Page 68 of Married to the Don (Kornilov Bratva Duet 1)

Old habits die hard, I suppose.

However, my thoughts are pulled from my spacious closet to the much more present matter of my breast being enveloped by Viktor’s mouth.

His tongue swirls around me, flicking and teasing, urging small moans out of me. Then there is a sharp burst of pain. I cry out and raise my hand to slap Viktor and his teeth away from me, but before I can, his tongue eases the pain, replacing it with pleasure. I rest back against the wall, relaxing enough that I don’t care at all when Viktor tears the scraps of T-shirt off my body with his one available hand and his teeth like he’s a wild animal.

As much as I hate to admit it, Viktor is right. We have no lack of physical chemistry.

When my shirt is hanging from my shoulders in shreds, his hand smooths down my stomach and lower, fighting with the button on my jeans.

I want his hand there. I want his fingers inside of me more than I can describe, and that is exactly why I shove him away and unhook my legs from around his back.

Viktor’s brow is furrowed in confusion, but I sink to my knees in front of him and watch it change to raw, primal desire as I unfasten his pants and wrap my hand around his length.

This is a consummation. But more than that, it’s a surrender.

Clearly, Viktor planned for the house to be empty, for us to be alone to do this. If I give in without any fight, if I let him have me however he wants, then I’m giving up.

As I pull him free of his boxers and swirl my tongue around the very tip of him, however, I am claiming some kind of power. Viktor may have the money and the influence and the muscle, but I’m not entirely without recourse. I can make him pay where it counts. I can refuse to surrender here. Now.

I take him into my mouth inch by glorious inch until I can’t take anymore. Viktor releases a long sigh and presses his hand against the wall for stability. I look up and see him watching me with hooded eyes. When I slide to the end of him and then back down to the base, his lids flutter closed and his mouth moves in a silent curse.

“Molly…” he groans, tipping his head back and thrusting softly against my lips.

My name in his mouth feels like a surrender, and I fight back a smile as I run my tongue along the rough edges of him. I move to take him in again, but suddenly he pulls away, leaving me falling slightly forward in anticipation.

Before I can right myself, Viktor falls to his knees in front of me and grabs my hair in his hand, wrapping it around his fingers. When his mouth lands on mine, it’s hot and soft, and his tongue swirls between my lips, flicking the roof of my mouth.

My eyes blink closed, and I sigh, losing myself in the kiss. But just as I reach out to drag my fingers across his stubbled jaw, his mouth is gone.

Using my hair as a handhold, Viktor directs me to the floor. Usually, I’d insist we find a bedroom lest someone from his staff find us in the hallway, but I know they’re gone. Even if they weren’t, the words feel far away. All words do.

Viktor’s tongue draws a line down the center of my body while he deftly removes my pants and my panties in one go. With strong fingers, he peels the denim from my calves, his pinky dragging along the arch of my foot as I’m finally freed from the denim.

I open my legs immediately, letting my knees fall apart, and I smile at the stupefied look on Viktor’s face. He studies my willing form for a long second as though memorizing it, and just when I think he’s going to give in and dive between my legs, he wraps his hand around my left knee and rolls me to my side.

It feels like waves pushing against a helpless boat in the ocean as Viktor wraps his hands around my waist and drags my hips up, up, up.

No. Not like this.

He’s meant to surrender to me. This is my war to win.

I open my mouth to complain, but then I feel the press of him between my legs. The warm hardness teases my opening, and any understanding I once had of the English language is gone. I know only want and desire and need.

I arch my back as he presses into me, sheathing himself entirely within my body in one stroke.

It is the killing blow. The one that undoes any willpower I may have had.

Viktor grips my hips harder, pulling me against him until I’m not sure where I end and he begins. His cheek rests on my back for a moment, and I feel his deep breath. As though this is the first breath of fresh air he has had in years. It is a quiet, tender moment that snaps the moment he lifts his head, drags himself out of me, and then plunges back in.

He sets a crushing pace that still isn’t enough. I tilt my hips to ensure a deeper connection and reach behind me to grip his muscled thighs, to feel the way his body flexes and works with every thrust.

Our breathing grows more and more ragged with every thrust, and when I think I might pass out from the sheer lack of oxygen, Viktor slips his hand from my waist and finds my center. His fingers dip into my warmth and then flick across the sensitive bundle between my thighs.

I groan with breath I don’t have.

He circles his fingers over me, pinching and massaging and coaxing until one word returns to my vocabulary.

“Yes.”

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