I can feel the frantic beating of his heart through my ribcage like an echoing drum.
God, this is what heaven feels like.
Finally, he positions himself against me and enters me with one long, tortuously deep thrust.
A quiet gasp escapes me, overwhelmed by the heat and fullness of him inside me. It feels like our souls align the deeper he goes as my body surrenders completely to him.
Leonid buries his face in the crook of my neck and lets out a low, shuddering groan, his entire body trembling as he pushes in deeper. He stays perfectly still for a heartbeat before he glances at me.
“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are, ptichka?”
I swallow hard, our breaths mingling in the quiet space between us. “A few times.”
“You’re beautiful, Elena,” he mutters in a voice that’s barely audible. Then he begins to move inside me. “So beautiful I can hardly think when you’re with me. So beautiful that I can’t imagine a life without you.”
“Leonid…”
He moves fluidly, curling his fingers around my neck and kissing me deeply. Passionately. As if he’s desperate for me to feel all the emotions he can’t bring himself to voice.
His hands slide down my neck, mapping the line of my collarbones before tracing the curve of my waist and lifting my hips to meet his deep, possessive strokes.
There’s no roughness here, only a desperate, heavy tenderness that makes my eyes sting with unshed tears.
Every touch feels like a language he’s never been allowed to speak, a confession of his love carved into my skin.
I tighten my legs around his hips, pulling him deeper, burying my face in his shoulder as my climax builds.
This time, it’s not a sudden explosion I feel surging inside of me.
It’s a slowly rising tide that threatens to pull us under.
And neither of us can resist its force.
Chapter Twenty-One
Leonid
I’m halfway through a meeting when I realize Elena hasn’t replied to any of my texts all day.
While her silence is longer than usual today, she’s usually so engrossed with work that she barely remembers to reply to her texts every few hours.
With everything going on, I find her lack of response frustrating. Maybe even scary, and my cock throbs at all the ways I’m going to punish her for making me worry when she gets home tonight.
I’ve spent twenty years building an empire. Men twice my age have failed to intimidate me. Rivals have tried to kill me more times than I can count.
And somehow a twenty-one-year-old woman not answering my texts has me distracted.
I tug on the knot of my tie.Pathetic.
Ever since our argument in my office yesterday and the reconciliation that followed, she’s occupied an embarrassing amount of space in my thoughts.
I should be focused on the reports spread across the conference table. Instead, I keep remembering the look on her face when she realized what she’d said and how she moaned my name while I fucked her.
A small smile tugs at the corner of my lips.
I swear that woman will be the death of me someday. I knew it from the first day I saw her, and I also know I’d drink from her cup even knowing it’s poisoned.
Bozhe moy!
