"And I told you, I don't give a damn," he growls. "Not fucking now, Irina."
He grabs the low, draped neckline of my dress. With one sudden downward jerk, the fabric tears down the center, the seams ripping open to my waist, then down to my thighs. The cool air hits my bare skin. I gasp, standing in nothing but my black heels and a tiny scrap of lace.
"You! You are unbelievable," I whisper, my breath catching. "Do you idea how hard it was to find a dress like that?"
"I’ll buy you a thousand more," he murmurs, his dark eyes tracing the curve of my collarbone to my bare breasts. His hands slide up my waist, rough and heavy. "Fucking hell, Irina, I spent the last three hours watching every bastard in that room look at you. I watched Silas stare at your back. I watched Vance try to slide his eyes down your front. I’ve been going out of my mind."
He pins me against the door, his heat swallowing me. His large hands frame my face, thumbs tilting my chin until I have no choice but to look into the blue fire of his eyes.
"Do you trust me, Irina?" he asks, his low voice leaving no room for a lie.
I stare at him, chest heaving. I’ve spent my life surrounded by predators—my father, his enforcers, a system that traded me like a commodity. I’ve never trusted a single soul. But looking at Mikhail—at the bruised jaw he got defending his brother, the raw knuckles from protecting me—the wall in my chest crumbles.
"Yes," I say, the word small but entirely honest. "Yes, Mikhail. I trust you."
He freezes, his jaw tightening, before his eyes darken further. "Good."
He claims my mouth in a dirty, desperate kiss, his tongue sliding past my lips before I can draw a breath. I whimper, wrapping my arms around his neck, my fingers tangling in his dark hair. He tastes of expensive whiskey, his mouth moving with a heavy pressure that makes my knees weak.
He slides his mouth down my jaw to my neck. He bites—just hard enough to make me arch—and sucks a mark into my shoulder that will be bruised by morning.
"Mikhail..." I gasp, my head falling back against the wood.
"I’ve got you," he mumbles against my skin.
He lifts me, my thighs wrapping around his waist, and carries me to the bed. Throwing me onto the silk duvet, he crawls over me before I can scramble back. He yanks his shirt off, buttons popping and clinking against the floor. In the dim light, the serpents and stars tattooed across his chest seem to twist with every breath.
Pinning my wrists beside my head, he traces a wet path from my throat down to my breasts. He cups one side, his fingers digging into my flesh, and takes my nipple into his mouth. The hard, rhythmic suction sends a bolt of electricity straight between my thighs. I cry out, pulling against his grip.
"You're so sensitive," he growls, moving to the other breast, swirling his tongue until I’m squirming. "So beautiful."
"Mikhail, please," I sob, my hips twitching against his. "You're torturing me."
"I've barely started,dorogaya," he murmurs.
His mouth moves lower, trailing over my ribs to my stomach. He stops at the silver scar above my hip. He presses a slow, hot kiss directly against the surgical line, his warm breath fanning my skin. It’s a gesture so intimate, loaded with quiet worship, thatmy eyes sting with tears. He is looking at the part of me I hate, and choosing to stay.
He slides down, grabbing my ankles to pull my legs wide. He hooks my knees over his shoulders, exposing me completely. I try to pull back in a sudden wave of embarrassment, but his grip is iron.
"Don't hide from me," he says, his dark gaze locking onto mine.
He leans down, his hot breath hitting my wetness, and then his tongue finds me.
A shattered gasp tears from my throat as his mouth connects with my clit. He licks me in long, wet strokes that make my fingers claw the sheets. He is ruthless, swirling around the sensitive peak before sucking it into his mouth, his fingers sliding inside my wet heat. The throbbing pressure builds in my gut until I’m shaking from head to toe.
"Mikhail...Gospodi... please," I cry, my hips lifting off the mattress, seeking his mouth.
He doesn't slow down. Growling against my inner thigh, his jaw clenches as he licks and sucks, his fingers working inside me until I’m frantic. He knows exactly how to read my body, pushing me higher until the pleasure turns into a sharp, beautiful ache.
"Come on, Irina," he rasps, his breath hot against my skin. "Let me taste it."
My body convulses. A broken scream escapes me as my climax hits, my muscles clamping around his fingers as wave after wave of heat shatters through me. He doesn't pull away, keeping up the relentless suction through the vibrations until I’m gasping, my head thudding back against the pillows.
He pulls back, his face flushed and lips slick. Standing over me, his trousers already pushed down, his cock springs free—massive, thick, and dark in the shadows. My throat goes dry. I reach out, my hand wrapping around his hot length, my thumb tracing the pulsing vein.
"Let me," I whisper, my voice wrecked. "Mikhail, let me taste you."
He stares at my hand, his chest heaving as if he’s run a marathon, his jaw clenching hard. For a second, I think he’ll yield.
