Page 59 of Hostage of the Russian
The playful banter faded as the intensity between them ratcheted higher. This wasn’t just about physical release or the culmination of five days of separation. This was about claiming each other, about acknowledging the shift in their relationship from a reluctant marriage to something deeper and more complicated.
As his hands began their slow exploration of her body, as his mouth followed the path his fingers traced, Azriel realized that somewhere along the way, she’d stopped trying to convince herself that what she felt for Kostya was temporary or one-sided.
She was falling in love with her husband.
The thought should have terrified her. Instead, as he whispered her name like a benediction and showed her exactly how much he’d missed her, she let herself fall.
Chapter 19 - Kostya
Kostya had always taken pride in his control. In the boardroom, in a firefight, in bed. Control was what kept him alive in his world, what made him effective, what separated him from the hotheads who died young and bloody.
But with Azriel beneath him, her smoky gray eyes dark with desire and her lips parted on his name, control became something he had to fight for with every breath. “Kostya,” she whispered, her hands sliding up his chest, fingers tracing the scars that mapped his history. Each touch sent fire racing through his veins, each caress undoing another layer of his carefully maintained restraint. Her skin was soft and warm beneath his hands, the flush of arousal rising slowly, beautifully.
He captured her mouth with his, savoring the soft gasp she made when his tongue swept against hers. This time would be different. Not the desperate claiming of their first night together, not the heated reunion after his return from business. This would be worship. Reverence. A slow exploration of everything that made her his.
“I want to take my time with you,” he murmured against her throat, lips brushing the racing pulse beneath her skin. “Want to memorize every sound you make, every place that makes you tremble.”
She made a sound, half sigh, half moan, that went straight to his core. His hands slid over her ribs, the gentle curve of her waist, the swell of her hips. He kissed his way down, mouth mapping her like scripture, tongue tasting the salt of her skin. He lingered at her breasts, taking one into his mouth while his fingers teased the other. Her breath caught, fingers curling into his hair.
“Kostya…” she gasped, her back arching.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with restraint.
He took his time, drawing circles around her nipples with his tongue until her thighs shifted restlessly and her nails bit into his shoulders. He kissed lower, trailing fire over her stomach, nuzzling the soft curve just above her sex, inhaling the musky sweetness of her arousal.
When he settled between her thighs, her legs fell open with trust so complete it undid him. He kissed the inside of one thigh, then the other, taking in every twitch and shiver.
“Keep your eyes on me,” he said softly.
She did.
Then he licked her, slow and deliberate, tongue sliding through her folds, savoring the way her entire body jolted. He groaned as he tasted her, already soaked for him, already trembling. He circled her clit with the tip of his tongue, watching her fall apart inch by inch, her thighs trembling around his head, her hands fisting the sheets.
He sucked her gently, then harder, alternating pressure, slipping a finger inside her, then a second when her body greedily welcomed the stretch. She was so tight, so wet, so perfect. Her hips rolled into his mouth, breath coming in short, broken gasps. He curled his fingers just right, and she shattered.
Her cry was raw, beautiful, full of the kind of pleasure that cracked open something inside him. She pulsed around his fingers, body shaking with release, and still, he didn’t stop, licking her through it, drawing every last tremor until she collapsed back onto the bed, breathless.
Only then did he rise above her, kissing her slowly as she reached for him, pulling him closer, aligning their bodies. He pressed the head of his cock against her entrance, pausing, brushing her hair from her face.
“Are you sure?” he asked, even now.
Her answer was a breathless, “Please.”
He slid into her in one deep, slow thrust. Her lips parted in a soft cry, her legs wrapping around his waist, drawing him deeper. Her heat surrounded him, wet and tight and perfect, and for a moment, he just stayed there, buried inside her, trembling from the sheer intensity of it.
“You feel like home,” he whispered.
Then he began to move.
Slowly. Reverently. Each thrust was drawn out, deep and deliberate, designed to drive them both insane. Her fingers traced the muscles of his back, nails dragging lightly as her hips rose to meet his. She moaned his name again, like a prayer. Like a promise. He kissed her every time she gasped, drank in every sound she made like it would keep him alive.
“I can feel everything,” she whispered. “All of you.”
“I don’t want to be anywhere else,” he said, voice rough with emotion. “You’re everything to me.”
Their rhythm built gradually, hips rocking together in perfect sync. Her body opened for him, took him deeper with every thrust, until the tension coiled again, tighter, hotter. He slipped a hand between them, fingers stroking her clit as he moved inside her.
She gasped, writhing beneath him. “Kostya, don’t stop.“
