Page 65 of Forced to Marry the Russian Pakhan
And he looks back like this moment is a miracle he’s trying not to ruin.
My toes curl against the floor. I’m not even fully aware of the movement, only of the way heat licks up my spine, the waymy chest tightens with need. My hands hang useless at my sides, itching to touch him, to pull him closer.
“Trifon,” I whisper, my eyes darting to his lips.
“We shouldn’t,” I whisper, more to myself than to him, but I’m already leaning in.
“Probably not,” he agrees, his hand sliding up to caress my waist.
We meet in the middle.
And the next thing I know? My wildest desire is coming true.
His mouth is on mine, and it’s so soft at first, so achingly gentle that I feel it in my knees. His hands cradle my face, one on my cheek, the other sliding into my hair, tugging just enough to tilt my head back.
God help me, I want more.
I press into him, hungry now, reckless. My fingers knot in his shirt as his kiss deepens, as his tongue sweeps into my mouth and sets fire to every cell in my body. He tastes like mint, delicious to the core. I want him so badly I can barely think.
Kissing him is like drowning. His hands move to my waist, pulling me flush against him. I can feel every hard plane of his body, the unmistakable length of his cock pressing into me.
I gasp into his mouth as his hands slide down to cup my ass, lifting me slightly. My arms wind around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. It’s desperate, urgent, like we’ve been starving for this.
“Not here,” I manage to say when he starts to push me back against the desk.
He doesn’t argue. Just takes my hand and pulls me toward the door. We move quickly down the hallway, past the reception area, to the last examination room—the one farthest from the entrance, rarely used.
The door slams behind us. Trifon crowds me against it, caging me in with his body. His mouth finds mine again, hungrier now, more demanding. My hands work at his tie, yanking it loose, then move to the buttons of his shirt.
“Too many clothes,” I mutter against his lips.
He chuckles, low and dark. “Agreed.”
His hands find the zipper of my dress, dragging it down with agonizing slowness. The fabric pools at my feet, leaving me in just my bra and panties. His eyes devour me, taking in every inch of naked skin.
“Fuck, look at you,” he growls, hands skimming my sides. “Perfect.”
God, even the way he looks at me feels novel. Like I’m being seen for the first time. I thought the older me would have felt self-conscious. I find myself arching my back, leaning toward him, giving him access to angles and curves meant for no one but him.
I reach for his belt, tugging it open with impatient fingers while he slowly flicks a finger over the breasts spilling out of my bra, like he can’t believe the sight in front of him. His trousers follow next, and then he’s just in his boxer briefs, his cock straining under my gaze.
He growls—a low, primal sound that makes every nerve ending in my body light up like it’s been waiting for this exact frequency. Then he kisses me again. Harder, without any soft edges, and I can’t help but nip at his lower lip.
“Jeez, Yulia.” He bites right back, his hands sliding under my ass, and I gasp as he lifts me clean off the floor like I weigh nothing at all. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively, his cock pressing between my legs, sending a delicious shiver down my spine, and the moment my ass hits the cold edge of the exam table, a breathy moan escapes my lips.
He sits me down on it and parts my legs, my arms still curled around his shoulders. His grip tightens, fingers digging into the soft flesh of my waist as he grinds into me, his hips pressing forward like he can’t get close enough. The friction makes me gasp. My body arches, desperate for more, for all of him. His control is terrifying and beautiful at once—like being caught in a riptide you don’t want to escape.
“God, Yulia,” he mutters against my mouth. “You drive me insane.”
I feel drunk on him. On his voice, his body, his scent.
He kisses gentler now, but there’s nothing gentle about the way he pulls my bra down, exposing my breasts to the cool air and his greedy mouth. He groans as he takes one nipple between his lips, sucking hard, and I cry out, fingers tangling in his hair.
Every touch, every movement, is possessive.
Like he’s claiming me.
And the terrifying part? I want to be claimed. My mind shuts down, all logic drowned beneath the press of his mouth, the graze of his teeth, the way his body cages mine like I belong to him.
