“Your reasons don’t matter.” I guide her back toward the doors. “The result is the same.”
8
Konstantin
She won’t fucking look at me.
The elevator doors hiss open, and she’s a statue—silk dress fused to her skin, every curve a tight, trembling tease that’s got my hands burning to rip it off. That slit up her thigh flashes pale flesh with every step tonight, and my cock’s been a coiled beast since the ballroom—thick, hot, pulsing against my zipper like it’s clawing to break free. I want to shred that silk, slam into her right here, feel her choke me with that wet heat, but I lock my jaw instead. I’ll unravel her slow, make her beg ‘til her voice cracks.
She hasn’t looked at me once since we left.When I drag my thumb over her wrist, there’s a tiny hitch in her breath—fast, sharp, almost hidden—but her feet keep moving. I lean in, close enough that my nose brushes the silk of her hair, my mouth skimming her ear.
“Time to go,” I murmur, low enough to scrape down her spine. She stiffens for half a second, muscles pulling taut, then forces herself forward like nothing happened.
The floor’s empty—mine—and the suite’s a heartbeat away.
I brush past her, my shoulder grazing hers, and her sharp inhale slams into me like a fist to the balls. My cock jerks, a hot throb, and I unlock the door with a hand that’s steady only because I’ve beaten it into submission. It swings open—golden light bleeding over velvet shadows, the Pacific air snarling beyond the glass like it’s daring me to fuck her against it.
She hesitates, just a breath, her hand lifting halfway like she doesn’t know whether to steady herself or shove me away. Then she drops it, swallowing hard, the barest flick of her teeth catching her bottom lip before she squares her shoulders like she’s walking into a goddamn war.
That split-second pause, the way she bites her lip and squares her shoulders like she’s ready to fight me off—or pull me closer—fuck, it’s a spark that lights me up. Her defiance, that sharp edge in her trembling stance, is hotter than any surrender, and it’s got me aching to break her open.
She steps in, silent, heels stabbing the marble, then sinking into the rug. Her reflection in the window’s a gut punch—shoulders bare and gleaming, dress sucking her skin like it’s wet, those buttons down her back a cruel taunt I want to rip off with my teeth. And she doesn’t turn around—but I see her shoulders tighten, a sharp flex under that silk.
Fuck, she’s feeling it—fear, excitement, a cocktail of both buzzing through her. She’s anticipating this, bracing for me, and it’s got my cock throbbing harder, a thick ache begging to claim her.
Not yet,I snarl at myself, teeth grinding.Break her first.
“You gonna keep pretending I’m not here,krasotka?”
She doesn’t turn, spine rigid, anger rolling off her like heat off asphalt.
“Fuck off, Konstantin.” It’s sharp, but it cracks—need seeping through, and my cock twitches, a jolt I feel in my balls.
I stalk closer, boots thudding, letting her feel me coming.
“That’s not how this works, wife.” I’m on her now, chest brushing her back, her scent hitting me—musky, sweet, making my mouth water.
My fingers skim her shoulder, barely grazing. “You don’t shut me out. Not tonight.”
She tilts her head, a flicker of defiance. “I signed up for a deal, not a leash.”
“You’re leashed.” My hand clamps her hip hard, yanking her back, and—fuck—her ass slams into my cock, the pressure a white-hot spike up my shaft. My balls clench, a searing jolt I taste in my throat.
She chokes on a gasp, the sound ripping straight from her chest, and my grip turns brutal without even thinking.
“Feel that? That’s how bad I’ve wanted to fuck you, standing there like you don’t crave it too.”
She twists, jerking against me, and my cock throbs harder—painful, begging.
“Let go,” she snaps, fists curling, but she’s not shoving.
“No.” My other hand snakes up her arm, slow, feeling her shiver, then fists her hair. I yank, sharp, tipping her head back, and her throat’s bare—pulsing, begging for my teeth. “You’re mine. Every fucking inch. And I’m done waiting.”
Her breath rips out, wet and shaky, her pulse slamming under my fingers—wild, matching the throb in my cock.
“You’re a bastard,” she chokes, but she’s melting, sagging into me, and it’s like a torch to my veins.
“Yeah, I am.” I drag my mouth down her neck, lips scraping—her skin’s fever-hot, salty, and I flick my tongue out, tasting herracing pulse. My cock’s a pulsing rod, begging to ram her, and I clench my fist in her hair, fighting the urge to rip her apart.
