Page 78 of Knocked-up Bratva Bride
“You’re busy,” she drawled, voice dipped in honey.
“I was. Did you need something? Is Leo okay?”
The phone slipped from my hand, landing silently on the leather desk pad. Nothing else mattered more than her standing there like that.
I could smell her perfume from here, vanilla and heat, and my blood roared.
She stepped inside, closing the door behind her, before sashaying forward to lean on the edge of my desk, her fingers grazing the polished wood like she belonged there.
Her eyes dropped to my other hand, clenched around a Montblanc pen, and then lifted slowly to meet mine. A smile, half-sin and half-challenge, curved her lips. “Leo’s asleep. Winter has eyes on him. And yes, I needed something: information.”
“On what?”
She pointed at my chest. “Those tattoos. You’ve never really told me what they mean.” Then, her finger aimed at my forearms. “And those ones, too.”
I liked this game. It made a smile curve on my lips. “You came all the way down here to know the meaning of the tattoos on my body?”
“Exactly.” She gasped, feigning innocence. “I hope I’m not distracting.”
She knew exactly what she was doing. I’d survived assassins, cartels, and betrayal. ButElena—she undid me with a look. There was power in the way she held herself tonight, calm and confident in my lion’s den, dressed in a lacy black dress like temptation tailored just for me.
It bared her back, showed her breasts spilling from her bra, and her smooth stomach that had housed our son. She was a fucking vixen. So fucking hot.
I pushed my chair back, slowly, my eyes never leaving hers.
“You are,” I said, voice low. “And I don’t care. If you want information, I’ll give it to you. How do you intend to get it?”
Satisfaction and lust flickered in her gaze.
“You have to show them to me, Damien. I want to point at each one while I ask the questions.”
“My wife wants a strip show. Interesting.”
She moved her shoulder nonchalantly. “Something like that.”
“Mm.” I stared at her for a minute before starting from the top button on my shirt, her gaze burning my fingers as I undid each one.
The last button came undone, and I flung the shirt aside.
I rose, heat pounding in my veins like a drumbeat of war. She didn’t move as I walked around the desk and stepped between her legs, her dress riding up just enough for my fingers to brush the bare skin of her thigh. I felt her shiver. Or maybe it was me.
“You have to remain seated while stripping. That’s the only way we can successfully get those questions answered.”
“You come in here,” I murmured, brushing her hair back, my fingers tangling in the softness of it. “Looking like that. Speaking like that. And you think I’m going to stay fucking seated?”
Her lips parted. I didn’t wait for an answer.
I gripped her waist, lifted her like she weighed nothing, and set her on the desk, scattering papers and ruining any semblance of control I had left.
Her legs wrapped around me without hesitation, a soft gasp escaping her as I pressed my straining erection between her soft thighs.
“Sweetheart, did you really come here for answers, or do you want to get fucked?”
She cupped my cheeks, bringing her lips closer. “I think you already know the real answer, baby.”
Drunken in maddening desire, my mouth found hers, and I kissed her possessively.
She kissed me back like she’d been starving for it, nails raking down my shoulders, pulling me closer, deeper. Her heat burned through my skin. Every inch of her was sin. I growled hername against her neck, biting the skin just above her pulse. Her moan was my undoing.
