Mikhail

20 (R)

The warmth of the alcohol I had consumed disappeared the second his lips trailed down to my neck, sobering me with slow and openmouthed kisses along my burning skin.

"How much have you had to drink?" his guttural tone vibrated against my sensitive skin pleasurably, and my lips parted with a shaky breath.

"Not much."

Two bottles of wine even for me were quite a bit, but it didn't matter now. I had never felt so sure of something and clearheaded, unwilling to start going over every single reason why I shouldn't be here right now, underneath him and tugging desperately at his shirt.

I needed it to come off.

I wondered if he had truly planned for us to come to Brussels just for this, instead of carrying out a hit on any of the other men on my list who remained in England. Maybe he had.

He was well aware of my resolves breaking down bit by bit, each moment he so much as looked at me, and I knew he would take full advantage of my state of despair.

All of this to feed his ego, the one I'd bruised by kneeing his groin in Julio's warehouse when we had first bumped into each other and escaped his clutches.

I couldn't care less for the devilish man's incentives to push me to my breaking point, utilising the humiliating weakness he had so easily discovered. If I could only have him once, I prayed my hormones would allow me to draw in a full breath even in his intoxicating presence.

His large hand moved along my side, slipping underneath my shirt to both bunch the material up and feel the smoothness of my skin under the roughness of his fingers.

His heavy breaths fanned over my skin, raising goosebumps in their wake and pushing me closer and closer to losing all inhibition and begging for him to hasten his pace.

His hot lips trailed over my collarbone before meeting the top of my breast, all the while his hand moved higher to grip it in his hold. He grunted with pleasure at the feel of it, and I writhed between the soft duvet and his hard front.

I was nearing insanity.

The moment I had kissed him he had grabbed at me hungrily, igniting my body with immediate lust.

Once I had been all but thrown on to the bed, my jeans scattered haphazardly on the floor of the hotel room, everything had slowed.

"Do you enjoy the things you do to me?" he gruffed out almost menacingly, and I sighed out a silent moan, too aroused by his voice at first to register the hardness of his clothed appendage pressing against my thigh, "I dream of your lips around me, how your cunt feels around my cock."

His lips left my skin and my eyes shot open, fearing he would leave me panting, desperate and without the release I so dearly craved.

Instead, his darkened eyes silenced the plea about to slip my lips, and my shirt was tugged over my head and flung down next to my jeans. My mouth dried when he began unbuttoning his shirt, my arousal peaking at the determined movement of his fingers, wishing to have them back on me.

His ferocious eyes narrowed in on my chest, heavy with need.

"Your mouth was made for my cock, sweet Natalia," he grunted gutturally, my heart racing as more and more of his smooth chest was revealed.

The final buttons of the shirt ripped, his hunger getting the better of him.

I gasped when he reached for my bra and tore it apart, gaze darkening and an approving Russian curse leaving his glistening lips at the sight of my bare breasts.