I remove my hand, returning it to his other wrist, and he whimpers. My weight is settled across his lap. Nothing beneath his shirt that I'm still wearing except bare skin already slick with need, no barrier between my dripping pussy and his rock-hard cock. This man who breaks bones without blinking is shaking under my hands.
"You." His voice cracks on the single word. "Just you."
"Be more specific." I roll my hips again, achingly aware of the inch of space between my clit and the ridge of his cock. The oversized shirt I'm wearing is pulled tight across the space between us, covering my pussy from view, but I can feel my own wetness leaking onto his bare thighs.
His hands flex under mine where I keep his wrists pinned, testing. He could break free easily. We both know it. But he doesn't. He lets me hold him down, lets me take what I've been craving since he first wrapped his hand around my throat.
"I want to be inside you," he breathes, pale eyes black with need. "I want to feel your tight little pussy squeeze my cock when you come. I want to taste your cum on my tongue. I want to fuck you until you can't remember your own name. I want…Pozhaluysta, Sofia." The Russian spills from his lips, raw and desperate. "Mne nuzhno tebya trogat'."
I keep my expression neutral even as my mind automatically translates: I need to touch you.
I silence him with a kiss that's more possession than tenderness. My tongue invades his mouth, tasting vodka and desperation. I bite his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, and the copper taste makes us both groan. When I pull back, he's panting, a thin line of red on his lip that I want to lick clean.
"Please, Sofia." The word tears from him. "Let me touch you."
"No."
I grind again into thin air, achingly aware of how close his cock is to my clit. My wetness has dripped down to his thighs, leaving a damp spot. The leather chair creaks obscenely with each roll of my hips.
"You've taken everything from me since I got here," I murmur against his throat, dragging my teeth along his pulse point until he shudders. "My freedom. My dignity. Made me choke on your cock while you watched. Tonight, you give it all back."
"Take it." His hips buck up involuntarily, seeking friction. "Take whatever you want. Use me."
"I intend to."
I sit up straight and peel back my shirt, revealing my dripping pussy. Both of us are riveted, watching my slick folds less than an inch from his steel cock. His dick jumps, and he moans, rocking his hips forward to try to reach my pussy, needing to release the pressure.
I stand slowly, my legs shaky from the effort of holding myself back from just sinking down on his cock. The loss of contact makes us both whimper. His eyes are riveted to the wet spot on his thighs where I've marked him with my arousal.
"The shirt stays on while you watch," I tell him, running my hands down the white cotton that barely covers my ass. "You don't move. You don't speak. You just watch me show you what you can't touch."
My fingers find the first button, taking my time. Then the second. Each one deliberate while I watch his knuckles turn white on the armrests. By the fourth button, the shirt gaps open enough to show I'm wearing nothing underneath, my nipples hard and visible through the thin fabric.
Fifth button. I let one hand drift down to cup my breast through the cotton, pinching my nipple until I gasp. His breathing goes ragged.
Sixth button. The shirt hangs open now. I turn around, giving him my back as I let it slide off one shoulder. I hear his sharp intake of breath when he sees I'm wearing nothing underneath, completely bare.
The shirt follows, pooling at my feet.
"Christ almighty," he whispers, his cock jumping, his tip glistening as it leaks.
"You've seen me naked before."
"Not like this." His voice is destroyed. "Not when you're choosing it. Not when I can see how fucking wet you are for me."
I step closer, close enough that he could lean forward and taste me. His whole body trembles with the effort of staying still.
"Now you can touch."
His hands are on me instantly, desperate and reverent at once. His palms burn against my skin as they map every inch. My waist, my ribs, the undersides of my breasts. When his thumbs brush my nipples, I have to bite back a moan.
Then he finds my scars. The thin line on my ribs from a knife fight. His thumb traces it before he leans forward and runs his tongue along the length of it, making my knees buckle.
"Every scar," he murmurs, his breath hot against my skin. "Every mark. Tell me."
"Later," I gasp as his mouth moves to the bullet graze on my hip, sucking hard enough to leave a bruise over the old wound.
I fist my hand in his hair and yank his head back. "Right now, you're mine to use."
