Page 80 of His Stolen Bride

His mouth curves, small and dangerous. “Tonight, I do.”

He leans in again, and his hands move to the button of my jeans, then he pauses, eyes holding mine, giving me one last chance to pull away.

I don’t.

His fingers start to undo it, and his mouth drops to my throat as the first button slips free.

Then the door handle outside rattles once, softly, like someone tested it and stopped, and my whole body goes tight.

Mikhail stills, his head lifting, his eyes snapping to the door.

23

MIKHAIL

Ifreeze with my fingers on her second button, and the pistol grip is still warm in my waistband as the rattle comes again, a soft scrape outside the door. Alina’s body locks under me and her thighs clamp my hips, so I lift my head from her throat and snap my eyes to the door, but no voices follow and no footsteps come, only the shop’s hum.

I pull back slowly and keep one hand on her waist to hold her steady, and she breathes fast with her eyes wide on mine as I tell her to stay. My other hand dips inside my coat and draws the suppressed Makarov, and I rack it silently while thumbing the safety off.

She nods with parted lips and a sharp rise to her chest, and I step away with my shirt open over my ink as I move to the door and press my ear against the wood. There is silence, so I twist the lock and crack the door an inch with the pistol raised, and the hallway is empty, yellow light spilling from the kitchen door twenty feet down while the owner is nowhere in sight. I scan and listen, and it is clear.

I shut the door and the lock clicks back into place, and when I turn to her she is perched on the edge of the couch with her jeans unbuttoned and her zipper half down, her legs bare from the knees up where her shirt rides. Heat pulls at me hard, so I tell her it’s clear.

“You carry that?” she asks, her voice tight.

“Always,” I say, and I tuck the pistol into the small of my back and cover it with my shirt before stepping to her and gripping her chin, my thumb brushing her lip. “Want out? Say it.”

Her hand clamps around my wrist and she says no.

I yank her jeans down and she lifts her hips to help me, and the denim slides over her skin and past her knees as she kicks her shoes free and her socks bunch inside them. The jeans hit the floor, and her panties are black lace with a thin strip soaked at the center, so I hook my fingers in the sides and pull them off slowly. She lifts again and her thighs part wide, pubic hair trimmed short and lips pink and slick.

She stares at me, breathing in short pulls, and I drop to my knees between her legs, set my hands on her inner thighs, and push them open flat. Her scent hits me, musk and heat, and I lean in to lay my tongue flat on her clit and lick up slowly, which makes her jerk as her hands grab my hair.

“Mikhail,” she gasps.

I lick again and circle the nub firmly, and her hips buck as I pin one thigh down and hold her still. I suck her clit in and graze it lightly with my teeth, and she moans low as her fingers tighten in my hair. I slide my tongue down and push inside her, and wet heat coats my mouth while she tastes sharp with salt.

Her legs shake, so I add two fingers and curl them upward to stroke the spot inside her, and she arches with her back lifting off the couch as she hisses fuck.

I pump my fingers steadily and lap fast at her clit, and her walls clench while juices run down my hand. She pulls my hair hard. “God, don’t stop!”

Chuckling hoarsely, I suck harder while thrusting my fingers deep. I couldn’t stop if my life depended on it. Her thighs clamp around my head and she comes shaking, her cry muffled in her arm as fluids gush onto my tongue. I lick through it and slow her down.

I pull back and wipe my mouth on my sleeve before standing, and she slumps with glassy eyes and a heaving chest. I unbuckle my belt and pull my zipper down, and my cock springs free, hard and thick with a vein pulsing along it as precum beads at the tip.

Her eyes drop to it and she licks her lips. “Come here.”

I step close and she grabs the base and strokes once, her hand warm and tight as I groan low. She leans forward, opens her mouth, and takes the head in, her tongue swirling as she sucks slowly. I fist her hair and hold her still while she bobs and takes half of me down her throat, gagging softly before pulling back with spit stringing to the tip.

“Alina,” I say, my voice rough.

She looks up at me with her eyes locked on mine and sinks deeper, her cheeks hollowing as her hand pumps the base. My balls tighten, so I pull out and slap her cheek lightly with my cock, and she gasps with her mouth open.

“Up.”

I haul her to her feet, spin her, and bend her over the arm of the couch, and her ass lifts as her back arches. Her shirt rides to her ribs and she wears no bra, her tits hanging free, so I slap one ass cheek and watch it bloom pink. She yelps and pushes back.

“Harder,” she says.