Page 36 of Hostage of the Russian
She should. Every rational part of her brain was screaming that this was a terrible idea, that she was vulnerable and confused and in no state to make decisions about anything, let alone this. But when she opened her mouth, what came out was, “Don’t stop.”
His lips found hers with a gentleness that surprised her. The kiss was soft at first, almost hesitant, as if he was giving her time to change her mind. But when she melted against him, her hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt, something in him snapped.
The kiss deepened, becoming hungrier and more demanding. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, and she opened for him with a soft moan that seemed to echo in the quietof the terrace. He tasted like expensive scotch and something darker, more dangerous, and she found herself craving more.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he breathed against her mouth, his hands tangling in her hair and destroying her careful chignon. “I’ve wanted to do this since the first night I saw you.”
“Even when you were kidnapping me?” The question slipped out before she could stop it, but instead of breaking the spell, it seemed to intensify it.
“Especially then.” His teeth grazed her lower lip, making her gasp. “You were so fierce, so ready to fight me. It was magnificent.”
His hands roamed over her body, tracing the curves barely concealed by her black dress. When his palm curved around her breast, she arched into the touch with a soft cry that he swallowed with another kiss.
“We should go somewhere more private,” he said against her throat, his lips trailing fire along her skin.
“Yes.” The word came out breathless and needy, and she didn’t care. All she could think about was the heat building low in her belly, the way his touch made her feel alive in a way she’d never experienced before.
He led her through a discreet side entrance, the air between them crackling with anticipation. The narrow staircase creaked beneath their hurried steps, each one dragging them closer to the edge. At the top, he unlocked a door to what looked like a private office, but the moment it clicked shut behind them, he had her pinned against it, his mouth crashing into hers with a hunger that felt almost violent in its urgency.
“I can’t get you out of my head,” he growled against her lips, his voice thick with need. “The fire in your eyes when youargue with me. The way your body molds to mine. The fucking sounds you make when I touch you.”
His hands roamed her body with a kind of reverence laced with impatience, gathering her dress in greedy fistfuls. He bunched the fabric at her hips, revealing inch after inch of skin until his fingers brushed the lace edge of her panties.
She whimpered against his mouth, all restraint dissolving under the weight of her need.
“Please,” she whispered, not entirely sure what she was pleading for, only that she neededhim.
He didn’t need clarity. He just needed access.
He slipped his hand beneath the silk, groaning softly when his fingers met the slick heat between her thighs. “Fuck, you’re already this wet for me?”
His thumb found her clit and pressed down lightly, a teasing flick that sent her hips jerking forward in response. He circled slowly, barely applying pressure, just enough to make her twitch and gasp, her breath coming faster with every lazy sweep.
“You feel that?” he murmured, lips brushing her jaw as his fingers moved in maddening patterns. “How you melt for me like this?”
Her fingers curled into his shoulders, nails digging into his shirt as he kept stroking, slow, coaxing touches that had her teetering on the edge of sanity. Then, just as she thought she might beg again, he eased a finger inside her. She moaned low and deep, her body arching as he began a slow rhythm, curling it upward with precision.
“So tight,” he breathed. “So fucking perfect around my fingers.”
He added another, stretching her as he moved in and out, his thumb never breaking rhythm against her clit. The dual sensation had her unraveling, every nerve ending tuned to the slick, steady slide and the firm, deliberate circles that sent electric pulses through her body.
And then hestopped, just for a moment.
She made a desperate, broken sound.
“Shh,” he said, voice dark and amused. “I’m not done with you.”
He changed pace, slower, deeper thrusts of his fingers now, curling them inside her until her legs began to shake. He kissed down her neck, dragging his lips along her throat while his thumb resumed its torment, faster this time, tighter.
Her head fell back against the door with a soft thud, her body caught in that sweet, unbearable space between too much and not enough. He moved faster, more relentless now, the sound of his fingers working her echoing in the charged silence.
“You’re close, aren’t you?” he rasped. “I can feel it. The way you tighten around me. Let go for me.”
Her body was taut, trembling, her moans climbing in pitch with every pass of his thumb. Her thighs trembled around his hand, the heat building until it became a wave, cresting higher and higher,
“Come for me,” he said, voice low and commanding. “I want to feel you break.”
That was all it took. She shattered, crying out as the orgasm slammed into her. Her body convulsed around his fingers, hips jerking helplessly as the waves crashed over her, one after another after another.
