Page 72 of Shackled

He holds me with one hand while he yanks my top off with the other. I reach for his tee and pull it up and over his head. I stare at the breadth of his shoulders, the corded muscles at his neck and back. I kiss the tats on his arms.

“No,” he snorts. “She’s like a sixty-year-old grandma.”

I kiss him. My tongue meets his. He utters a low, male sound of approval that does delicious things to me.

“Oh good, maybe she can make me tres leches.”

He bends my head back and kisses my neck, and I moan. “Thought you didn’t eat cake.”

I swallow, the rough, hot feel of his tongue making me crazy. “For tres leches, I make an exception.”

He grins. I swoon. Christ, my husband is a fucking god. Wordlessly, he lifts me onto his desk, pushing papers and maps aside. Pens bounce off the floor and something inside me thrills at his carelessness. He wants me.

With one hand gripping my thigh, he uses the other to open the huge window behind me, letting in the cool night air and the distant sound of the city. I thrill at the exposure, the knowledge that a whole city is right outside. I catch a glimpse of us in one of his huge monitors and grin.

He tears my clothes away and growls into my ear. “You’re mine, Isabella. Do you understand?"

I moan, my nails digging into the tats on his back. "Yes, Lev. I’m yours. Only yours."

Gripping me with one hand, he unzips his fly with the other. I hold my breath at the sight of his thick, throbbing cock. I want him in me. I can’t fucking breathe until he’s in me.

My head falls back when he shoves my thighs apart. I’m gripping his shoulders, but my hands are slick with sweat. I’m slipping. I fall, and he catches me in his strong, capable hands.

Our bodies move together in a fierce rhythm, the world outside disappearing as we lose ourselves in each other.

His phone rings over and over again.

“I have to take that,” he says in my ear. I open my mouth to protest. “Don’t say a fucking word, or I’ll punish you.”

I bite my tongue and grin as he stabs his phone and hits the speaker.

“Yeah?”

He shoves into me so hard a spasm rushes through me. I close my eyes. Someone talks to him in Russian, and he answers in grunts. I bend my mouth to his chest and lick his nipple. He hisses in a breath and yanks my hair.

How did I not know how sexy it was to hear him growl in Russian? He thrusts into me, again and again, taking the call, growling into the phone, and finally slamming it off, never losing his pace.

As he ends the call, his control snaps. He shoves everything aside and gives me the full heat of his focus. My head falls back, and I scream my release as he roars and spills inside me.

I’m drowning in bliss, blind to everything but the feel of his hot body against mine, the flood of ecstasy in my limbs, his hot seed lashing into me. I come again, a second climax on the cusp of the first. I scream until I’m hoarse. I slump against him, hot, wet, and utterly boneless. I can’t move. The hounds of hell could be at my back, and I’d collapse in front of them.

Our breathing is heavy, our hearts beating as one in a rapid tempo. He wraps his arms around me. I vaguely wonder how he’s still standing.

“Thought you had questions for me,” I tease, my eyes closed and a smile on my lips. “I thought you were going to interrogate me with your cock.”

“You were the one who had to go and bewitch me,” he rasps in my ear. “Got anything to tell me?”

I pause. I know what I want to tell him, but it’s too soon.

Isn’t it?

I love you, Lev Romanov.

I can’t breathe when you’re not here.

You make me ache in all the best ways.

I love you.

---