Page 23 of Hostage with Benefits'

The words pushed him over the edge. He came with a guttural groan. I clenched around his cock as I shattered around him, mind blank and body begging for more as he held me tightly against him.

But instead of collapsing beside me as he had before, he stayed perfectly still, his cock still hard inside me. When I shifted, he placed a hand on my hip.

“Don’t move,” he commanded. “Keep it all inside you.”

When he finally withdrew, he did so slowly. His cum begin to leak out, but before it could, he was there, gathering it with his fingers and pushing it back inside. The possessiveness with which he ensured his cum remained deep in me sent another wave of pleasure through my body and made my walls clamp around his fingers.

“Perfect,” he murmured, his fingers still working, pushing it deeper. His eyes were fixed on what he was doing, a look of primal satisfaction on his face.

I should have been horrified. I should have pushed his hand away. Instead, I lay there, letting him claim me in this most primitive way, as a strange contentment washed over me.

When he finally looked up, meeting my eyes, I saw that this went beyond lust or possession; it was dangerously close to tenderness and…

We didn’t speak about what had just happened. He simply pulled me against him, his hand resting possessively on my stomach.

Eventually, we disentangled ourselves, cleaning up with the efficiency of people deliberately avoiding a deeper conversation. I showered, and by the time I emerged from his bathroom, wrapped in a towel, he had changed into fresh clothes and was sitting on the bed, staring at his phone.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

He looked up, his expression unreadable. “Fine. Just business.”

We spent the rest of the evening in a strange, domestic bubble: dinner, then an old movie in his private theater, where I fell asleep against his shoulder halfway through. I was carried to his bedroom after that, with his arms strong and sure around me.

I woke the next morning to an empty space beside me where Mikhail had slept all night. Stretching, I contemplated the events of the previous day, particularly the unexpected turn his dirty talk had taken.

It wasjustdirty talk, I told myself firmly. People say crazy things during sex. The fact that I couldn’t stop thinking about the possibility of actually carrying his child, was just hormones and Stockholm syndrome playing tricks on my mind. At least I hoped.

I slid out of bed, intending to find coffee and maybe some perspective, when I heard Mikhail's voice from the office. He was speaking Russian, his tone clipped and professional. I shouldn't have listened. I definitely shouldn't have crept closer to the partially open door.

I caught fragments; there was something about a “shipment” and “delivery.” The conversation was about my father's stolen shipments being returned.

When he switched to English, I froze.

“Yes, today. The exchange is arranged for noon.” A pause. “No, she doesn't know.” Another pause. “That's not your concern. I'll handle it.”

He ended the call, and I barely had time to step back before the door opened fully. Mikhail stood there, already dressed in what I was beginning to think of as his “business attire,” which consisted of a dark suit, a crisp shirt, and the serious look of a man who might get into a fistfight with a business partner.

“You're awake,” he said, seeming unsurprised to find me hovering outside his office.

“I was about to grab coffee. Will you have breakfast with me?” I asked, lyingthrough my teeth.

His eyes narrowed slightly, and I knew he didn't believe me. “I have to go out. Business.”

“Is it my father's shipment? The one you kidnapped me over?”

“Natalia—“

“If you get what you want, does that mean I'm free to go?” The question came out sharper than I'd intended, edged with a fear I didn't want to examine.

Something flickered across his face—regret? Resignation? “It's complicated.”

“Uncomplicate it.”

“I don't have time for this right now.” He moved past me. “Stay here. We'll talk when I get back.”

“What if I don't want to stay? What if I want to leave?”

He paused at the door, looking back at me with an expression I couldn't interpret. “Do you?”

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