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Yuriy’s eyes dragged up my body like his gaze alone was enough to bruise.

“You are… obscene,” he said, voice thick. “Look at you. All that power in a skirt you let me pick out. If you kneel for me like that, I swear I’ll⁠—”

I turned.

And he broke.

A strangled groan left him, head tipping back, thighs tensing under the fabric of his jeans.

“You’re going to kill me,” he breathed.

“No. I want you alive for everything I’m going to do to you.”

His chest lifted sharply, anticipation crackling across his skin.

I walked to him with slow, deliberate steps, the skirt swaying around my thighs, my cock hard and pushing against the jockstrap with each movement. By the time I reached him, he looked fevered—cheeks flushed, mouth parted, wrists flexing uselessly against the silk binding.

I stopped in front of him, held his gaze, then sank to my knees. His breath punched out of him in one sharp exhale as if I’d just taken his soul straight out of his chest.

The skirt pooled around my thighs as I settled between his legs, staring up at him from the only position that ever made him go silent.

His voice broke, low and ruined.

“Stas… lyubov’, you kneel for me like that, and I’ll confess every crime I’ve ever committed just to keep you there.”

I rested my hands on his knees and slid them slowly down the inside of his thighs. His cock strained against his jeans. He trembled. I leaned forward to breathe against him. “All I want is what’s mine.”

He made a noise, rough, helpless, surrendering.

I loved that sound.

I lived for it.

I lowered my head, lips brushing the denim stretched tight over him. Yuriy shuddered so hard the couch creaked beneath him.

“Stanislav…” he whispered, voice shaking. “Take me apart.”

I smiled.

“I intend to.”

YURIY

Jesus Christ.

I could barely breathe.

By the time Stas dropped to his knees in that skirt—my skirt, the one I’d bought him as a reminder of last Christmas but which he’d refused to wear—I was already fighting not to embarrass myself. My pulse was everywhere at once, a desperate, thudding rush under my skin. Every shallow drag of air felt like trying to inhale through fire.

And Stas…

God.

He didn’t even have to touch me. Just watching him kneel like that, power wrapped in submission, he offered only to me, nearly finished me.

He slid his hands up my thighs, slow, deliberate, claiming. My whole body jerked. Heat slammed through my spine so hard my vision blurred.

“Stas,” I said, voice breaking. “Please…”