Page 31 of Auctioned to the Russian Pakhan
“Matvei,” she breathed, and his name on her lips sounded like a prayer and a curse all at once.
“I know,” he said, and she could see the same desperate want in his eyes that was currently consuming her from the inside out. “I know this is insane. I know this complicates everything. I know I should walk away right now and pretend this conversation never happened.”
“But you won’t.”
“I can’t.” His hand came up to cup her face, his thumb tracing the line of her cheekbone with devastating gentleness. “God help me, I can’t.”
The kiss, when it came, was nothing like she’d imagined. It wasn’t gentle, tentative, or careful. It was desperate and hungry and filled with weeks of pent-up longing that had been building between them like pressure in a closed system.
His mouth was hot and demanding against hers, his tongue sliding past her lips to claim her with a thoroughness that made her head spin. She kissed him back with equal fervor, her hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt as she tried to pull himcloser, tried to eliminate the last few inches of space between them.
He backed her against the wall, his body pressing against hers with delicious weight, and she could feel every hard line of him, could feel the evidence of his desire pressing against her hip. The knowledge that she affected him as much as he affected her was intoxicating, more potent than any wine they’d shared over dinner.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against her lips, his voice hoarse with want. “Tell me this is a mistake and I’ll walk away right now.”
Instead of answering with words, she nipped at his lower lip, a playful bite that made him groan and press harder against her. His hands found her waist, spanning her ribcage with possessive heat, and she could feel her careful control unraveling like a spool of thread.
“I thought you saw me as property,” she gasped as his mouth moved to her throat, finding that sensitive spot just below her ear that made her arch against him.
“Never,” he said, his voice muffled against her skin. “Never property. Never just business.”
His hands were moving now, sliding up her sides to cup her breasts through the thin fabric of her dress, and the sensation made her gasp and dig her nails into his shoulders. She’d never felt anything like this, this desperate need that was consuming her from the inside out.
“Then what?” she managed to ask, even as his thumbs found her nipples through the silk and began to circle them with maddening precision.
“Mine,” he said, lifting his head to look at her with eyes that were dark with desire. “You’re mine, Irina. Not because I bought you, not because of some business arrangement, but because you choose to be.”
The distinction was everything. The difference between possession and belonging, between being owned and being claimed. She could see the truth of it in his eyes, could feel it in the way his hands trembled slightly as they touched her.
“Yours,” she agreed, and the word felt like a surrender and a victory all at once.
This time when he kissed her, it was slower, deeper, a claiming that went beyond the physical. His hands were everywhere, mapping the curves of her body through her dress, learning the places that made her gasp and arch and whisper his name like a benediction.
She could feel her dress riding up as he pressed closer, could feel the rough texture of the wall against her back and the smooth heat of his skin where her hands had worked their way under his shirt. This was madness, she knew. This was dangerous and complicated and probably the worst possible decision she could make.
She’d never wanted anything more in her life.
“Matvei,” she whispered, and his name on her lips sounded like everything she’d never dared to hope for.
“I know,” he said, and she could hear the same desperate longing in his voice that was currently consuming her. “I know, sweetheart. I know.”
The endearment, spoken in his rough voice with her back against the wall and his hands on her body, nearly undid her completely. This was what she’d been searching for withoutknowing it, what she’d been hoping for in the quiet moments between their careful conversations and cautious touches.
This was what it felt like to be chosen instead of claimed, wanted instead of owned, desired instead of possessed.
This was what it felt like to fall in love with someone who was supposed to be her enemy.
The realization should have terrified her. Instead, it filled her with a kind of reckless joy that made everything else, the complicated politics, the family rivalries, the dangerous games they were all playing, fade into insignificance.
Whatever happened next, whatever consequences they would face, she would always have this moment. This perfect, impossible, completely insane moment when everything else disappeared except the man holding her and the way he looked at her like she was the answer to every question he’d never known how to ask.
Chapter 12 - Matvei
The taste of her was everything he’d imagined and nothing he’d prepared for. Matvei had kissed women before, had taken pleasure where he found it and given it in return, but this was something else entirely. This was Irina’s mouth moving against his with desperate hunger, her small hands fisting in his shirt like she was afraid he might disappear, her body arching into his with a trust that should have terrified him.
Instead, it made him feel like he was drowning in the best possible way.
Her lips were soft and warm, slightly swollen from their kisses, and when she made that small sound in the back of her throat, half gasp, half moan, something primitive and possessive roared to life in his chest. He wanted to mark her, claim her, make sure everyone knew she belonged to him. Not because he’d bought her, not because of some twisted business arrangement, but because she’d chosen him.
