to my touch, the way she said my name when she came apart.
Whatever this is between us, it’s already beyond my control.
Am I prepared for where it might lead, and is she ready to find out what it means to be involved with someone like me?
It feels like we’ve already set in motion events that are unstoppable now, regardless of the answers to those questions.