Page 124 of Cruel Demands

“I only wanted you ready.”

He stands and removes the rest of his clothes. My courage nearly disappears. He is beautiful, which seems unfair. Hard everywhere, powerful everywhere, and so much larger than the fingers that already made me feel impossibly full.

He sees my expression. “That is not encouraging.”

“I’m thinking.”

“That is usually dangerous.”

“I’m thinking there’s no way that fits.”

His mouth twitches. “It will.”

“That sounded disgustingly confident.”

“I have reason to be confident.”

I throw a pillow at him. “Don’t make me think of other women.”

He catches it without looking and drops it beside the bed. He puts his hands on the mattress and leans forward to kiss me. “I did not mean it like that. Just that—it will fit. You will feel full, but it will fit.”

Then he reaches into the pocket of his discarded coat and takes out a condom.

I blink. “You brought that?”

“I came here intending to seduce you.”

“You came here intending to blackmail me with a voicemail.”

“Not blackmail. You have nothing I want.”

“I don’t?” I spread my legs coyly, and he laughs, ripping open the condom.

He rolls the condom on and lies back on top of me. I feel my laughter die inside my throat, suddenly aware of how I look from this angle and how much softer I am than Mikhail, how muscular he is, how experienced he is, and how painfully obvious it will be that I have no idea what I’m doing.

He kisses my lips softly. “Look at me,” he says.

I do. I reach my hips up, and I expect to need to reach down and guide him inside me, but I don’t. It really is like they say, the most natural thing in the world. I feel the tip of him pressing against the entrance where his fingers just were, and my body pulses around the pressure, resisting him for one breath before slowly opening. I gasp at the sensation, and he watches me, observes me, waiting for something to go awry, waiting for me to express pain or discomfort.

My hands claw at his back as he inches inside me further, the pressure making my body tense automatically.

He stops. “Breathe.”

I glare at him. “I am breathing.”

“Taylor.” He takes hold of my cheeks and kisses each of them. “Breathe deep from your diaphragm. Try to push me away with your belly.” I do, and he nods. “Good girl. You are safe with me,” he says quietly. The words hurt after everything, but I nod anyway. “Do you believe me?” I do. “Slovami,” he reminds me.

“I’m safe.”

“With me.”

I swallow. “With you.”

He pushes forward slowly. The stretch is immediate, sharp enough to pull a sound from my throat. I grip his arms. I don’t know how much more of him there is. It feels never-ending, the crawling of his length, the slick glide of the condom.

He moves another inch, then pauses, allowing the discomfort to fade before going farther. It is not graceful. It is not effortless. My body resists him, and there’s a burning pressure that makes my eyes water.

Mikhail notices everything. He kisses the corner of one eye. “You can hurt me,” he says.