Page 61 of The Pakhan’s Stolen Bride

I grab her by the waist, my fingers digging into the soft knit of her black sweater, and hoist her onto the center of the desk.

She lets out a short, startled gasp, her hands flying to my shoulders to steady herself as her heels click against the dark wood. She’s sitting on the edge, her legs parting naturally to accommodate my bulk as I step between her thighs. The grey afternoon light from the French doors catches the flush on her cheeks, her hazel eyes wide, dark, and completely focused on my mouth.

"Ilya..." Her voice is a breathless, shallow thread. "We have a meeting with the captains in ten minutes."

"They can wait," I rasp, my hands sliding under the hem of her sweater, my rough palms flat against the warm, bare skin of her waist. "Let them sit in the foyer and wonder why the Pakhan is late."

"You're a brute," she whispers, but her fingers are already tangling in the dark hair at the nape of my neck, pulling me down toward her.

"I am," I agree, my mouth sealing over hers.

I part her lips with my tongue, tasting her, devouring her with a quiet focus that leaves her whimpering against my mouth. She wraps her legs tightly around my waist, her bare ankles locking behind my back, her body pulling me as close as the wool of our clothes will allow.

I pull back slowly, my breath hot against her lips, my hand rising to cup her face. "You saved him today, Via."

She blinks through the haze of the kiss, her eyes searching mine. "I saved your five million."

"You saved your father," I say, my thumb tracing her bottom lip. "And you did it with a laptop and twenty minutes of work. If I had known you were this dangerous, I would have doubled the guard on your bedroom a month ago."

"You would have tried," she says, a tiny, sassy spark returning to her voice. "But I would have found a way out anyway."

"Probably," I say, a faint, dark amusement flickering in my eyes.

I reach for the hem of her black sweater, my hands working fast as I pull the heavy wool over her head and toss it onto the leather chair behind us.

She’s wearing a simple white lace bra, her pale skin goosebumped in the cool draft from the window. I look at her breasts, the soft curve of her collarbone, and the deep, dark purple mark I’d left on her neck at breakfast. It looks like a brand, a permanent marker that tells the entire world she belongs in this room, with me.

I drop to my knees on the floor between her thighs, my hands sliding down to her black leggings.

She watches me, her breath coming in short, rapid gasps as I slowly slide the fabric down her legs, pulling them over her feet and tossing them aside. I strip off her white lace panties, leaving her completely bare on the dark, polished mahogany of the desk.

The contrast is overwhelming. Her small, pale, and incredibly soft body resting on the hard, dark wood where I usually sign execution orders and shipping manifests. She looks like a temple I’m finally being allowed to enter.

I reach out, my fingers gently parting the soft fold of her sex.

She is soaking wet, the sweet, slippery syrup of her arousal already coating her inner thighs. She lets out a quiet, trembling sigh as my hand touches her, her head tossing back against the leather blotter behind her.

"Ilya... please..."

"I’m going to make you scream, Via," I murmur, my voice low and flat. "I want everyone in this house to know exactly what we’re doing in here."

I lean down, my mouth pressing directly against her wet, throbbing clit.

She arches off the desk with a loud, breathless shriek, her fingers instantly clawing at the dark wood on either side of her hips. Her body is shaking, her thighs trembling against my shoulders as I lick her slowly, my tongue sweeping upward over her nub with a hard, steady pressure. I don't go fast. I take my time, my hands wrapping around her hips to hold her steady as I drink her wetness, my tongue driving into her tight, slippery channel before coming back up to tease her clit.

"Ilya! No, I’m... I can't..." She’s thrashing her head against the desk, her wrists pulling against nothing as she tries to find purchase on the smooth wood. "I’m close..."

I don't stop. I slide my fingers inside her, matching the frantic, rolling rhythm of her hips, my thumb putting a relentless, heavy pressure on her swollen nub.

"Let it go, Via," I growl against her wet skin, my voice a deep, vibrating rumble that she can feel in her bones. "Give it to me."

"Ilya!"

She shatters. Her body goes completely rigid on the desk, her head tossing back as she screams, her wetness clamping down around my fingers. Her release flows over my hand in a hot, soaking wave, and I drink her, my tongue devouring her climax, my mouth sealing over her wet skin until her sobs turn into soft, panting gasps.

I pull my hand back, my fingers slick with her juices, and crawl back up her body.

I stand up, my hands going to my belt. I unbuckle the heavy leather, the metallic click of the brass buckle loud in the quiet study. I strip off my trousers and briefs, letting them pool on the rug, my cock springing free—thick, rigid, and throbbing with a painful, heavy ache.