Papers scatter, pens clatter to the floor, but neither of us care.
His mouth finds mine, hungry and demanding, and I lose myself in the kiss.
His hands slide under my shirt, warm against my skin, and I arch into his touch.
This is what I need, to feel alive, connected, safe in his arms even when the world outside is falling apart.
“I need you,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice rough with desire. “Right now.”
“Yes,” I breathe, already working at the buttons of his shirt.
He helps me, shrugging out of the expensive fabric and tossing it aside.
My hands explore the familiar landscape of his chest, tracing the dragon tattoo, feeling the solid muscle beneath.
He’s beautiful and dangerous and mine.
His hands slide up my thighs, pushing my skirt higher, and I gasp as his fingers find the edge of my panties.
He hooks them with his thumbs and pulls them down slowly, his green eyes never leaving mine as I lift my hips to help remove my underwear.
His hand splays across my still-flat stomach, reverent and possessive all at once.
Then he’s kissing me again, deeper this time, as his fingers slide between my thighs, my legs hanging over the edge of his desk.
I’m already wet for him, already aching, and when he touches me, I moan into his mouth.
“That’s it,” he encourages, his fingers working me with practiced skill. “Let me hear you,moya lyubov.”
I grip his shoulders, my nails digging into the wood of the desk.
He knows exactly how to touch me, exactly what I need.
His thumb circles my clit while two fingers slide inside me, and I cry out at the sensation.
“Mikhail,” I gasp. “Please.”
“Please what?” His lips trail down my neck, finding that spot that makes me shiver. “Tell me what you want.”
“You. Inside me. Now.”
He groans, the sound vibrating against my throat.
His fingers withdraw, and I hear the sound of his belt buckle, the rasp of his zipper.
Then he’s positioning himself at my entrance, the head of his cock pressing against me.
“Look at me,” he commands, and I open my eyes to find him watching me with an intensity that steals my breath. “I want to see your face when I make you mine.”
He pushes inside in one smooth thrust, and we both moan at the sensation, my hands lifting to grip his shoulders.
He fills me completely, stretching me in the most delicious way.
For a moment, he stays still, letting me adjust, his forehead pressed against mine.
“You feel incredible,” he whispers. “So tight, so perfect.”
Then he starts to move, slow and deep, each thrust deliberate and controlled.
