Page 127 of Konstantin

“I’m not done with you yet, malyshka.Not even close.” And from the fire in his eyes as he stares down at me, I know he means every word.

The next moment, he’s pulling me to the edge of the pool table, my legs falling open beneath his touch as he tears my panties to shreds. His mouth wraps around my clit, sucking hard, his fingers thrusting inside me, and I lose all ability to think or do anything besides feel.

I bow beneath him, a moan slipping past my lips as he flicks his tongue around me, driving me higher with nothing but his fingers and his mouth, undoing me piece by piece.

My hands grip the end of the table, heart racing. It’s too much. Not enough. I can’t think. I can only feel—the sharp rush of pleasure, the burn of throbbing need twisting inside me.

My head tips back as his tongue grazes faster, teasing me to the edge before he slows. The faint scrape of something against my thigh makes me blink down just in time to see him with a pool stick in hand, a slow, dangerous smile growing as he strokes it.

“What are you?—”

The words barely leave my lips before he slides the stick inside me, the sudden rush of sensation crashing over every nerve, overriding my thoughts and stealing my breath. My legs tremble uncontrollably,as if I’m caught in the wake of a tidal wave I didn’t see coming.

And when he pushes it further into me, my body answers before I do, writhing beneath his touch, chasing the release only he can give me. He thrusts the stick into me, and my walls clench, need spiraling, wanting more.

I reach for him, needing him closer, needing more, but he’s already ahead of me, already working me deeper, faster, taking me beyond my limits with ruthless precision.

My cries echo as he teases me, slowing down the tempo, my core dripping for him.

“Please don’t stop. I need more.” My voice is nothing but a wrecked plea.

“Then take it.” He forces more of it inside me, fucking me with it while the thumb of his other hand strokes my clit. He’s not gentle, the way he punishes me, the way he elicits every moan, each one of them his.

When I come, it rips through me like lightning—a harsh, electric pulse that leaves my body shaking. I cling to whatever I can hold on to as the aftershocks roll through me, his name the only thing I remember how to say.

He doesn’t give me a second to recover. The stick hits the floor with a loud clatter, and then he’s on me, the tip of him nudging into me as his body presses against mine, his eyes fixed on me like I’m the only thing that matters. His hands grip my hips, and in one hard thrust, he’s inside me.

My gasp is swallowed by his mouth as he starts to move, slow at first, then faster, rougher, until all I can do is beg for mercy that never comes. His rhythm is punishing and perfect. There’s nothing gentle about it, which is what I need. Every thrust sends me closer to the edge again, every kiss deeper, more consuming.

I can’t think. I don’t want to. I want to drown in him.

He mutters something low in Russian, sweat slicking his skin, hishands possessive on my waist as if he’s anchoring himself to the very depth of me.

I reach up, fingers threading through his hair, and whisper, “Harder, baby.”

His teeth snap, chest rising higher before he pumps his hips even faster. The sound of skin on skin fills the room as he drives us both to the edge, until I’m begging without shame, until his mouth finds my neck and he groans, “Tessa,” like it’s the only word he’s ever known.

When we come together, it’s violent. A quiet explosion that leaves us tangled, breathless, and utterly undone.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

EMILIA

I wakeup with the remnants of what we did last night still clinging to me. The bed feels colder now, and I roll over to find the spot beside me empty, a slight dip in the mattress where Konstantin should be.

The man is always the first one out of bed. Does he even sleep?

Swinging my legs off the bed, I’m still wrapped in one of his oversized T-shirts, the one he gave me to sleep in, and the scent of him clings to my skin.

Getting to my feet, I grab a pair of shorts from the dresser and quickly slip into them before heading down the stairs.

As I reach the last step, my eyes catch something: several pieces of luggage sitting at the foot of the stairs.

Is he going somewhere? An emergency work thing?

Am I going with him?

Curiosity spirals in my gut as I head toward the kitchen, makingout the soft clink of something, and as I enter, I find Konstantin at the breakfast table pouring himself a cup of coffee. His usual commanding presence fills the room, and when his eyes lift to meet mine, he offers a small, almost imperceptible smile. One that feels both distant and unreadable.