Inside, it’s silent. Just the faint hum of the engine and the city lights sliding past the tinted windows.
Anya is staring straight ahead, hands folded too neatly in her lap. She’s shaking now that no one is watching, the tremor small but constant. Her face is composed, but distant. Like she’s replaying it. I don’t say anything at first. I just reach for her. I pull her sideways into my lap, one arm wrapping around her waist, the other sliding up her back. She doesn’t resist. She folds into me like she’s been waiting for permission. Her head rests against my chest, breath uneven against my shirt. I run my hand slowly up and down her back, steady and grounding, over and over again. “It’s okay,” I murmur into her hair. “You’re okay.”
Her fingers curl into my jacket again, not tight this time. Just holding.
The city moves outside the windows. Inside the car, I hold her like I plan to keep holding her for as long as it takes. The car hums along, city lights streaking gold and red across the tinted glass. I keep my hand moving slow up and down her back, same steady rhythm, trying to anchor her. Her breathing’s still uneven, little hitches every few seconds like she’s fighting not to fall apart.
Then she shifts, just a fraction, enough that her lips brush the open collar of my shirt. I freeze and my hand stops mid-stroke on her spine. She doesn’t pull back. Her mouth presses there again, soft, deliberate. The bare skin right above my collarbone. Warm. A little damp from her breath. No tongue, no teeth. Just her lips lingering like she’s testing if this is allowed.
My pulse slams hard under her mouth. I don’t move. Don’t breathe for a second. “Anya,” I say. Low. Rougher than I mean to.
She doesn’t answer with words. Instead she turns her face, nose grazing the side of my throat, and kisses higher. Slower this time. Open-mouthed just enough that I feel the faint wet heat of it. Her fingers flex in my jacket like she’s holding on for balance.
I swallow. Hard. My free hand comes up, cups the back of her head, fingers threading into her hair. Not pushing. Just… there. Letting her know I’m not stopping her.
She keeps going. Small kisses along the line of my neck, up under my jaw. Each one feels like a question. Each one makes my blood roar louder. When she reaches the spot right below my ear she pauses. Lips hovering. I can feel her trembling again, but it’s different now, something hungrier. I tilt my head, giving her more room without saying a word. That’s all the permission she needs.
Her mouth opens against my skin. A soft suck. Tiny. Barely there. But it hits me like a live wire. My grip tightens in her hair. A low sound slips out of me, half groan, half curse.
She pulls back just enough to look up at me. Eyes wide, pupils blown, cheeks flushed dark even in the dim light. Like she’s surprised herself.
I stare back, unable to look away. “You okay?” I ask. Voice wrecked.
She nods once. Slow. Then she leans in again. This time her lips find the corner of my mouth. Not quite a kiss. More like she’s breathing me in. I turn my head the last inch and our mouths meet. Soft at first. Hesitant. Her lips are cool, still tasting faintly of champagne from earlier. I keep it gentle because she’s fragile right now and I’m not about to break whatever this is. But thenshe makes this small, needy sound against me. Fingers sliding up to fist my shirt. And gentle goes out the window.
I angle my head, deepening our kiss. My tongue brushes hers, and she opens for me instantly. She kisses me back hard, desperate, like she’s been starving for this and didn’t even know it. My hand leaves her back, slides down to grip her hip, pull her tighter against me.
“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” she whispers. Voice cracked.
“Yeah?” I rasp. Thumb stroking her cheek. “Me too.”
She kisses me again. Slower this time. Sweeter. Like she’s memorizing it. We don’t talk anymore. Just hold each other like that, her in my lap, my arms locked around her, mouths brushing every few seconds like we can’t quite stop.
When we finally pull into the garage, she’s still on me. Breathing steadier now. Calmer.
I don’t let her go when I open the door. I shift her in my lap, slide one arm under her knees, the other around her back. She doesn't protest when I lift her. Just loops her arms around my neck again, face pressed to my shoulder like she's hiding from the world.
"Easy," I mutter against her hair. "I've got you."
I step out, kick the door shut behind us with my heel. The driver stays put. Smart man. The private elevator's right there, doors already open, Dmitri's people cleared the path for us. I carry her straight in. Her weight is nothing. She's trembling again, small shivers running through her every few seconds. When the doors slide shut with a soft ding, the world narrows to just us. I set her down slow. Her feet touch the floor but her knees wobble. Ikeep my hands on her waist, steadying her against the mirrored wall. She looks up at me. Eyes huge. Lips parted. Still flushed from the kisses in the car. That's all it takes. I crash my mouth to hers. Hard. Desperate. No buildup. Just teeth and tongue and the taste of her… champagne, salt from earlier tears, something sweet underneath. She gasps into it, hands flying to my face, fingers digging into my jaw like she'll hold me there forever.
I press her back against the cool metal. One hand slides up to fist her hair, tilting her head so I can go deeper. She moans low in her throat, arches into me. Legs parting instinctively so my thigh slides between them. She rocks once, grinding down on the hard line of muscle, chasing friction.
"Fuck," I growl against her lips. Break the kiss just long enough to drag my mouth down her neck. Bite the spot where her pulse hammers. She jerks, nails scraping my scalp. "Don't stop," she pants. Voice wrecked. "Please don't stop."
I don't. I kiss her again. Messier. Wetter. Hands roaming down her sides, under the hem of her dress, gripping bare thigh. She hooks one leg around my hip, pulling me closer. My cock strains against my pants, pressed right against her heat through thin fabric. She rolls her hips again, deliberate this time, whimpering when I thrust back instinctively.
The elevator hums upward. Numbers lighting up slow. Floor by floor. I don't care. I slide my hand higher, fingers brushing the edge of her lace. She's soaked already. I can feel it. She shudders when I press the heel of my palm there, rubbing slow circles over the damp fabric.
“I need you," she whispers brokenly. Mouth on my jaw, my throat, anywhere she can reach. "Right here. Right now."
I groan. Low. Rough. "Anya—"
"Please." She bites my earlobe. Hard enough to sting. "I don't want to think. Just… make it stop."
I kiss her quiet. Swallow whatever else she was going to say. My free hand hits the emergency stop button without looking. The elevator jerks, halts between floors. Red lights flashes but the alarm is silent. I quickly look around, making sure there are no cameras, and see none. Perfect.
I spin her so her back's to my chest. Hands on her hips, bending her forward just enough. She braces on the mirrored wall, palms flat, breath fogging the glass. I yank her dress up around her waist, shove her panties to the side and slide on finger into her dripping pussy. She cries out, head dropping forward. "More," she demands. Voice shaking.
