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Pasha reaches up to cradle my face in his hands. I’ve never been so held by a man before. Revered. Worshiped, really–that’s the only word for it. It makes my heart race in ways it has no business doing.
“You are so fucking beautiful. Do you know that?”
On a logical level, I know I’m not the ugliest duckling. I’ve got most of my features in the right places, more or less. Two eyes, a nose, a mouth, all that good stuff.
Did Conrad ever take the time to tell me that?
… Not so much.
At the reminder of everything else that’s happened today, my cheeks burn with shame. I try to look away, but Pasha keeps holding me in place. I try to lower my gaze, but he kisses my eyelids and my heart instantly hurts.
I want him.
I want him to want me.
But…
“I can’t. Do this, I mean.” I brace my hands against his chest. His very solid, very warm, very carved chest. “I can’t fraternize with a client.”
Pasha regards me for a moment. “You may not remember this, but you just burnt the only bridge between me being a client and not. I officially own nothing that was purchased here.”
He smells incredible. Like leather and wood and sex. It’s intoxicating, paired with the sound of his deep voice.
“So that doesn’t matter anymore,” he continues. “Nothing does. Nothing but you and me. Right here. Right now. So…” His thumb rubs my bottom lip. “What’s it going to be, moya plamya?”
The part of me determined to be a good girl scolds me for even being in this backroom with him.
The rest of me tells that part to shut the fuck up and kiss him already.
Our lips collide. Pasha’s chest rumbles with a pleased growl. I start popping buttons open so I can feel his bare skin beneath my fingers. He’s a literal wall of muscle and heat and I sense his heart racing underneath my palm.
I want to taste him.
Every. Last. Inch. Of. Him.
His hands envelop me as he caresses my body, so far up beneath my dress I have half a mind to rip the damn thing off. I feel his fingers smooth up my waist and stroke my back… and then my bra pops open.
My eyes widen with surprise. That was smooth.
Pasha breaks away from our kiss to look at me.
“Is the door locked?” I pant.
He nods. But then that grin widens as he peels my dress up and over my head. “Would it matter if it wasn’t?”
“What do you mean? Of course it would?—”
Another kiss. Another embrace. By the time we separate, I’m practically naked in his arms, my hardened nipples rubbing against his bare chest as he sucks on my tongue and starts to slide my panties down my legs.
And then he’s pushing me down, his mouth trailing hot kisses down my jaw and neck to the valley between my breasts as he lays me out on the table.
“Now, this,” he snarls when he looks at me spread out like a feast for him, “is a work of art.”
I blush. I gasp, too, when he leans over me and devours one nipple. His hands continue to massage every stretch of my body, and I don’t know if I’m melting or flying or a little bit of both.
“I’ll… I can stay quiet,” I assure him. I can—I’ve never really been one for loud sex. No one has ever pulled that sort of reaction from me.
Pasha lifts his head from where he’s kissing my stomach. “Why?”
