"Igor." I wrap my legs tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper.
"I’m here," he growls. Control slips. Thrusts get harder. Faster. Driving into me with a possessive fervor. "I’m right here. I’m never leaving."
The pressure builds again. Darker. Heavier. Drowning. Every thrust pushes me further under. I go willingly.
"Tell me who you belong to," he demands, the words punctuated by the slam of his hips. "Say it."
"You." Madness takes over, ripping through me as I’m buoyed and crest. Shoved over the edge into a free fall as I orgasm. "Only you!"
A primal roar vibrates against my chest. He drives deep, burying himself to the root, and goes rigid. Hot, endless fluid floods my womb, sealing us together.
Then, gravity takes him. He crushes me into the mattress, but I don't push him away. I hold him. My arms wrap around his sweat-slicked back, feeling the thunder of his heart against mine.
Possessed. Owned.
I drift in the afterglow, pinned to the bed by his girth. I wonder if that’s all I am now—another treasure in the Aslanov estate,locked away in the master suite. But his arms tighten around me even in sleep.
What have I gotten myself into?
Igor
AriaLanealmostbroughtme to my knees at our first interview. Of course, I didn’t let her. I’m Igor fucking Aslanov. Instead, I reviewed her resume, tapping a pencil on the paper to hide my control's losing battle. Twenty-two damn years old. I could be her father. So why the fuck don’t I feel fatherly? It’s the hazel eyes threaded with chips of jade. A man could get lost in them. Her hair isn’t mousy brown but the color of burnished bronze, a thick mane that spills over her shoulders. Royalty.
Last night I feasted. The lion finally got his meal. And when I came, I roared louder than any beast as she clamped down on me, her body milking me, sucking a bit of my soul with every pull. How long before she takes the whole damn thing?
I’ve watched and wanted her for months. Thirsting but never quenched.
She is here. In my bed. Marked by me.
Mine.
Her breathing shifts. Her body tenses, the subtle coiling of a woman preparing to bolt.
I tighten my arm around her waist.
"Stay," I say, my voice rough with sleep.
"I can't." She pulls away, sitting up. The sheet falls, exposing the marks I left on the soft curve of her shoulder. She ignores them, raking a hand through hair that is still damp.
When she first tried to slip into the shower twenty minutes ago to wash me off her skin, I followed. I didn’t let her scrub. I pressed her soft, curvy body against the wet tile and took her until she was screaming my name, not muttering about her duties. Climaxing until I carried her back to bed to fuck her properly, again.
Now, she’s dressed in jeans and a sweater that can’t hide the swell of her hips, but her focus is a thousand miles away, her expression distant. "My shift starts at eight," she says, her voice tight, breathless. "Galina needs her meds with food. And the physical therapist is coming at ten. I’m already late."
"You are not late," I say, turning over on the bed to watch her. "Because you are not working."
She freezes, one foot in a sneaker. A flicker of something I can’t name crosses her eyes. One moment, she sees the predator who claimed her. The next, the employer who pays her salary.
"I can't just leave her, Igor. She needs—"
"Elena is with her."
Aria blinks. "Elena? The nurse from my agency?"
"I called them yesterday. Elena is taking the day shift until we hire a permanent replacement."
Aria’s hands flutter at her sides, reaching for a stethoscope that isn't there. "You... you replaced me?"
"I promoted you," I correct, standing. The movement is a display of coiled muscle packed onto a large frame. I move toward her. She takes a half-step back. Skittish. Like a wildthing that forgot it was cornered. I ignore the retreat and close the distance, sliding my hand down the lush curve of her spine, claiming the space. "You are the lady of this house, Aria. My wife does not change bedpans. You do not fetch water."
