Page 23 of Stolen By the Don

My thighs press together harder as his thumb rubs circles inches away from my clit, starting a fire from the friction between my panties and his touch. A whimper slips past my lips as his fingers slide lower, cupping.

My knees buckle when Roman grazes my neck with his teeth, his mouth sucking on my skin.

“Please.” I don’t know when the word escapes, but it does, like a needy prayer.

“Please, what?” he rasps. “Touch you? Feel that?” His thumb pushes, and my knees almost give way. “Feel how your body’s already giving up on you? You’re soaking wet, Bella.Moya koshka.Don’t fight it.”

Even if I wanted to, I can’t. I need him in places I shouldn’t let him into. I want him so much I feel like I might break apart if he lets go.

I want Roman as much as I hate him.

“I can picture it,” he whispers in my ear. “You—against the wall. Your legs spread and your body quivering as my tongue settles on your clit. Then on my bed, on your hands and knees as I fuck you from behind. You’re going to take it, aren’t you?”

I make a strangled sound as my head bobs.

“I know you will.” I feel him smile against my neck as his hand pulls my shorts lower, dragging my panties with them. I jerk, grabbing and digging my fingers into his arm, and he thrusts a finger into me.

Then there’s a knock on the door.

“Mr. Volkov?”

It’s Polina. My eyes go wide like saucers as I glance over my shoulder. The door is locked, thankfully. I have no idea when that happened, but if she had walked in and seen me like this…I might’ve begged the floor to open and swallow me.

I start to say something, but Roman is quick to cover my mouth. He shakes his head. “Shh. Be quiet, Bella. I still have use for you.”

He leaves me standing there, half-turned, heart racing, thighs clenched, as he strides naked to the door with all the arrogance of a god.

“Yes?” he says, voice calm, composed, like I’m not standing behind him on fire.

I barely hear her response. It’s muffled, something about dinner arrangements or the car, maybe both. Roman replies with a longer answer, although his tone is clipped, like the bare minimum politeness she deserves.

And at that moment, it hits me.

What the hell am I doing here?

I blink, fresh shame prickling my skin like ice water. My hands move quickly, yanking my top straight and adjusting my shorts like it might salvage what little dignity I still have.

When he closes the door and turns back, I can’t look at him. I can’t face him.

“I—uh—I should go,” I mutter, voice tight, eyes locked on the floor as I rush past him.

Roman doesn’t bother convincing me to stay. It’s almost as if he’s come to the same conclusion. I don’t wait to find out.

I just run.

I keep running, ignoring Polina’s glance as I pass her, until I end up in my room. My chest is burning from the rush of adrenaline, and I slide to the floor, hitting rock bottom with a thud.

“What was that?!” I yell, mostly to myself, because I should’ve made a turn the moment I walked in and saw him. I should’ve hightailed it out of there like my tail had caught fire.

I let him touch me.

The same day I said I was never going to forgive him, I let Roman touch me.

And the stupid headache that had me stumbling around is gone.

“I could’ve just waited it out,” I moan. I don’t think I can face him again. That’s it. I was going to work out a killer revenge plan, but at this point, my self-inflicted death might be enough.

The startling, unexpected knock on the door slams my soul out of my body for a split second before I hear Polina’s voice.

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