"I can't?—"
"You can. You will."
I reach the apex of her thighs and pause. Just breathe against her. Let her feel my breath on her pussy, wet and swollen and waiting.
Then I lick.
One long, slow stroke from her entrance to her clit.
"Dmitri—" Her voice breaks on my name.
I do it again. And again. Slow strokes that make her thighs shake. Her bound hands come down to grip my hair.
"Fuck," she gasps. "Ohfuck?—"
I seal my mouth around her clit and suck. She cries out, the sound echoing through the empty theatre. Bouncing off the walls. Filling the space where audiences once sat and watched performances.
Thisis a performance. My worship of her. My devotion made physical.
I reach up with one hand and cup her breast. The weight of it fills my palm perfectly. I roll her nipple between my fingers, tugging gently, and feel her pussy clench against my tongue.
She's close. I can feel it in the way her thighs tremble. In the desperate sounds she's making. In the way her fingers tighten in my hair like she's trying to hold herself to the earth.
I pull back just enough to speak against her swollen flesh. "You taste like everything I've ever wanted, solnyshko."
"Don't stop—" She's begging now. My queen, beggingme. "Please, Dmitri, don't?—"
I push my tongue inside her. She screams.
My thumb finds her clit, circling in time with the thrust of my tongue. My other hand keeps working her breast, pinching and rolling until she's writhing against the restraints. The chair creaks. The velvet ribbons strain.
She's completely at my mercy. Bound and spread and desperate.
I worship her with my mouth until her thighs clamp around my head. Until her back arches off the chair. Until she comes apart on my tongue, screaming my name into the empty theatre like a prayer.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Vittoria
The aftershocks still ripple through me, tiny electric pulses that make my thighs twitch. My wrists pull uselessly at the rose gold cuffs. I'm utterly exposed, utterly wrecked, and Dmitri Baganov is pressing soft kisses to the inside of my thigh like I'm something precious. My spent body hums with a new kind of hunger.
He rises slowly, those eyes never leaving mine. He looks like a man who just conquered something. Maybe he did.
His hand drops to his belt, and my breath catches.
One stroke. Just one, his palm pressing against the obvious bulge straining his pants. A low sound rumbles in his chest.
"Watch me," he says.
I couldn't look away if the theater caught fire.
The belt buckle clicks open. He takes his time, and I realize he's giving me a show. Payback for making me strip piece by piece..
My mouth goes dry when the pants drop.
Black boxer briefs. And doing absolutely nothing to hide what's underneath. He's...Dio mio, he's huge. The fabric stretches obscenely, outlining every thick inch.
My fingers curl against the armrests. The cuffs bite into my wrists.
