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I nod.

“That’s not an answer.”

“Yes,” I whisper.

His fingers touch my pussy again. I inhale sharply. He moves through my wetness, then circles my clit with the pad of his thumb. Slow. Firm. Too exact. My hips move before I can stop them.

“There,” I breathe. “Please.”

He pushes one finger inside me. My mouth falls open.

He watches me take it, then adds a second, stretching me carefully while his thumb keeps moving over my clit. The pleasure is immediate and heavy, gathering low in my stomach. I spread wider for him, shameless now, needing more of his hand, more pressure, more anything.

“You’re so wet,” he says, his voice low. “I barely touched you.”

“You touched me enough.”

“No.” His fingers curl inside me, and my whole body jolts. “Not yet.”

He bends and puts his mouth back on my breast while his fingers move inside me.

The room falls away.

There’s only his mouth on my nipple, his fingers in my pussy, his thumb on my clit, the steady rhythm that takes me apart piece by piece. I hear myself moaning and don’t have enough pride left to stop. My hands move over his shoulders, his neck, his hair. His body is still covered by too much clothing, and it starts to frustrate me.

I pull at his shirt.

He lifts just long enough to let me shove it open. Buttons give way. I don’t care where they go. I need his skin. I need the weight of him without fabric between us.

He shrugs out of the shirt and throws it aside. I put my hands on his chest. He’s warm and hard under my palms, scarred in places, real in a way that makes my chest tighten. I trace one mark with my fingers, but he catches my wrist and presses my hand back to him.

“Later.”

Then his fingers thrust deeper.

I cry out.

“That’s what I want now,” he says.

My orgasm crashes into me.

I try to fight it because it feels humiliating to come this easily, but Nikolai knows. His thumb presses harder on my clit, his fingers stroking inside me with merciless precision.

“Let go.”

I do.

My body clenches around his fingers, hips lifting from the bed, thighs shaking on either side of him. I come with his name in my mouth and his eyes fixed on my face. He doesn’t stop until the pleasure begins to tip into too much and I push weakly at his wrist.

Only then does he withdraw his fingers.

He lifts them to his mouth. I stare as he tastes me. My stomach flips.

“Spread your legs,” he says.

I do it before he finishes speaking.

His mouth moves down my body. He kisses between my breasts, my stomach, my hip. His hands slide under my thighs and pull me closer to the edge of the mattress.