Page 8 of Pregnant By the Russian Pakhan

He shrugged, “I couldn’t very well leave you in the club clutching my jacket and shivering like a drowned chick, now could I?”

It wasn’t a very flattering description, but it made Mira’s lips quiver with laughter. Remembering, she whipped the jacket off her shoulders and handed it to him. “Thank you, Mikhail. I’m warm now.”

He took the jacket immediately. Something raw and naked slashed across his features. Mira frowned. “Is something wrong?”

He shook his head as he tossed the jacket onto the seat beside him. “I always remember my mom when I see that jacket. That was the last thing she bought for me before…”

His voice trailed off, and for the first time since she’d met him, he looked vulnerable and lost. Oh, he had loved his mother, Mira thought, compassion melting her heart as she realized they had this in common. They had both loved and lost their mothers.

Unable to help herself, Mira felt compassion unfurl like a precious little flower in her heart. Suddenly, Mikhail seemed even more relatable and likable than before. She wanted very badly for him to make love to her. Not for her father, and not for anything else. She wanted him to forget his pain in her arms and she wanted him to make her feel like a woman.

Before she could think better of it, she slid across the expanse of leather separating them, crossing over to his own seat. He looked at her in surprise. She didn’t give him a chance to speak. She grabbed his shirtfront and pulled him in, melding his lips with hers exactly as she’d seen it happen in movies.

Being twenty-three and having never been kissed was not something she’d ever really thought about, but as his lips firmly covered hers, Mira realized she had never felt anything like this ever before. Warm tendrils of desire shot through her and she clung to him.

He groaned against her lips and whispered, “You’re so sweet. I wanted to eat you the very moment I saw you.”

Then he deepened the kiss, his tongue thrusting and stroking hers until every last one of her toes curled. She clung to him shakily as he kissed her with slow, unhurried movements and obvious expertise. Her fingers tangled in the hair at his nape, drawing him even closer. One of his hands lifted to boldly cover her breasts and she arched into his touch in helpless reaction.

“What are you doing to me, Mira? You’re driving me crazy,” he groaned as he bent his head to stroke the rough velvet of his tongue against her nipple through her dress.

He’s the one driving me crazy, she thought wildly as she let her hands drift down to his chest, which was firm against her hands. Everything about him was intensely masculine and addictive. He was so warm, he smelled so good, and he was doing something to her insides that made her want to tear off her clothes and his.

She matched action to her thoughts, unbuttoning his shirt and trying to slip it off his shoulders.

His hands grabbed hers, forcing her to stop as he lifted his head. “Please don’t do this, Mira. I don’t think I’m noble enough to stop.”

She shook her head. “Why would you want to stop? I want you to…to make love to me. Now.”

His eyes widened as though in disbelief. “Mira, do you know what you’re saying?”

She nodded as she urgently shoved the shirt off his shoulders. “I want you, Mikhail.” Uncertainty shot through her and then she slowed and looked up at him. “Unless—unless you don’t want me?”

He chuckled and carried her hand to his crotch. Her eyes widened in disbelief as she felt how huge he was through his pants. Excitement zinged along her nerve endings as realization hit. He did want her, then.

Hesitantly, she looked toward the driver. “He can’t hear us, can he?”

Mikhail shook his head. “This is a limousine. The partition’s up.”

He bent his dark head and caressed her neck with his lips, drifting lower to kiss the tops of her breasts. Mira moaned as pleasure ricocheted through her.

His lips drifted lower still until they fastened onto the hard nubs of her nipples. Mira gasped and clung harder to him, her pulse racing as he drove her wild with his mouth. His tongue stroked gently against her nipple and moisture pooled between her legs as she clung to him.

She was fast losing every last trace of reasoning.

“Yes! Yes! Oh, yes, don’t stop,” she kept moaning as she pressed against him.

He dipped one hand beneath the short hem of her dress and Mira stilled in half-terror. No one had ever touched her there before.

As though he could hear her thoughts, Mikhail gentled his touch until it was barely there as he slid his fingers into the soft nectar of her pussy. His slight touch flicked against the tip of her clitoris and the top of Mira’s head almost came off.

He began to stroke her, driving her wild as his finger flicked this way and that against the tiny nub of pleasure.

Mira spread her legs as wide as they would go, needing more of his touch. The motion threw her back against the seat as the limousine turned a corner roughly.

Mikhail grabbed her to steady her and then his finger flicked against the intercom as he barked, “Find a place to park and make yourself scarce.”

He flicked off the intercom and then turned his attention back to her. Mira felt a tiny spurt of uneasiness as she watched him. Just now as he spoke to the driver in rapid Russian, she’d felt almost as though he were a completely different person.

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