Page 117 of The Pucking Arrangement

Because I’m going back to the city in a week. Because I’m just the temporary nanny who let things get too complicated.

“Never mind.” I force a smile. “Of course I’ll come.”

Ris squeals, throwing her arms around me. “Yes! We’re gonna have so much fun! Can we wear matching outfits? Like at the concert?”

Something sharp tugs in my chest. It’s so easy to fall into this life. To want it more than my dreams.

“Ris,” Dmitri says smoothly, breaking the moment. “Go get dressed. Then we’ll make breakfast.”

She bounces off the bed, already chattering about matching sundresses, completely oblivious to the charged silence she leaves behind.

The second she’s gone, Dmitri moves.

One moment I’m sitting up in bed, still dazed, the next I’m pressed against the headboard, his massive frame caging me in.

His hands plant on either side of my head, his body radiating heat, his eyes dark and demanding. There’s nowhere to look but at him.

“What’s wrong?” His voice is a low thunder.

I shake my head quickly. “Nothing. I just?—”

His mouth crashes into mine, swallowing whatever flimsy explanation I was about to give him. The kiss is brutal and possessive—five days of missing me condensed into one devastating touch. His beard scrapes my skin as he deepens it, his tongue sweeping past my lips, tasting, claiming.

His hand moves down my body, his warm palm cupping my throbbing center.

“It seems to me you need some attention,” he rumbles, then slides his hand into my panties. I gasp, then melt into his touch, relief and want washing over me all at the same time.

I should stop this. Talk to him. But how am I supposed to think when his fingers stroke over me with that slow, knowing rhythm, like he’s playing an instrument he’s already mastered? When five days of tension is unraveling all at once, leaving me raw and shaking under his touch?

“Soaked,” he grumbles, sliding his finger up and down my opening. I dissolve beneath him. My hands fist in his hair, pulling him closer, my body arching to meet his. Because this is what I’ve been missing. The way he consumes me. The way he makes me live in the moment, forgetting everything else.

He breaks the kiss, but his hand is still between my legs, still caressing me, still unraveling me. Our foreheads touch, our breaths mingling, harsh and uneven, his mouth swallowing my needy whimpers. “Try again. What’s wrong?”

“Dmitri...”

“You need me. You want me.” His fingers slide deeper, and I arch, my breath hitching, pleasure coiling in my belly.

“I can’t have enough of you,” I whimper, my nails biting into his shoulders. This was supposed to be light. Casual. I never meant to get this deep. But he’s looking at me like I belong to him. Like he’s been starving for me.

This was never casual for him. I need to ask him.

“Dmitri.”

I force his name past my lips, desperate to regain some control.

His fingers slow, but they don’t stop.

“Yes,solnyshko?” His voice is a whisper.

I swallow hard.

“Sophie told me…” I trail off, nerves twisting in my stomach.

His brow furrows.

“Told you what?”

Now is my chance. I should just ask. Say the words. Call him out.

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