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“Don’t do that either.”
“Nikolai.”
“I want to hear you.”
I should tell him the house is full of people. I should remind him that Anya sleeps down the hall, that Kirill probably knows every footstep in this place. Instead, I spread my thighs a little more.
His fingers leave me, and I almost protest before both his hands go to my robe. He pulls the tie loose with one tug. The fabric falls open.
For a moment, he only looks.
I stand there in front of him, naked except for the robe hanging from my shoulders, my breasts rising and falling too quickly, my thighs still parted because his knee is between them. I have never felt so exposed in my life, and I have never wanted to be looked at more.
His gaze moves over my breasts, stops at my nipples, then travels down my stomach to my pussy, wet because of him.
His face goes still in a way that makes my pulse race. “On the bed,” he says.
I take a step back, but apparently, I’m not quick enough for him.
He lifts me.
I gasp as my feet leave the floor, then my back hits the mattress, and he is over me, one knee planted between my thighs, his hands pushing the robe off my shoulders. He throws it aside without looking. I am naked beneath him, and he is still fully dressed except for his shirt, which is wrinkled from my hands.
He lowers his mouth to my throat, kissing once beneath my jaw, then lower, slower than I expect. His mouth drags over my collarbone. His hand closes around my breast, and my breath catches.
He looks up. “Tell me if I hurt you.”
“You won’t.”
His expression hardens slightly. “Tell me if I do.”
I nod. Then his mouth closes over my nipple.
My back arches off the bed.
He sucks me hard, not enough to hurt, but enough to make heat rush through my body in one blinding wave. His hand works my other breast, thumb dragging over the tight peak until I am twisting beneath him. He doesn’t rush. He spends time there, mouth and hand switching sides, tongue circling one nipple while his fingers pinch the other.
I grip his hair. He groans against my breast, and the sound makes my thighs press around his knee.
“Nikolai.”
He lifts his head.
I immediately miss his mouth.
“What?”
I hate him for making me answer when he knows exactly what I need.
“More.”
His eyes move over my face. “Where?”
I flush.
His hand slides down my stomach, slow enough to make me shake.
“Here?” he asks, his fingers brushing the inside of my thigh.
