My breath catches because he's right. I am his. In every way that matters, I belong to Gennady Petrov now.
"And you're mine too," I say quietly, surprised by my own boldness.
His chest rumbles with a sound that might be a laugh. "Yes. I am. Completely."
We lie in silence for a moment, his hand continuing its soothing path along my skin. The afternoon light is fading, into that orange pink glow that promises warmer days are coming.
"Can I ask you something?" I venture.
"Anything."
"Earlier, when you..." I pause, trying to find the words. "When you touched me. Before. You seemed to know exactly what to do. How to make me feel—"
"Good?"
"Yes." Heat floods my face again. "How did you know?"
"Experience," he says simply. "And paying attention. Every woman is different, Matilda. But if you watch carefully, listen to the sounds she makes, feel how her body responds, she'll tell you exactly what she needs."
The mention of other women sends an unexpected spike of jealousy through me. "How many—" I stop myself.
"How many women have I been with?" He doesn't sound bothered by the question. "Enough to know what I'm doing. Not so many that it meant anything."
"And with me?"
"With you," he says, his voice dropping lower, "it means everything."
The words settle over me, warm and heavy. I don't know if I believe them, we barely know each other, but I want to believe them.
"I want to make you feel good too," I admit quietly. "But I don't know how."
"You already do." His hand slides up to tangle in my hair. "Just being here with me, letting me touch you, watching you fall apart on my cock, that's everything."
"But I want to..." I trail off, embarrassed.
"Want to what?"
I push up on my elbow again to look at him. "I want to touch you. Make you feel the way you made me feel."
Heat flares in his eyes. "Matilda—"
"Teach me," I say, surprising myself with the boldness. "Show me what you like."
He stares at me for a long moment, something hungry and almost feral crossing his face. Then he rolls onto his back, pulling me with him so I'm straddling his hips.
"You want to learn?" His hands settle on my thighs, fingers digging in slightly. "Then take what you want. I'm yours to explore."
I look down at him, this powerful man who could break me with one hand, and feel something shift inside me. He's giving me control.
The realization is intoxicating.
I lean forward and press my mouth to his, kissing him the way he kissed me earlier, deep and demanding. His hands tighten on my thighs, but he lets me lead, lets me explore.
I kiss down his jaw, his neck, tasting salt. When I reach his chest, I pause to trace one of the tattoos with my tongue, and he groans.
"Like that?" I ask.
"Yes. Fuck, yes."
