“Do you want me to let go?” I ask.
She shakes her head once. A small movement. Desperate.
“No.”
I press my mouth to her ear. “Then keep watching.”
I fuck her with my fingers in slow, deep strokes, my thumb working her clit, my hand around her throat, my body hard behind hers. She watches in the mirror like she can’t look away from herself.
She rides my hand in small, helpless motions, breath catching every time my fingers push deeper. Her tits rise and fall under the loose neckline of her dress, nipples still hard from my touch.
I feel her getting close. Her body tells me before she does, the way her fingers claw at my sleeve.
“Don’t close your eyes,” I say.
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“I can’t,” she says again, voice breaking.
I tighten my hand slightly at her throat, just enough to bring her focus back to me.
Her eyes fly open.
“Come for me, baby,” I whisper.
She comes apart.
It starts with a sharp inhale. Then her whole body locks around my fingers, tight and hot, and she cries out before biting it back too late. Her hips buck into my hand. Her eyes stay open, wet and dazed in the mirror, watching herself come while I hold her throat and fuck her through it.
She’s beautiful like this.
I slow only when she starts trembling too hard to stand. My hand leaves her throat first. Then I slide my fingers out of her and hold her steady with both arms around her waist.
For a moment, the only sound is her breathing. She looks at me in the mirror, face flushed, hair coming loose, breasts half-bared, dress twisted around my arm.
I lift my wet fingers to my mouth and taste her. Her eyes widen. I hold her gaze while I do it.
“Yaromir,” she whispers.
There’s shock in her voice.
And want.
My cock is hard enough to hurt. Every part of me wants to bend her over the sink, push that dress higher, and take her until she forgets Dmitri ever existed.
But not here. Not in a side room outside a ballroom while half the city waits for a crack in her dignity.
I lower my hand and fix her dress, covering her breasts with more care than I feel.
She turns in my arms, still panting. “You’re stopping again?”
The accusation in her voice nearly makes me smile.
“Not stopping,” I say.
Her brows pull together.
