Page 97 of Dangerous Beginnings

My woman.

Her moan fills my ears like music and as I pick up the pace, she’s barely able to hold it together. Her hands grab mine and dig their nails into it.

As my hand moves in and out of her, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her body, my phone rings. My movements falter, breaking the intense silence of the room. Nobody calls me directly. It’s a breach of protocol, a sign of trouble. After another minute, the same number calls again, the ringing piercing through the air with a sense of urgency. My hand instinctively reaches up to cover Isabella her mouth, my eyes narrowing as I contemplate my next move.

With a swift motion, I put the phone on speaker, my other hand moving down between her legs once again. She stills as I answer the phone. Her quiet moans muffled in my hand. The voice on the other end is urgent, it’s aboutPetrov. It’s all in Russian, Isabella won’t know what’s going on. Besides, she’s too far into it. My fingers never stop moving in and out of her.

She pushes her tights together, making it harder for me.

“Spread your legs for me,” I whisper in her ear. She whimpers but obeys.

This call isn’t about some trivial mishap; something is going on. Something that requires immediate attention.

And yet, I don’t move.

I should be there. This is my operation, my responsibility. I should already be in the car, barking orders, putting out fires. But as my hand slides back to her heated skin, as her breath catches in anticipation, the gravity of the situation shifts.

She’s my priority now.

I bark another order and decide Dominik will go. He will go in my place—I will catch up later once I’m done here.

I end the call, returning my attention back to her.

“I love it when you submit to me,” I breathe into her ear in a low voice. Her skin gets covered in goosebumps as she drops her head into my chest. I hold Isabella close, her body trembling with anticipation beneath my touch. With a primal hunger that cannot be denied, I set out to please her, to make her mine in every sense of the word.

“Tell me who you belong to.” I remove my hand from her red lips. She moans while her oh-so-sweet voice whispers out my name, but I barely hear her. “Who?” I bite her neck slightly harder than before, and she screams a little louder.

“You.”

I smirk against her skin. My free hand roams over her heated skin, tracing the curves of her body with reverent exploration.

I revel in the softness of her flesh, the way she responds to my touch with a gasp of pleasure that ignites a fierce desire within me. All while pumping my fingers in and out of her heated core. I take them out, my fingers sticking with her arousal. “Look at you soaking my hand.” They shine in the reflection of the light. “Suck.”

Isabella’s breath hitches. I lift my fingers to her mouth and her sweet lips wrap around them.

“That’s a good girl, taste yourself and everything I do to you.” Her tongue swirls around my inked stained fingers. After a while she sinks her teeth into my skin, slightly biting my finger. I hiss at the sudden change of touch. Little shit. With a swift motion, I insert three fingers into her with force, and she screams. Circling her clit for more stimulation.

I tease and tantalize her, eliciting soft moans of ecstasy that echo through the room like music to my ears. I take my time, savoring every moment as I worship her body with a devotion that borders an obsession.

As Isabella reaches the pinnacle of ecstasy, her cries ofpleasure filling the room like a sweet melody, I bring her to the edge and then abruptly halt, leaving her teetering on the brink of release. With a predatory gleam in my eyes, I pull back, denying her the satisfaction she craves.

As Isabella writhes on my lap, her body aching for release, she summons the last vestiges of her strength and reaches for my hand, her fingers trembling as they wrap around my wrist. With a desperate urgency in her eyes, she attempts to pull my hand back to where she craves it most, her movements fueled by a primal need that cannot be denied.

But I resist her efforts, my grip firm and unyielding as I hold her in place, refusing to give in to her demands.

This moment isn’t hers to control. Not yet.

With a swift, deliberate motion, I grasp her waist and lift her off my lap. Her gasp is sharp, her body momentarily weightless before I turn her, setting her down on the chair behind us. The leather cushions creak softly under her weight, and for a brief second, she looks up at me, wide-eyed and breathless.

I tower above her now, my presence casting a shadow over her seated form. She leans back instinctively, her chest heaving, her thighs shifting as if trying to find relief on their own. But there’s nowhere for her to run, no escape from the intensity of my gaze.

Her lips part, the beginnings of a plea forming, but I cut her off before she can speak. My hands grip the armrests on either side of her, caging her in, forcing her to look up at me.

My hand moves swiftly, wrapping around her throat with deliberate precision. My grip is firm but measured, a perfect balance of dominance and restraint. Her breath hitches as I press her back against the chair, the cool leather meeting her heated skin.

Isabella

My breath catches as his hand wraps around my throat, firmand unrelenting. The cool leather of the chair presses against my back, grounding me, but it’s his grip that holds me in place. It’s not painful—he’s careful, measured—but it’s strong enough to send a shiver down my spine, enough to remind me that I’m utterly at his mercy.

---