His hands find my hips and spin me to face him, his mouth claiming mine with hunger that’s been building since this morning, since Belgium.
I kiss him back with everything I have, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer because there’s no such thing as close enough with him, because I want to crawl inside his skin and live there.
“Clothes off.” His voice is rough, commanding, the Pakhan voice that makes my knees weak and my cunt clench. “Seychas.” Now.
I step back and strip without ceremony, peeling off layers until I’m standing naked in front of him with my skin flushed and my nipples tight and wetness already slicking my thighs.
He watches with dark eyes, his gaze traveling over every inch of my body. He’s still fully dressed, and the contrast does something to me, makes me feel exposed and vulnerable and desperate for whatever he chooses to give me.
“Beautiful,” he breathes. “Every time I see you like this, I can’t believe you’re real.”
“I’m real.” I arch toward him, wanting his hands on me. “I’m here. I’m yours.”
“Da.” He closes the distance between us and pinches my nipple, making me gasp, pleasure spiking sharp and sweet through my body. “Moya”.
He releases me and steps back. “Arms above your head.”
I climb onto the mattress and arrange myself the way he likes, arms stretched toward the headboard, legs slightly parted, completely vulnerable and trusting him with every exposed inch.
He watches me for a long moment, drinking in the sight of me spread out and waiting for him. I look at him back—the way the lamplight catches the angles of his face, the tattoo visible above his collar, the broad shoulders that carry an empire, the hands that have killed and healed and brought me more pleasure than I knew my body could hold.
He’s beautiful in the way dangerous things are beautiful. In the way fire is beautiful, or storms, or the edge of a blade catching light.
And he’s mine.
He produces silk restraints from the nightstand, and my breath catches at the sight of them, anticipation sparking along every nerve ending as he approaches the bed.
“Color?” he asks as he loops the fabric around my wrists, his damaged right hand working slower than the left but still capable, still careful, still devoted to doing this right.
“Green. So green. Please, Roman.”
The silk tightens, secure without cutting off circulation, and he checks the knots twice before he’s satisfied.
“Beautiful.” He traces a finger down my restrained arm, following the line of muscle to my shoulder, my collarbone, the swell of my breast. “My girl. Bound and waiting for me.”
He’s still fully dressed.
“Roman—”
“Patience.” He moves to the foot of the bed and starts unbuttoning his shirt with deliberate slowness, revealing scarred skin inch by inch. “Watch.”
I do.
His chest emerges from the fabric, and I drink in the sight of him—scattered scars from old wounds and newer ones from the factory and the warehouse and every fight he’s survived to get here. The tattoo rippling across muscles that have regained most of their definition. Shoulders broad enough to make me feel small in the best way. Abs carved from years of violence and discipline. The trail of dark hair leading down from his navel to where his hands are working his belt.
He’s gorgeous.
He’s the kind of beautiful that comes from surviving things that should have killed him and coming out the other side harder and sharper and more himself.
The belt slides free. The zipper follows. He pushes everything down until he’s as naked as I am, and I make a sound in my throat at the sight of his cock—thick and flushed and straining toward me with need that matches my own.
“Like what you see?” His voice is amused, but his eyes are dark with want.
“You know I do. Now come here and fuck me.”
“So impatient.” He climbs onto the bed between my spread legs, his body covering mine, and I arch up toward him. “I’mgoing to taste you first. Every inch. Until you’re crying and begging and completely incoherent.”
His lips find my ankle, and I shiver, the touch electric even somewhere so innocuous. He presses a kiss there, then another further up my calf, then the inside of my knee, where I’m already trembling with anticipation.
