"My grandmother has expensive taste. It’s a shame to ruin this."A rough fingertip traces the edge of the lace over my breast.
"Ruin it?" My voice squeaks.
"By tearing it off you."
My hands flutter up to cover myself, but he’s faster. One large hand pins my wrists gently, firmly against his chest. "No. Don't hide. Never hide from me."
I’m arched over his forearm when he lowers his head. Wet heat soaks through the sheer lace, searing me. I can’t strain away from his grasp, and I don’t try. Not when this is what I asked for. What I want.Oh God, I want it. Him. My husband. A sharp gasp tears from my throat as his mouth closes over me. The fabric offers no protection—only friction that buckles my knees. The suction is deep, possessive. My nipples pucker, turgid and erect. Responding to his command. His free hand brands every inch it explores, tracking fire over the curve of my waist to the flare of my hip.
Gravity shifts. The floor disappears, replaced by the hard wall of his chest. A few strides later, cool silk meets my back, enveloping me in his scent. It’s not just the smell. He is everywhere—caging me, consuming the space.
"I’m going to make you mine, Aria," he rasps. A palm slides up my thigh, unclasping the garters. "In every way a woman can belong to a man."
Cool air bites at my legs as the stockings vanish. Rough fingertips graze my hips, hooking into the final barrier of lace. "Lift for me."
I obey. The scrap of fabric is gone. I am completely exposed. Splayed open under the silver light. Before I can attempt to cover myself again, his mouth crashes down. The kiss steals the oxygen from the room—deep, drugging, tasting of raw need. I cling to him, drowning in the taste, but the sensation shifts lower. Fingers slide through the slick heat gathering between my thighs to find the swollen pearl.
I gasp into his mouth. The rhythmic circle of his thumb sends a whine building in my throat. I writhe, weeping slick fluid onto his palm. The tension winds tight and sharp in my belly, driving me to the brink, fingernails digging into the expensive fabric of his suit. I need friction. I needhim.
The kiss breaks, leaving my lips throbbing.
The tuxedo jacket blurs as it hits the floor unheeded. Igor settles between my legs, and the fine grain of his trousers brushes my inner thighs—a textured friction that sparks fresh heat against my skin.
"So wet," he growls as his calloused fingers explore the slick folds. "You want this."
Is he asking me or telling me? My mind can’t work it out. So, I can only blurt out the truth. "Yes." “God, yes.”
Hot breath trails down my belly, raising gooseflesh in its wake. Muscles clench even before his mouth claims the deepest part of me. It’s an assault. His tongue is a broad, skilled blade, lapping with a rhythm that short-circuits my brain. He tastes me like a meal he’s been denied for too long, humming against my clit.
I shatter.
The orgasm hits hard—a white-hot wave bowing my back off the mattress. I cry out his name. It feels too good. Too much. Tooeverything. The pleasure doesn't stop. He tastes me through the tremors, drinking down every drop until I’m limp.
Only then does he lift from my body. He undresses in a frenzy of motion—shirt thrown, tie ripped off. Buttons fly, hitting the floor like hail. He’s the beautiful one; tattooed muscle, scars, raw power. I need time to marvel, but I’m out of time.
Weight returns between my thighs. Hot, heavy pressure nudges my entrance, stretching me before he even enters. It’s huge. A gasp tears out of me. Hands find his biceps, gripping rock-hard muscle to anchor myself against the reality of him.
"Look at me, Aria." He doesn’t wait for me to comply. Damp skin presses against mine, forcing our gazes to lock.
"I’m going to hurt you. Just this once. Then again, never again. Not by me or anyone else. I swear."
His dark eyes are hardened lasers boring into me as if he can etch the vow into my skull. "I believe you," I whisper. But I’m not sure if it’s true. He’s massive. He can’t possibly fit.Will Galina find Igor a replacement wife when he splits me in half?
Then all thoughts flee. A slow, relentless pressure fills me, stretching tissue beyond physics. The movement halts at the barrier. His jaw is a rigid line above me.
"Relax for me,malyshka," he whispers, sweat beading on his brow. "Give it to me."
I exhale, drop my defenses, and open for him. One push shatters the boundary. A sharp tear rips through me. The gasp turns into a cry, nails digging into his shoulders. He freezes, burying his face in the crook of my neck, holding himself still while my body adjusts to the invasion.
"I’ve got you," he whispers against my skin, kissing the wild flutter of my pulse. "You’re okay. Just breathe. I got you…"
The pain fades to a dull throb, replaced by an overwhelming fullness. He is so deep, he’s touching my soul. The motion starts.
It’s not a savage fucking, but a rhythmic, grinding claim. Withdrawal, then a deep-seated return. Over and over. His eyes lock on mine, watching. The friction turns to heat. The ache softens into a throb. My hips arch up to meet him, my pelvis kissing his.
"That’s it," he praises, voice thick. "Take it all. Take your husband."
The vows. The ring. Taking the Aslanov name. It all crashes down. A single tear tracks down my temple, born of the realization of how completely he has surrounded me.
