Page 42 of Mikhail Petrov

Mikhail raps twice on the bathroom door before pushing it open. “Pizza is here.”

I grab my sleep shorts from the vanity, but he snatches them. “What are you doing?” I ask with a suspicious grin.

“You don’t need them.” He cocks his head, eyes falling to my black panties. “I like those better.” Leaning against the door frame and crossing his arms over his bare chest, he says, “Turn around.”

“Really?” I pretend to be offended, hands on my hips.

“The faster you show me my ass, the sooner you get to eat, pretty girl. I’m just trying to see what’s on the menu for dessert.”

A smile curves my lips as I lift my shirt and do as I’m told. I’m not wearing a thong, but they’re plenty cheeky, nonetheless.

“Nah,” Mikhail says, shaking his head in disapproval.

“Mikhail!” I shriek, slightly offended. “Listen, this is a great ass, okay? Someone clearly does not want dessert.”

He barks a laugh and lunges for me, hauling me on his waist, a hand on each cheek. “Perfect...if it wasn’t missing my handprints.”

“I’m surprised they’ve faded. You have some big fucking hands, Mikki,” I tease, leaning in for a kiss when his phone vibrates in his pocket.

He pulls out the device and blocks every number associated with my family. “Are you okay?” he asks as he kisses my forehead.

I sigh and gently scratch the back of his nape, reveling in how his features relax with my touch. “Yeah, I am. The world and all its shit can wait. We need to have our game faces on and get through tomorrow first. For now, the only thing I want is pizza and your cock. Simple.”

“Good, because I’m craving the same.”

“Pizza and cock?”

Leaving his phone behind, he laughs and bites my earlobe as we make our way to the

kitchen. “I’m definitely reddening that ass tonight.” “Don’t make me beg,” I murmur against his mouth. “That’s the best part.”

“Oh?” I say, peppering kisses up his jaw.

“Moya krasivitsa, you begging on your knees to suck my cock and on all fours begging to get fucked...” He sucks in a sharp breath. “I promise you, I have never seen anything more beautiful.”

I kiss him hard, and my worries melt away with every stroke of his tongue, nip of his teeth, and the way he tastes so damn good. He’s my safe space, where nothing can touch me as long as I’m in his arms.

“What kind of pizza did you order?”

Mikhail deposits me on the counter next to the pizza box and throws it open. “Your favorite: Hawaiian.”

“Baby, you hate pineapple on your pizza.” I giggle, recalling the day I made him taste it for the first time.

“Eto chertova tragediya.” (It’s a goddamn tragedy.)

I tip my head back and burst into another bout of laughter. “Well, now I feel bad.”

“You should!” he jokes, bringing a slice to my mouth. I take an exaggerated bite and melted cheese stretches, breaking off against my chin. Luckily for me, the pizza isn’t piping hot. Twinkling suddenly catch my eye from the balcony of Mikhail’s condo, where multi-colored Christmas lights are wrapped along the railing.

“Your balcony is festive. Did you put those up?”

“No, I have someone who cleans this place for me: Caroline. She always decorates according to the season when she knows I’ll be in town. Says it’s for morale, whatever that hell means.”

“I’m pretty sure it has nothing to do with the brooding, if-looks-could-kill expression that lives on your handsome face.”

He chucks a piece of pineapple at me, and I pluck it off my t-shirt with a laugh and pop it into my mouth.

“Ty khochesh’ byt’ nakazannym segodnya vecherom, ne tak li?” (You want to get punished tonight, don’t you?)

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