She tries to answer, but I'm already lifting her, setting her on the desk, shoving her skirt up and dragging her panties aside in one brutal sweep. The smell of her—hot, wet, waiting—wrecks every ounce of discipline I thought I had left.
I drop to my knees.
Her breath catches, a sharp intake, her thighs tensing around my shoulders. "Dmitri?—"
"Shut up," I mutter into the heat of her, tongue flattening and dragging slowly from the very bottom of her to the slick ache of her clit. Her hips jerk, a strangled sound ripping out of her throat.
I lick her again, harder this time, then suck, pulling her into my mouth until she cries out, the sound half broken, half furious. I want her ruined on my tongue. I want every noise she tries to swallow.
Her fingers knot in my hair, not to stop me—never that—but to anchor herself as I work her open, lips and tongue relentless. Her taste floods me, sharp and sweet, and I growl against her, the vibration making her buck. She gasps my name like a curse, head falling back, thighs trembling against my grip. I drag my tongue in hard circles, sucking until her breath fractures into jagged pieces. Every sound she makes, every whimper, every muffled cry, I take it in, swallow it down like proof. "Truth," I mutter into her, tongue flicking mercilessly. "This is your truth."
Her body arches under my mouth, thighs tightening hard enough to bruise against my shoulders. She's panting, broken sounds tumbling out of her throat, one hand fisting my hair, the other clawing the edge of the desk. I know themoment she's at the edge. Her breath catches, her hips grinding desperately against my face, her voice breaking into a sharp, pleading cry she can't hold back.
I pin her thighs wider and bury my mouth deeper, tongue lashing her clit until she shudders. "Come for me," I growl into her, and the command tips her over.
Her whole body jerks, back bowing, a strangled scream tearing free as she comes hard on my tongue. I drink it in, the taste, the sound, the way she shakes as if she's fighting it and losing anyway.
And when she's still caught in that quake, when her orgasm is tearing her open and leaving her raw, I don't give her time to breathe. I rise in one motion, cock already taut, and slam into her with a single brutal thrust. Her cry breaks again, shock, pleasure, the last ripples of climax colliding with the sudden stretch of my filling her. Her nails rake down my back through the fabric of my shirt, her head snapping forward to press into my shoulder as I drive into her, deep, hard, unrelenting. "Dmitri." It comes out a gasp, half protest, half prayer.
"Say it," I snarl against her ear, hips pounding, desk rattling beneath us. "Say this is where your truth belongs."
Her reply is a scream caught between my name and a sob of pleasure, her body tightening around me, milking me as I thrust harder into the wet heat that's still spasming from her climax. I grip her jaw, forcing her to look at me, her lips parted, her pupils blown wide. "Look at me when you come again," I growl, slamming into her until her words dissolve into sound.
The desk shudders under us, papers scattering, the candle guttering in its glass. My hands lock her hips in place as I drive into her, deep and brutal, every thrust dragging another broken sound from her throat. She's still trembling from the first orgasm, but I don't let her down, don't let her catch her breath. Her pussy grips me tighter with every stroke, pulling me deeper, making it harder to hold the line. I grit out her name against her ear, sweat sliding down my temple, jaw clenched as I slam harder.
"Again," I order, voice rough, teeth catching her skin. "You're going to come for me again."
She shakes her head, gasping, "I can't," but her body betrays her, clutching me tighter, clenching around me in helpless pulses that say she's already close.
"You can," I snarl, grinding into her, pressing deep, my thumb finding her clit and circling hard, merciless. "Youwill."
Her cry splits the air, high and sharp, nails carving fire down my back. Her legs lock around my waist, heels digging in, and she breaks, her second orgasm tearing through her, body convulsing, every squeeze around my cock dragging me closer to the edge.
"Fuck!" The word rips out of me as the heat coils tightly, snapping, and I spill inside her in heavy, violent pulses. I hold her hips down, buried to the hilt, feeling every spasm of her cunt milking me, pulling every last drop.
Her head falls back, throat arched, the sound she makes somewhere between a sob and a moan. I can feel her heartbeat through her body, frantic against mine. I stay inside her, chest heaving, hand still gripping her jaw so she can'tlook away. Her lips are parted, her face wrecked, but her eyes burn, furious, triumphant, alive.
I kiss her once, savage and slow, tasting everything we just burned through. "You wanted truth," I murmur against her mouth, still buried deep inside her. "That was mine."
Her body softens under me, the tremors fading into slow breaths, her nails leaving shallow crescents in my skin as she loosens her grip. I keep my weight braced on one arm so she isn't crushed, my other hand sliding down to smooth her thigh where I've left the muscle trembling. She leans into me, sweat-damp hair clinging to her cheek, and for the first time since she walked in, her voice isn't sharpened for a fight.
"If this is going to work," she murmurs, her lips brushing the side of my neck, "you have to trust me."
I lift my head, searching her face. She holds my eyes steady, no flicker, no hesitation. "You have to take me at my word when I say I hate Aleksandr, that I see no future there." Her tone is steady, but there's an edge under it, the kind that comes from exhaustion as much as defiance.
I breathe out slowly, thumb stroking along her jaw, memorizing the steadiness she's giving me. The words are what I want to hear, but wanting and believing are not the same thing.
Jealousy is an ugly thing, and it has grown inside me like a root that won't cut clean. Aleksandr's name is in my blood now, sour, bitter. Every time I hear it, I see him too close, his mouth forming apologies he never earns, his shadow stretching over her like it belongs.
"I believe you hate him," I finally say, my voice low, careful, "but what I can't believe is that he's finished with you. Men like him don't let go. They circle. They wait for weakness."
She closes her eyes briefly, as if she can already hear the argument forming. "Then you'll just have to believe me when I say his weakness isn't me anymore."
I want to take that and hold it, but suspicion gnaws at the edges of my mind. Aleksandr has always been clever with silence, with patience. I can feel it like the weather turning—some ulterior motive curling behind his smile, some play I haven't seen yet. The thought of it makes my jaw tighten.
Her hand presses to my chest, steady, grounding. "Trust me, Dmitri. Or you'll break this before Aleksandr ever can."
The words land harder than her nails or her defiance. I kiss her forehead once, lingering, my mouth against the heat of her skin. I want to give her what she asks, but the truth is already written in the back of my skull. Jealousy has teeth, and suspicion keeps them sharp. I stay there, holding her, but the thought of Aleksandr does not leave the room.
