Page 63 of Brutal Vows

His face is in mine, peering down, his eyes so close, I see the amber flecks in them.

“If you want to make fucking noise on this piano, princess,” he hisses, “let me show you how.”

He lifts me up, spreading my legs, and notes ring out as I shift my butt on the keys, his groin flush with mine, his growing erection pressing against my sex.

He spreads my arms to cling to the raised fallboard behind me, widening my legs, rolling his hips, creating just the right amount of friction for me to gasp.

“Use your words, princess, before I make assumptions here.”

I freeze as his hands spread over my knees, then run the length of my thighs. He dips his head to murmur into my ear, his warm breath sending a rush of goosebumps over my chest.

“Stunned speechless. But fucking talks through the piano. My sweet little bewitching wife. My guess would be someone needs to decompress.”

“More like detonate,” I breathe, knowing there’s no going back. Not to Russia, not to the past, not to a time before Luca.

And I don’t want to go back. Everything these past weeks has built up to this, and my need vibrates through my body, thirsting for him and him alone. But it’s more than that. Everything else fades into the background as he grinds against me. I need him. I want him. For the first time in my life, a man has stirred pure, undiluted lust in me. It might be the need to forget everything else in a moment of passion, but there’s something about Luca beyond this intense desire to give in to him—to give in to myself—and I don’t know what it is.

His hands slide over my hips and underneath my sweater, touching my skin. For all that he’s been forceful in handling me up to this point, he is so tender now, so sensual as he runs his fingertips along my sides, closer to my breasts, underneath the underwire of my bra, that I sink into him and drop my head back.

“Fuck, Milana,” he murmurs as his lips run over the shell of my ear, down to my neck, delivering soft kisses that make me shift on the keys. Jarring chords ring out as I rake my hands into his hair. “Do you want this, princess?”

“Yes,” I beg. “But not on the piano. And not in the lounge with all the cameras everywhere.”

He pulls away, and I stare at him, drugged with lust.

“Nobody’s watching.”

“How do I know that? Nobody trusts anybody,” I counter. “How do you know?”

He drops his forehead to mine. “Because I cut the wires. You’re too fucking tempting, and I’m many things but I’m not a voyeur. In fact, I don’t get to see at all.” He slips a hand from my sweater and lifts it to my chin and makes me look at him. “Except, with you, I want to see everything. I haven’t—” He breaks off, hisses in a breath. “I’m pretty fucked up, princess. And obsessed, because I want to lick, touch, finger, and fuck every part of you.”

For a few seconds, we just stare at each other, our mutual need laid bare. Honesty at last.

“Not on the piano,” I murmur as I press into him, soft notes sounding. “It is, after all, a Steinway concert grand.”

He smirks. “My wife deserves the best.”

His mouth comes down on mine, and it’s a desperate collision of desire, but soon, we’re kissing as if we’ve been yearning for each other for years, not a few weeks. Slow, deep, tender… he is the drug I’ve always wanted to try, scared of the highs it will take me to, knowing I won’t get it again, but God, I can’t stop. I want it all, every day. Like this. Playful. Easy. With a sensuality he walks around with as if it’s his birthright.

When he lifts me off the keyboard, I circle his hips with my legs, my arms going around his neck, kissing him again, refusing to let go.

He carries me all the way to my—our—bedroom as I drown in his words.

Obsessed. Touch. Finger and fuck every part of you.

A girl can dream.

This woman doubts we’re going to get that far.

30

MILANA

I cling to him, to his body which I found intoxicating from the first time I got to touch him, holding on to him for dear life on the motorcycle ride to the yacht. He lifts me up so I can cup his face and we kiss as he walks me to his bedroom.

I want him, every part of him. Why couldn’t he have been an asshole? Why must I crave him to touch me, to need me in turn? All these questions circle in my mind, but I don’t look beyond the lust and the need for release.

“Just make me come once,” I murmur, between kisses, as his legs hit the foot of the bed and he lowers me gently.