Chapter 24 Igasp into the kiss when his hips press between my thighs. Papers crinkle beneath me, but I don't care. His need presses against me hot, hard, and undeniable, matching my desire in every desperate pulse. "You don't play fair," he murmurs against my neck, nipping at the sensitive spot until I shudder. "Neither do you," I whisper, arching my back as my hips slide against his, desperate for as much friction as I can possibly get. This isn't why I came in here, not really, but I shouldn't be surprised we ended up like this. After what happened at the café, I came in with every intention of telling him about the baby. I'd prepared a whole speech and was ready to face whatever consequences followed. But he looked so tense, so agitated, and all I wanted was to melt that tension away. So, of course, we landed right here. We always end up like this. My body is drawn to his like a magnet. He knows every button to push, every stroke that leaves me gasping and screaming his name. His hands trail down my sides, firm and demanding, and when they slide underneath the hem of my skirt, I moan. My head tips back as he kisses down the column of my throat, his fingers teasing the seam of my panties, not quite touching where I need him most. "You want this?" he asks, voice ragged with restraint. "God, yes," I whisper, gripping the front of his shirt to keep from flying apart. "Please." His mouth crushes mine again as he drags my panties down my legs and tosses them aside. My dress follows, buttons popping beneath his eager fingers. In seconds I'm bare beneath him, gasping as cool air skates over my heated skin. Sergei leans back just far enough to meet my eyes. His pupils are blown wide, and his jaw tight. He wants me as fiercely as I want him or maybe even more. He makes me feel worthy of worship, and sometimes I even believe it. "You're perfect," he growls before dropping to his knees, staring up at me with unbridled hunger. My breath catches as he pulls me to the desk's edge. "Sergei," I manage, though it's hardly a protest. "I'm starving, Nicole," he says, mischief threading his tone. "And you look like the perfect snack." I nod, too breathless to answer. He drags his hands up the insides of my thighs slow and methodical, savoring every inch. My body trembles at his touch, my stomach clenching with anticipation. And then his tongue darts inside me, and I lose all conscious thought. My hands fly to the desk's edge as he licks and sucks with slow and devastatingly precision. When I glance down, his eyes lock on mine-hungry, dark, and possessive. His hands wrap around my waist, cupping my ass as he continues his ministrations. "Sergei," I moan, my head falling back. "Oh, my God!" His tongue swirls inside me, his lips sucking at my clit, a sensation so intense it makes me feel like I'm levitating. With every gasp and moan, it's like he's learning, memorizing exactly where to touch and with how much pressure. Soon, I'm a writhing, screaming mess as he tongue-fucks me into oblivion. I'm still trembling when he stands and wipes his mouth. He cups my face, eyes smug and ravenous. "You're so fucking beautiful when you come," he murmurs, brushing his lips over mine. "Every single time." I lean into his kiss, taste myself on his tongue, and let the rest of the world fall away. I hook my legs around his waist, pinning his hard length to my center as desire ignites all over again. "Fuck," he groans, grinding against me. "I need you so badly." "I'm yours," I whisper against his skin as I undo the buttons on his shirt. He helps, shucking his pants and sending them across the room. We're both breathless and needy, our bodies slick against each other. It seems impossible to crave him this much after he's just sent me over the edge, yet I ache to feel him inside me again. I unwrap my legs and push him back, sliding off the desk. At first, he looks confused, almost disappointed, until I spin, guide his hands to my waist, and press my ass to his erection. "You did say you wanted to bend me over this desk," I rasp. Without a word, he folds me forward until my chest meets the cool mahogany. I steal a breath before he spreads my legs and sinks into me from behind. The position is so damn good I have to grip the far edge of the desk just to stay grounded. I'm already close, my walls clenching so hard around him I doubt either of us will last long. He pounds into me with such wild abandon that items slide off the desk. After that, I notice nothing, lost to pure sensation. He fills me, driving so deep I can barely remember my own name. There's only him, his hands digging into my hips, words tumbling from his lips like a prayer. "Yes, yes, yes," I scream. I climb higher, past anything I thought possible. My legs give out, so he hooks one over the desk for leverage. The other dangles uselessly while my body trembles around him again. And then the world explodes into bright light, into colors I didn't know existed. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me, leaving me breathless and limp. I pant against the desk, watching my breath fog the glossy surface. Sergei collapses, bracing himself over me, careful not to crush me. He drags in a ragged breath. "Holy fucking shit. That was better than I ever imagined." I can only nod, unable to form words just yet. I close my eyes and let my body rest for a moment as he pulls out of me. "Are you okay?" he asks, sounding concerned. He lifts me up gently, turning me around to face him. "Baby?" he asks, cupping my face. My goofy smile must reassure him because he relaxes and kisses me, sloppy and sweet. "Just let me come back down to earth," I whisper. "I'll be fine." He kisses my forehead and pulls me against him in a warm embrace. "Are you hungry?" he asks. "Thirsty? I'm going to go get something from the kitchen. Anything you want. You've earned it." I giggle as I watch him dress, my body jelly. I grope for my clothes, halfheartedly tugging them on. "Your dress is on backward." He chuckles before kissing me again. "I'll be back in a few minutes." I simply nod and sink into his chair, muscles boneless after the workout he just put me through. After he's gone, I finally take in the mess we've made, looking at the piles of papers and trinkets scattered across the floor and laugh softly, impressed by our enthusiasm. After a moment, I force myself up and start tidying. Some of the papers are slick from our sweat, but thankfully nothing looks too damaged. I have no idea how they should be sorted or organized, but I figure at least I can stack them up and get them off the floor. It takes several minutes to gather and sort everything, and a few more to set the sentimental items back in place. There's a picture of him and his mother, one of the whole family, including a man who must be his father. I study them, then realize I'm completely alone in Sergei's office. The temptation is overwhelming. I can't just sit here and not snoop a little. For the first time since moving in, I have unfettered access to his inner sanctum. His bedroom is devoid of personality, but this room brims with him. I eye the stack of papers with mild interest. I peek at one, hoping to glean something useful. It's just a spreadsheet with some numbers circled in red pen. Nothing exciting or noteworthy. Ignoring the gnawing guilt in my stomach, I flip past it and sift through another page, then another. Unfortunately, none of it answers my questions. I have no idea how long it will be until he comes back with our food, and I don't want to get caught red-handed. I know he'd be upset if he came in and found me going through his things. When another minute passes without his return, I begin easing open drawers, careful not to pull them too far in case I need to slam them shut. I find a bottle of vodka in his bottom drawer and roll my eyes. He's such a cliché. Another drawer holds files that mean absolutely nothing to me at first glance. Then I find one with a letterhead. Jackpot! I slip it free and snap a quick picture in case he walks back in. I put the paper back and shut the drawer, pulling up the picture on my phone. I expect to see the name of some shipping company at the top, but instead, the header reads Internal Document to All Members of Volkov Bratva in bold black. I'm not sure what Bratva means, and I'm about to look it up when the doorknob jiggles. I tuck my phone away just as Sergei walks in, balancing a tray piled high with sandwiches and packaged snacks. "Need help?" I ask, rising to take the tray. "I've got it," he tells me, giving me a warm look. "I wasn't sure what to bring you." "So you brought me the whole kitchen?" I laugh, grabbing a bag of chips from the tray. "That was thoughtful." "You've been busy," he says, looking at his desk. I glance at it, guilt prickling, wondering whether he can tell I was snooping. "You really didn't need to do that," he continues. "I could have cleaned up my own mess." "We both made it," I tease, stretching on my tiptoes to give him a chaste kiss. He sets the tray down, and we dig in, devouring the impromptu meal. The whole time, my phone feels like it's burning a hole in my pocket. As soon as I'm alone again, I'll finally get some answers about what, exactly, Sergei does. In a romance-themed observation show, several participants undergo a series of interactions and conflicts filled with love, misunderstandings, and power struggles. In the end, one couple rises to over...