My legs part for him without thought, drawing him closer until I can feel the hard line of him pressing against my core throughour clothes. His hand splays across my lower back, anchoring me while the other threads into my hair, tilting my head so he can deepen the kiss.
I melt into it, my fingers curling tighter in his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer. His tongue strokes mine like he has all the time in the world to learn me. Every slide sends sparks down my spine, pooling warm low in my belly.
This isn’t hate. This isn’t punishment. This feels like… worship, and it terrifies me how much I want it to be true.
He breaks the kiss only to trail his mouth along my jaw and my throat, lingering at the frantic pulse beneath my ear. His breath is warm, ragged now, betraying the control he’s trying desperately to cling to. I arch into him, my hands sliding up to grab his shoulders, then the back of his neck, needing more.
“Sasha,” I whisper.
He answers with a low sound in his chest, almost a growl that quickly soften into something tender. His fingers find the hem of my shirt, pushing it up slowly, his palms skimming over my ribs and my waist until the fabric is gone and tossed aside. Cool air hits my skin, but his hands are there immediately to warm me. They trace every curve possessively.
He unhooks my bra with a single deft motion, tossing it too. His eyes darken when he looks at me, the raw hunger I’d seen days ago there again. But it’s tempered, held back by something a little gentler. His thumb brushes over my nipple, circling slowly until it tightens into a peak. I gasp, my hips rocking forward against him.
He leans in and cups my breast with his hand, his mouth closing over the sensitive bud. His tongue flick around it and pleasurearrows straight through me. I thread my fingers through his hair, holding him there as my head falls back.
“Oh, God.” He’s unraveling me so carefully this time.
His hands move to my waistband next, easing me up off the desk long enough to pull my pants and underwear down my legs until I’m bare beneath his gaze. I should feel exposed, vulnerable on this desk in this room that still carries echoes of our argument. But instead I feel wanted in a way I never have before.
He sinks to his knees in front of me.
The sight of him there, the powerful and dangerous Pakhan on his knees for me, sends a rush of heat racing through my body. His hands slide up my thighs, parting them wider, and then his mouth is on me, warm and soft and impossibly gentle.
The first slow lick makes my hips jerk. I grip the edge of the desk tight. The second draws a broken moan from my throat. He takes his time tasting me, his tongue circling around my clit with exquisite care before dipping lower, pressing inside me and drawing out every slick drop of want.
My hands grip the edge of the desk tighter as pleasure builds in slow, relentless waves. His fingers join his tongue—one, then two—curling just right, stroking that spot that makes my thighs tremble. I’m climbing higher, breath coming in shallow pants, his name a litany on my lips.
“Come for me, Alina,” he whispers against my thigh.
When I do, it rolls through me like a warm tide pulling me under. He stays with me through it, licking softly until the last shudder fades and I’m limp.
Only then does he rise, hands gentle as he presses one of them to my stomach to push me flat against the desk. I rise again anyway, propping myself up on one elbow as I reach for him, my fingers trembling as I undo his belt to free him. He’s hard and hot in my hand, twitching slightly when I run my thumb over his swollen cockhead. The low groan he makes when I stroke him sends a fresh wave of heat spiraling through me.
He wastes no time guiding himself to my entrance, pausing there as the blunt head presses against it. “Alina.”
I wrap my legs around his hips, drawing him in.
“I want you,” I breathe out.
He slides into me slowly inch by inch, eyes never leaving mine. The stretch is perfect, overwhelming in its gentleness. My breath catches, a soft whimper escaping as my body adjusts, clenching around him instinctively. When he’s fully seated, we both still for a moment.
His hands cradles my face, thumb brushing my cheekbones and holding me in place so I can’t look away.
Then he starts to move. Long, deep strokes drag over every sensitive spot inside me, slow enough that I feel every deliberate withdrawal, every unhurried thrust back inside. The friction makes my toes curl, building that heavy, liquid heat again. My hips tilt to meet him, greedy despite the languid pace, each glide nearly makes me come all over again as the pleasure coils tight and sweet in my belly.
“Look at what you do to me,” he whispers.
It’s the first time I’ve ever heard him sound as unraveled as I feel. None of the cold command and iron clad control puttinga wall between us. Just this raw, shaken honesty that slices straight through me. He’s letting me see him.Reallysee him. And God, it’s beautiful and terrifying all at once.
My hands slide up his arms, over the tattoos that color the corded muscle until my fingers tangle in his hair. I pull him closer, kissing him deeply as he keeps that torturously slow rhythm going. His tongue mirrors the motion of his hips, tasting me, claiming me without hurry like we have forever instead of this stolen fragment in time.
I feel my wall fluttering around him already, so close again it’s almost embarrassing how easily he undoes me. His breath hitches against my lips when I tighten and he groans softly.
The sound of it pushes me higher. I wrap my legs tighter around his waist and lean back until I’m laying across the desk, dragging him with me. My heels press into the small of his back, urging him deeper without words. He answers by shifting his angle just slightly, and the next stroke hits that perfect spot inside me steady and relentlessly.
My back arches off the desk as a quiet cry spills out from my mouth, quickly swallowed up by his.
This isn’t just sex. This feels like… a confession. Like he’s trying to tell me something he doesn’t have words for and I’m answering in the only language either of us has left.
