Page 39 of Auctioned to the Russian Pakhan
“Are you?”
She stepped closer to him, close enough that he could smell the faint traces of her perfume mixed with the club’s atmosphere that still clung to her dress. “I had two drinks over three hours, Matvei. I ate dinner before we left. I’m not drunk.”
“But you’re not completely sober either,” he pointed out, hating himself for the way his voice sounded, uncertain, almost desperate.
“No,” she agreed, her eyes never leaving his. “I’m not completely sober. But I’m sober enough to know exactly what I want right now.”
The words hung between them like a challenge, and Matvei felt his carefully maintained control begin to fray at the edges. This was dangerous territory, the kind of moment that could change everything between them, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for that kind of responsibility.
“Irina,” he said, her name coming out like a warning.
“Don’t,” she said again, but this time she was moving closer, her hands coming up to rest on his chest. “Don’t think so much. Don’t analyze. Don’t protect me from my own choices.”
Her touch burned through his shirt, and he found himself covering her hands with his own, torn between pulling her closer and pushing her away. “You don’t understand what you’re asking for.”
“Then show me,” she said simply.
And just like that, his control snapped.
He kissed her. Not gently, not hesitantly, but with a hunger that had been clawing at him for weeks. The moment their lips met, something wild broke loose between them. Her back hit the foyer wall as his hands slid down the curves of her body, finding her hips, gripping like he needed the grounding.
She gasped against his mouth, fingers diving into his hair as she pulled him closer, deeper, needing more. His tongue parted her lips, slow but possessive, tasting her, claiming her, breathing in her heat like it was oxygen.
Matvei lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist without a second thought. He carried her through the hall like she weighed nothing, lips still locked, hands wandering, until they reached the soft leather couch in his office.
He sat down with her straddling him, her dress riding up her thighs. Her eyes, blown wide with lust and certainty, met his. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured, his voice hoarse.
“I’ll kill you if you do.”
That was all he needed.
His hands slid up her thighs, pushing the fabric higher until he could feel the heat of her through the thin lace of her panties. She ground against his palm, her breath stuttering as he traced her through the fabric, slow, deliberate, cruel.
She was soaked.
“Irina,” he breathed, like a prayer and a curse in one.
She kissed him hard, fingers yanking at the buttons of his shirt, revealing warm skin and the hard plane of his chest. She ran her hands over him like she needed to feel every inch, his shoulders, his arms, the flex of muscle under her touch.
He pushed the lace aside and slid two fingers through her slick folds. Her whole body shuddered.
“Fuck,” she whimpered. “Matvei…“
“I’ve got you,” he whispered, curling his fingers just right. “You feel like heaven.”
She rode his hand slowly, rhythm building, breath catching on every stroke. Her head fell against his shoulder, lips brushing his neck as she moaned into his skin. Her hips moved on instinct, chasing the friction, chasing the peak that was already so close.
When she came, it was a soft, shattering thing, her body tense and trembling, her breath a broken cry in his ear. He held her through it, murmuring her name like it meant something more.
But it wasn’t over.
She slid off his lap only to drop to her knees between his thighs, fingers working his belt with shaky urgency. He reached to stop her, because fuck, the sight of her like that, eyes dark with want, lips parted, was almost too much.
“Irina…”
“Let me.” Her voice was velvet and heat. “I want to taste you.”
And when she took him into her mouth, slow and deep, Matvei nearly lost his mind. Her tongue was sin, her lips plush and perfect. He buried his hands in her hair, groaning her name like a confession, his control unraveling thread by thread with every glide of her mouth.
