Page 46 of Shatter Me

His fingers trail down my spine as the jumpsuit pools at my feet. The cool air hits my skin, but his touch burns everywhere it lands. I'm achingly aware of how exposed I am—completely bare except for the delicate gold chain draped across my body while he remains pristine in his tailored Armani.

"Turn around," he commands softly.

I pivot slowly, the chain catching the city lights streaming through the windows. His ice-blue eyes drink in every detail, and the intensity of his gaze makes my breath catch.

"You're the only art worth having in this world."

This isn't the calculated charm he uses in boardrooms or the cold control he wields over his empire. For once, honesty bleeds through his perfect mask.

I touch his face, tracing the subtle scar near his temple. "Dmitri..."

His hand captures mine, pressing my palm against his cheek. The gesture feels more intimate than our heated moments in the car or his office. This man who collects priceless masterpieces like others collect stamps declared me more valuable than all of them.

My heart pounds against my ribs.

"The Rothko, the Monet..." He gestures at the artwork surrounding us. "They're just things. Beautiful things, but empty. You..." His thumb traces my lower lip. "You challenge me. Defy me. Make me lose control."

Coming from Dmitri Ivanov, that admission costs more than any painting on his walls. This man who orchestrates every detail of his life, who never shows weakness, just handed me a piece of his carefully guarded soul.

I surge forward, capturing his lips with mine. This time, I'm not waiting for him to make the first move. My fingers thread through his perfectly styled hair, messing it up as I pour months of wanting him into this kiss.

Dmitri freezes for a heartbeat, caught off guard by my initiative. Then he responds with a growl that vibrates through my body. His hands grip my waist, pulling me flush against him.

The gold chain between us catches on his suit buttons as I press closer. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, and I taste scotch and desire. My nipples brush against the expensive fabric of his jacket, sending sparks of pleasure through me.

"Tash," he breathes against my lips. The rare use of my nickname in his cultured voice makes me shiver.

I jump up, wrapping my legs around his waist. His hands slide under my thighs, supporting me effortlessly. The position brings our cores together, and I can feel how hard he is through his tailored pants.

My back arches as his mouth travels down my neck. "Please," I whimper, not caring how needy I sound.

He carries me to the leather sofa, his steps measured despite our frenzied kissing. The cool leather makes me gasp as he lowers us down, my legs still locked around him.

Dmitri braces himself above me, his cobalt blue eyes dark with desire. His perfect facade is cracking—hair mussed from my fingers, lips swollen from our kisses. I've never seen anything more arousing than this powerful man coming undone because of me.

I trace my fingers along Dmitri's shoulders as he shrugs off his jacket, followed by his crisp white shirt. My breath catches at the sight of his muscled torso covered in intricate tattoos—Russian Orthodox crosses, saints, and symbols I recognize from art history texts intertwined with imagery I don't understand.

"These are beautiful," I whisper, following the lines of a particularly detailed piece spanning his right shoulder. When we slept together in my office, we were both overcome by desire. I had no time to study his ink, but the artistry is exquisite, telling stories I long to decipher.

He stands, his movements graceful as he removes the rest of his clothing. The tattoos continue down his legs, creating a living canvas showcasing strength and artistry. Every inch of him radiates power—from his broad shoulders to his sculpted abs and strong thighs.

My fingers trace a delicate orthodox cross over his heart. "Tell me about this one."

"For my mother," he says softly, a rare vulnerability in his voice.

I continue exploring the artwork adorning his skin, fascinated by how the images flow together. The tattoos enhance rather than hide his impressive physique. His biceps flex under my touch as I trace the wing of what appears to be a phoenix rising up his left arm.

"You're a masterpiece," I breathe, drinking in the sight of him. The refined businessman I'm used to seeing has transformed into something visceral yet elegant. His presence fills the room, commanding attention even without his expensive suits.

My gaze travels lower, and I swallow hard. Like everything else about him, his size is intimidating. A mix of anticipation and nervousness flutters in my stomach.

"See something you like?" He flashes me a devastating smile.

I can only nod, mesmerized by the play of muscles under his decorated skin as he moves closer. The city lights streaming through the windows cast shadows, making his tattoos seem to dance.

"Are you ready?" His voice is hoarse as he strokes himself.

I bite my lip, nodding. All the pretense and fighting seems silly now. My body craves him like a drug.

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