Page 36 of Hostage with Benefits'

He turned me in his arms, expression suddenly serious. “Any regrets?”

I considered the question honestly. Three weeks ago, I'd been a burnt-out graphic designer with crushing student debt and an empty apartment. Now I was married to a Russian criminal who looked at me as if I hung the stars at night.

By any rational measure, I should be having a complete mental breakdown about all of this.

Instead, I was strangely... content. Certain in a way I hadn't been about anything in years.

“Only that we had to come all the way here,” I said finally.

His eyes darkened with memory. “We will return home tomorrow.”

“Home,” I repeated, testing the word. “Is that what the mansion is now going to be for me?”

“Yes, and home for me is now wherever you are, Natalia.” The simple sincerity made my heart ache.

“That was almost romantic, Mr. Volkov.”

“I have my moments, Mrs. Volkov.”

His hands made quick work of my wedding dress. It slid to the ground, leaving me in the lingerie I'd bought in a rush specially for tonight.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, eyes traveling over me with naked appreciation. “My wife.”

I reached for him, undoing the buttons of his shirt with unsteady fingers.

“Husband,” I replied, testing the word on my tongue. “That's also going to take some getting used to.”

“We have time.” He captured my hands, bringing them to his lips. “A lifetime.”

He guided me backward until my legs hit the bed. He urged me to sit, then kneeled before me. My breath caught as he hooked his fingers in the waistband of my panties, sliding them down my legs slowly.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he said, his accent thicker with desire. “Having you as my wife.Making it official.”

His hands parted my thighs, thumbs stroking the sensitive skin of my inner legs. I shivered under his touch, already embarrassingly wet just from this.

“Mikhail,” I breathed, reaching for him.

He caught my hands, pressing them back against the mattress. “Not yet. Tonight, we do this my way.”

“Your way?”

His smile was predatory. “Yes, I will take my time.” His thumb brushed against my core, a feather-light touch, making me whimper. “Until you say exactly what I want to hear.”

“And what’s that?” I asked, breathing hard already.

“You’ll know when you say it.” He lowered his head, pressing a kiss to my inner thigh. “Think of it as a game.”

Before I could respond, his mouth was on me, his tongue tracing through my folds. I arched against him, a moan escaping me at the sensation.

He knew my body already: where to lick, when to suck, exactly how much pressure would drive me wild without making me cum. It was exquisite torture, being brought to the precipice only to have him pull back just as release seemed imminent.

“Please,” I gasped after the third time he’d denied me, my hands fisted in the sheets.

He looked up at me, chin wet with my arousal. “Please what, Mrs. Volkov?”

“Let me come.”

His smile was wicked. “Not until I hear what I’m waiting for.”

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