Except, apparently, I did.
I set my glass down with more force than necessary. "You're playing a dangerous game, Mishka."
His smile widened, revealing the flash of teeth that never failed to stir something primal in me. "Only if you're losing, Nicolai."
The use of my name—not "boss" or any of the other titles people typically used—sent a shiver down my spine. In his mouth, my name sounded like both challenge and invitation. And God help me, I had never been able to resist either.
"Come here," Mishka purred, and like a man under a spell, I moved toward him. My feet carried me across the room without conscious thought, drawn by the invitation in those blue eyes.
I'd faced down rival syndicate leaders, government agents, and supernatural threats with unshakeable resolve, but this boy with his clever hands and knowing smile had me responding to commands as if they were my own desires.
Perhaps they were.
I braced my hands on the back of the sofa, caging him between my arms as I leaned down, my lips brushing against the sensitive skin of his neck.
"You're giving orders now,malysh?" I growled, inhaling deeply. His scent was intoxicating—a mix of my expensive soap, the faint metallic tang that seemed to accompany his abilities, and something uniquely him.
Something I'd begun to crave.
Mishka tilted his head, offering more of his neck in a gesture that satisfied something primal in me. "Not orders," he whispered, his fingers already working at my belt with practiced ease. "Just enthusiastic suggestions."
I huffed out a laugh against his skin, feeling his pulse quicken under my lips. His fingers were deft, unfaltering—the same fingers that could bring down security systems and manipulate digital networks now focused entirely on undoing my clothing.
The thought sent a rush of heat through me.
"Is that what we're calling it now?" I murmured, nipping at his earlobe and drawing a soft gasp from him.
"Would you prefer I beg?" The belt came loose, followed by the button of my trousers. "Because that can be arranged."
The image his words conjured—Mishka begging, desperate—triggered something in me, something possessive and hungry. I straightened, catching his wrists in one hand and pulling them above his head as I pushed him back against the cushions.
"Careful what you offer," I warned before claiming his mouth in a kiss that was nothing short of ravenous.
He moaned against my lips, his body arching up to meet mine. I could feel his hardness pressing against my thigh, feel the heat of him even through our clothing. He tasted faintly of the mint tea he favored, and beneath that, something sweet and addictive that I couldn't name.
This boy will be the death of me, I thought as I released his wrists to tug at the sweater he wore. My sweater. The sight of him in my clothing stirred something possessive in me that I'd rather not examine too closely.
He raised his arms obligingly, allowing me to pull the garment over his head and toss it aside. "So eager," he teased, but I could hear the breathlessness in his voice, see the flush spreading across his pale chest.
"You have no idea," I replied, my hands already working at the drawstring of his sweatpants—also mine, I noted with satisfaction.
I stripped away the remaining barriers between us, revealing pale skin marked with bruises and bites from our previous encounters. Rather than feeling shame at the evidence of my lack of control, I felt a surge of pride.
I bent to add to the collection, trailing possessive kisses and nips down his chest, across his ribs, to the sharp jut of his hipbones.
Mishka arched beneath me, his fingers tangling in my hair. Sparks danced across my scalp where he touched me—literal sparks, tiny pulses of electricity that sent shivers down my spine.
His abilities tended to leak when he was aroused, electronic manipulation bleeding into the air around us, raising the hair on my arms and quickening my pulse.
"You're wearing too many clothes," he complained, tugging at my partially undone shirt.
I sat back on my heels to shed the remainder of my clothing, aware of his hungry gaze following every movement. His lips curved into a satisfied smile as my erection sprang free, hard and aching for his touch.
Before I could move to cover him again, he caught my wrist, guiding my hand between his legs. My fingers slid past his cock, heavy and leaking against his stomach, to the cleft of his ass. I found him already slick and open, ready for me.
"You prepared yourself," I observed, my voice rough with desire as I eased a finger into him, feeling the give of his body.
His head fell back against the cushions, throat working as he swallowed. "I was thinking ahead."
