Page 51 of Shatter Me

"Oh, so now I'm a princess?" She arches an eyebrow, her hands on my chest as she begins to ride me.

"My anal princess," I correct her, my hands gripping her hips, helping her find a rhythm. "The only princess who can take my cock in her ass."

"Mmm, such a dirty mouth, Mr. Ivanov. I do believe you've corrupted me." She leans down, kissing me deeply, her tongue tangling with mine.

As we kiss, I roll us over, never breaking our connection, and start to move. "Then let's continue your corruption, princess. I plan to ruin you for anyone else."

"Ruin me," she whispers against my lips. "Make me yours completely."

A growl escapes my throat. My hands tighten on her hips, fingertips digging into her soft flesh. The idea of anyone else touching her, tasting her, hearing these sounds she makes—it sets my blood on fire.

"No one else will ever have you like this," I thrust deeper into her ass, making her gasp. "No one else will ever see you come undone. You're mine, Tash."

Her eyes lock with mine, dark with desire. "Promise?"

That single word hits me like a physical blow. The vulnerability in her voice and the need in her eyes awaken something fierce and possessive inside me. She's asking for more than just this moment—she's asking for everything.

And I want to give it to her—all of it—everything I am, everything I have.

"I promise." My voice comes out rough with emotion I didn't know I could feel. "You're mine now, and I don't share what's mine."

The truth of it stuns me. I've never wanted to keep anyone before. Women have always been temporary distractions, pleasant diversions to be enjoyed and discarded. But Tash... she's different. She's worked her way under my skin, into my blood.

I'm never letting her go. She belongs to me now—mind, body, and soul. And I'll destroy anyone who tries to take her from me.

20

TASH

Iwake to early morning sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. Every muscle in my body aches deliciously as memories of last night flood back. I stretch carefully, cataloging each tender spot on my body—evidence of Dmitri's passion written on my skin.

His arm tightens around my waist, pulling me closer against his chest. "Going somewhere?" His voice is rough with sleep.

"Just stretching." I roll over to face him, struck by how different he looks with his hair mussed and guard down. No perfectly tailored suit, no calculating mask—just a man who held me through the night.

"Coffee?" he asks, propping himself up on an elbow.

"Please tell me you have a fancy Italian machine hidden in this place."

His lips quirk up. "Of course. Though I usually have my assistant handle it."

"Well." I sit up, wrapping the sheet around me. "I make a mean cappuccino."

"Do you?" His eyes follow me as I pad across the hardwood floor, picking up his discarded dress shirt to slip on.

In his gleaming kitchen, I find the machine and get to work. The familiar ritual grounds me, measuring beans, tamping the grounds, and steaming milk to silky perfection. The scent of fresh coffee fills the air.

Dmitri appears in the doorway, wearing only low-slung pajama pants. He watches me work with an intensity that warms my cheeks.

"Here." I hand him a cup, our fingers brushing. The simple domesticity of the moment catches us both off guard. No matter how much we've tried to pretend otherwise, this isn't just physical anymore.

He takes a sip, and his eyebrows lift. "This is... exceptional."

"Told you." I hop up on the counter, letting my legs dangle. "A girl needs her skills."

His hand finds my knee, thumb tracing circles on my skin. The tender gesture speaks volumes. We're crossing lines we never meant to cross, and neither of us seems able to stop.

His fingers continue their lazy path up my thigh as he sets down his coffee cup. The morning light catches the stubble on his jaw, softening his usual sharp edges.

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