Page 51 of Forced to Marry the Russian Pakhan

She shivers, hands fisting in the couch cushions. “Trifon, please.”

I press a kiss to her inner thigh, then higher, closer to where she wants me. Teasing. Building anticipation. Her legs fall wider, an invitation I can’t resist.

The first swipe of my tongue has her arching off the couch, a broken sound tearing from her throat.

I grip her hips hard, pinning her down. Not to control her—but to keep her from slipping away. From escaping what I’m about to do to her.

Because I’m not just eating her out.

I’m rewriting every bad memory.

Every careless man who touched her and didn’t stay long enough to learn the shape of her need.

Every partner who made her feel like she was too complicated, too hard to please, too much.

She’s not.

She’s fucking perfect.

And I’m going to prove it to her—with my mouth.

I bury my face between her thighs and start over, slower this time, more deliberate. Letting her feel how serious I am. My tongue circles her clit in slow, steady laps, until her breath comes in sharp, uneven gasps.

She tastes like sin and sweetness. Like she was made for this.

For me.

God, I want to ruin her for every toy she’s ever used. For every man she’s ever imagined. I want her to forget how to make herself come because after tonight, she’ll only think of this. Of me. My mouth. My name is on her tongue when she breaks.

She cries out again when I seal my lips around her clit and suck—just hard enough to push her higher. Her fingers tangle in my hair, yanking, dragging me closer like she can’t get enough.

Good.

I don’t want her to be gentle. I want her wild for me.

I slide two fingers into her, curling them just right, finding that spot deep inside that makes her legs jerk and her moan crack in half.

There.

That sound.

That’s the sound of her unraveling.

I keep the rhythm—tongue and fingers working in tandem, relentless and precise. She writhes beneath me, panting my name, hips rolling against my mouth like she doesn’t care how desperate she looks.

And fuck, she shouldn’t.

She deserves this.

She deserves to fall apart.

With me.

I find her clit with my tongue, circling it slowly at first, then with more pressure.

“Oh God,” she breathes, her hips rocking against my mouth. “That’s—yes, right there.”

She’s close—I can feel it.