Page 33 of Auctioned to the Russian Pakhan
Her skin was like silk under his lips, soft and warm and responsive to every touch. He could feel her pulse racing under his tongue, could hear the way her breathing changed when he found a particularly sensitive spot. By the time he reached the scrap of lace covering her, she was trembling beneath him, her hands gripping the sheets like they were the only thing keeping her anchored.
“Matvei,” she gasped as he hooked his fingers in the waistband of her panties, and the way she said his name, breathless and desperate and full of need, nearly undid him completely.
“I know, sweetheart,” he murmured against her hip, pressing kisses to the sensitive skin there. “Let me take care of you.”
He pulled the lace down her legs slowly, savoring every inch of skin revealed, every small sound she made as he touched her. When she was finally bare before him, he had to stop and simply breathe, overwhelmed by the gift of her trust, her desire,her choice to be here with him despite everything that should have kept them apart.
“You’re perfect,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “Absolutely perfect.”
She started to respond, but the words dissolved into a gasp as he pressed his mouth to the inside of her thigh, working his way higher with kisses and gentle bites that made her arch off the bed. By the time he reached his destination, she was already wet for him, already trembling with anticipation.
The first touch of his tongue made her cry out, her back arching as pleasure shot through her like lightning. She tasted like honey and salt and something uniquely her, something that made him want to spend hours learning every way to make her fall apart.
“Oh God,” she gasped, her hands flying to his hair, and he wasn’t sure if she was trying to pull him closer or push him away. “I can’t... I’ve never...”
The admission made something fierce and protective roar to life in his chest. She was innocent, inexperienced, trusting him to introduce her to pleasures she’d never known. The responsibility of that trust was overwhelming and arousing in equal measure.
He gentled his touch, using his tongue and lips to explore her with careful thoroughness, learning what made her gasp and what made her moan, what made her grip his hair tighter and what made her whisper his name like a prayer. She was responsive beyond his wildest dreams, her body opening for him like a flower, every touch sending shockwaves through her that he could feel in the way she trembled beneath him.
“That’s it,” he murmured against her, his voice muffled but full of approval. “Let go for me, sweetheart. Let me hear you.”
He slipped one finger inside her, then two, stretching her carefully while his mouth continued its relentless assault on her senses. She was tight around his fingers, so tight it made his head spin with thoughts of what it would feel like to be inside her, to have her wrapped around him completely.
But as his fingers moved inside her, he felt something that made him freeze, his blood turning to ice in his veins.
She was a virgin.
The realization hit him like a physical blow, stealing his breath and making his chest tight with a combination of desire and terror. She was innocent, completely untouched, and he was corrupting her with his hunger, taking advantage of her inexperience and her trust.
“Matvei?” Her voice was small and uncertain, and he realized he’d gone completely still, his mouth hovering over her without touching. “What’s wrong? Did I do something...”
“No,” he said quickly, lifting his head to look at her. She was flushed and beautiful and confused, her body still trembling with the aftermath of pleasure, and he felt like the worst kind of bastard. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. You’re perfect. You’re...”
He couldn’t finish the sentence. How could he explain that she was everything he’d never known he wanted, everything he couldn’t have, everything that could destroy him if he let himself fall too far?
“Then why did you stop?” she asked, and there was hurt in her voice now, a vulnerability that made his chest ache.
“Because you’re innocent,” he said, the words feeling like they were being torn from his throat. “Because you deserve better than this, better than me.”
“That’s not your decision to make,” she said, and there was steel in her voice now, that fierce determination that had first caught his attention. “It’s mine, and I’m making it. I want this. I want you.”
“You don’t understand what you’re asking for.”
“Then show me,” she said, echoing her earlier words. “Stop trying to protect me from my own choices and show me.”
She sat up then, her hands framing his face, forcing him to look at her. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, but there was no uncertainty there, no doubt about what she wanted.
“I know what I am,” she said, her voice steady despite the emotion in her eyes. “I know I’m inexperienced. I know this is complicated and probably stupid and definitely not what either of our families would want. But I also know that I trust you, and I want you, and I’m tired of everyone else making decisions about my life.”
The words hit him like a punch to the gut, because they were everything he’d wanted to hear and everything he’d been afraid of. She was choosing him, not because she had to, not because of circumstances or arrangements or family obligations, but because she wanted to.
“Irina,” he said, her name a prayer and a warning all at once.
“Please,” she whispered, and the single word contained everything: desire and trust and hope and need. “Please don’t make me beg.”
Something inside him cracked at that, the last of his noble intentions crumbling under the weight of her trust and his own desperate need. He kissed her then, pouring all his want and fear and hope into the contact, and she kissed him back with equal fervor, her hands pulling him closer, eliminating the last inches of space between them.
“Are you sure?” he asked against her lips, giving her one last chance to change her mind.
