“Say it.”
Instead of answering, she turns in my arms and crashes her mouth against mine. The kiss is desperate, hungry, tasting like the chocolate mousse we had after dinner something uniquely her.
“God, I wanted you the entire meeting,” she breathes against my lips. “Watching you negotiate, seeing you take control of that room. Do you know how attractive power is on you?”
“Show me.”
Her hands go to my jacket, pushing it off my shoulders with urgent movements. My shirt follows, buttons scattered across the marble floor in her haste to get me naked.
“The things I was thinking while Boris was talking,” she whispers, her mouth trailing down my neck. “The things I wanted to do to you under that conference table.”
“Like what?”
“Like this.” Her hand slides down my chest, over my stomach, to palm me through my pants. I’m already hard, have been since the moment she started interrogating Russian criminals with that sharp intelligence that never fails to turn me on.
“You were thinking about sucking my cock while Boris lashed out?”
“Among other things.”
“What other things?”
She unbuttons my pants, sliding the zipper down with maddening slowness. “I was thinking about how good you’d feel inside me. How deep you’d go. How you’d make me scream your name while a room full of criminals waited outside.”
The words make my blood burn. My pregnant, brilliant wife, who can translate Russian and negotiate with killers, fantasizing about fucking me during business meetings.
“You want them to hear you scream my name?”
“I want everyone to know I’m yours.”
I spin her around, pressing her back against the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the Strip. Vegas glitters below us, millions of lights painting her skin in gold and neon.
“Anyone could see us up here,” I warn, my hands finding the zipper of her dress.
“Let them watch.”
The dress pools at her feet, leaving her in black lace that makes my mouth water. Pregnancy has made her breasts fuller, her hips more curved, her skin luminous with that glow every man notices but only I get to touch.
“Beautiful,” I murmur, hands skimming over silk and lace. “So fucking beautiful carrying my child.”
“The baby’s making everything more sensitive.”
“Everything?”
“Everything.”
I test this theory by sliding my hand between her legs, finding her already wet through the thin lace. Her reaction is immediate and intense, her back arching against the window as she gasps my name.
“More sensitive here too?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I want to make you come so hard you forget every other man exists.”
“There are no other men. Only you.”
The admission breaks the last of my restraints. I lift her against the window, her legs wrapping around my waist as I position myself at her entrance.
“The whole city can see how much you want me,” I tell her, pressing just the tip inside.
