He thrust in, his heat replacing the pen's chill in an instant. The contrast was mind-blowing—from icy tease to fiery fullness, heightening every sensation. I moaned loudly, the switch making everything feel strangely, deliciously intense.
"Fuck, you're even wetter from that little game," he groaned, driving deep. "This pussy is addicted to me, isn't it? Gripping me like it never wants to let go."
"Yes! Harder," I begged, wrapping my legs around him to pull him closer.
He ramped up the pace, thrusts brutal and relentless, his hips slamming into mine. "Gonna fill you up, baby. Pump you full of me until you're dripping. You're mine—all mine."
The buildup was unstoppable; I came first, screaming as the orgasm tore through me, my body shaking. He followed right after, burying himself deep and spilling hot inside me, growling my name in release.
We panted together, bodies slick with sweat and utterly spent. He pulled out slowly, kissing me with surprising tenderness. "See? That's how desperately I need you. No more doubts."
I nodded weakly, completely wrecked and blissfully satisfied.
After the climax, Igor helped me get dressed. I slumped in the chair, my gaze inevitably drawn to his naked body as he bent to gather his clothes. His broad back muscles bulged like a masterfully carved sculpture, every line brimming with power. Those firm glutes tightened, strong and commanding, reminding me of his wild thrusts inside me and sending a fresh wave of heat up my spine.
When I finally emerged from the haze, Igor was back in his suit, looking every bit the composed man.
"Tonight, when we get home, I want to cook a proper dinner for you and Stella," he said, stopping in front of me.
I couldn't help but laugh. "Are you sure? Last time, you nearly burned the kitchen down. I told you, cooking isn't your strong suit."
"So guide me this time," he said, his eyes soft with warmth. "I want to learn how to take care of you both."
My heart pounded heavily. Maybe this time, things would be different. Maybe we could actually have happiness. Could we?
Chapter Twenty-One
Igor
The office still smelled of sex—warm and tangled, the scent hanging heavy in the air. Afternoon light slanted through the blinds, laying golden bars across the carpet. The studio felt languid and dangerous.
Elena leaned back in the chair, cheeks still flushed from the afterglow. The light rimmed her in soft gold, as if she'd stepped out of a painting.
Her eyes softened when I said, "I wanted to learn how to take care of you both." A flicker of hope lit those blue eyes. Maybe—maybe she was finally going to forgive me. No. I couldn't think that. I hadn't earned forgiveness.
"Elena." My throat tightened. "I have to tell you something about that engagement five years ago."
Her smile froze. She wanted to shut it down, to refuse—but I had to say it. She had to know the truth.
"You don't have to—" She tried to stand, but her legs were weak. The aftershocks of sex hadn't left her, and a dark, filthy satisfaction swelled in me. My mark was still there, my scent on her skin.
"I do." I crouched before her, hands on her knees. "You need to know the truth, Elena. Not an excuse—what actually happened."
She bit her lip—God, that damned habit that always made me want to kiss her—and finally nodded.
"That engagement was arranged by my father," I began, looking straight at her. "From the start, I was told I would marry Ivanov's daughter. It was a political match to consolidate the families."
"I knew." Her voice was low. "I checked that tattoo, Igor. I knew you were Bratva. I knew what that meant."
My chest tightened. So she'd known all along. She knew what I was, and she still loved me.
"Before I met you, I never questioned it," I said, each word like it had to be wrung from a wound. "To me, it was a duty. I would marry Natasha, give her the respect expected, and move on. But after I saw you at the Winter Palace, everything changed."
I remembered that night in brutal detail—the attack at the hotel, people panicking. I'd been there on business; I'd seen a blonde girl in the crowd, terrified and small like a rabbit. My hand went before I thought, pulling her out of danger.
"You brought me to your apartment." The memory softened me. "I looked at you and realized I'd never really lived."
Her throat worked; doubt flashed across her face.
