Page 92 of Ivory Oath

39

VIVIANA

The air is still and heavy for three, maybe four seconds. Mikhail is rigid against me, frozen except for the scrape of his dark eyes over my face.

Then he snaps into dizzying motion.

My feet are off the floor and he crushes me against his chest. The air whooshes out of my lungs as he spins me towards the center of the room.

But as it turns out, I don’t need air.

I don’t need gravity or oxygen or any of those useless fundamentals of life. The only thing that matters is the way he throws me down on his desk and settles his weight between my legs.

With one swipe of his arm, the desk is cleared. A cup hits the wall, pens skittering across the wood floor. Papers are still fluttering to the ground like confetti when he grabs the hem of my shirt and yanks it over my head.

There’s no time to think about what we’re doing. As soon as I toss the shirt to the side, his mouth lands hot and needy on my chest. He shoves my bra aside and takes my nipple between his lips, rolling it with his tongue.

I cry out, sliding my hands into the silky weight of his hair. I’m feverish, out of my mind. I came in here to yell at him and now, I’m arching my breast deeper into his mouth and grinding myself against his thigh.

I fist the front of his shirt. “God, I missed you.”

His mouth is too busy tasting every inch of my skin to stop for conversation. His lips have important work to do. They blaze down my ribs. I wouldn’t have called the belly button an erogenous zone, but Mikhail is making a strong case for inclusion.

“When I found out you gave birth to my son, all I could think about was seeing you pregnant,” he growls against my flat stomach, curling his hands there. “I hate that I didn’t get to see what you looked like carrying my baby.”

I’ll paint him a lovely picture once I regain the ability to string words and sentences together.

I was enormous. My ankles were swollen and I couldn’t even fit into my narrow, piss-poor excuse for a closet. I had to pile all of my clothes behind the couch for the last two months of my pregnancy. I felt like a whale.

But the reverent way Mikhail talks about it makes me think he would have made me feel beautiful.

I also hate that he wasn’t there.

He slides his hands from my waist to my jeans, tearing at the button and dragging them down my thighs along with my panties. He reaches out and strokes his thumb over me. I don’t have a choice but to open my legs wider. To give him more.

And he takes it.

He toys with me up and down and up, spreading my wetness around before he slides one finger into me. I sigh in momentary relief before raw need yawns open inside of me. It’s a sinkhole, taking everything with it. I want Mikhail to feed it until we both collapse in on ourselves.

“Mikhail, I?—”

I want more, I want to say. But then he turns his wrist and strokes his thick finger along my insides.

All at once, it’s too much.

We just started and I’m already spasming, gripping the edge of his desk. He’s going to kill me in under thirty seconds with the tip of one finger.

But I want his weight against my chest. I want to feel how solid he is.

I grab the collar of his shirt and pull him up to me. “Fill me now.”

I reach for his pants, but he’s already there. Already unbuttoning. Already holding the hard length of himself in his palm.

“I came in my fist so many fucking times, Viviana… imagining it was you.” He slides a second finger inside of me, stretching me. “I was waiting for the day I could fill you up again. With me. With our baby.”

He gives his cock a rough stroke with one hand as he pumps two fingers into me. It’s good, but it’s not what I want. I want it to be him inside of me. I want it to be my skin, my warmth, my body wrapped around him.

“Mikhail,” I whimper.

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