Page 121 of The Pucking Arrangement

My heart actually stops.

“And she makes you smile more.” Ris’s tiny hand finds mine, squeezing weakly. “Can she stay? Not just for now, but…forever?”

I swallow hard. “It’s complicated, Amnushka.”

“Why?” She frowns, her little face scrunching up. “She makes you happy. She makes me happy. And she likes us too.” Another yawn, long and drowsy. “I can tell.”

If only it were that simple.

I wait until her breathing evens out before slipping from the room, her words a relentless echo in my head.

And then I see her—curled up on my couch, one leg tucked under the other, bathed in the soft glow of a lamp. A book balanced in her hands.

Like she belongs here. Like she’s already ours.

Like keeping her might be the most important thing I’ve ever done.

“Ah, Dostoevsky.” I recognize the spine ofHumiliated and Insulted. “Most underappreciated of his works.”

She glances up, her lips quirking. “Worth reading?”

“It’s about unrequited love,solnyshko.” I take the book from her hands, setting it aside. “Not something you need to concern yourself with.”

Her breath catches, and there is a flicker of heat in her eyes, her pulse jumping at her throat.

She doesn’t move when I lean in.

“The translations don’t do it justice anyway.” My lips graze her ear. “Some things are better in their original form.”

“Like what?” Her voice is barely there, breathy and wanting.

I answer by claiming her mouth.

She gasps, melting into me instantly, her hands sliding into my hair, pulling me in. I shift, pushing her back against the couch, swallowing the little whimper she makes when my hands slide under that ridiculous off-the-shoulder sweater, fingers mapping soft, warm skin. The kiss thrums deep in my bones.

“We should talk,” she pants between kisses.

“Later,” I murmur against her lips, grinding against her, making her feel my hard on. She’s soft in my arms, her breath gusting across my lips. “You need to take care of your man first.”

She makes a desperate little sound that shoots straight to my spine.

Enough.

I scoop her up, her body soft and pliant against me, taking two stairs at a time. I need her spread out on my bed, to devour her the way she deserves.

We’ll talk tomorrow.

Tonight, I’m going to remind her exactly who she belongs to.

I kick the bedroom door shut behind me. I set her on the bed, and the second her back hits the mattress, she’s reaching for me, yanking me down, her legs wrapping around my waist and locking me in.

“Show me how much you missed me,” I groan against her throat, teeth grazing her pulse.

A sharp inhale, then: “Check for yourself, Papa Bear,” she teases, putting my hand on her center, hot and pulsing under the harsh material of her jeans.

Brat.

I unbutton them and slide my hand to her scorching pussy. She’s wet and hot and ready to play. My mouth crashes against hers, swallowing her moan. Slowly, I slide lower, trailing a hot path down her neck, to that mind-blowing sexy shoulder she likes to show off.

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