Mikhail Mogilevich
"You're late, kukolka," I grumbled, narrowed glare only encouraging the sinful sway in her hips.
"Am I?" Natalia drawled innocently, as if oblivious to the roomful of eyes bulging out of their sockets at the sight of her.
The seconds stretched and, with each determined click of her heels against the hardwood and every man crumbling in her presence, my fury grew.
Knuckles turning white, I gripped the armrests of the chair positioned at the end of the long and sleek meeting table. Ivan burned crimson, and the monthly recap and plans we were to go over today wiped away from everyone's list of priorities.
Like that of an adolescent's, my cock stirred against my thigh when she greeted our men with a bright smile.
Her skirt was too short, hiking over her curves. One wrong move would expose more than necessary, and I'd gladly kill every man here. A white and flimsy top clung to her figure and I itched to rip it off. It was doing zilch in covering her, anyway.
Rays of sun glimmered along her exposed skin, and it would take a far stronger man not to find the view ethereal.
With each step the outlines of her nipples threatened to cut through the see-through material barely shielding them.
She was punishing me.
"Don't let me disturb," Natalia assured lightly, waving her delicate hand around for the discussion to continue. It didn't.
Unfazed by the heated warning and promise I held her under, she neared. Content with the undivided attention she gained from us, her gaze finally bounced to mine. My cock jerked with despair.
"Out," I was close to thundering, each muscle tensed when her final steps slowed and a strand of the silky hair I craved to grab was twirled around her finger.
Her head tilted, the doting smile on her plump and addictive lips unwavering, but it was the sparkle in her eyes that sealed the final nail of my coffin.
Instead of seating herself on the chair by mine at the end of the long table, from where we ruled side-by-side and held monthly meetings regarding our family and business, she planted herself on my thigh.
"Out," I repeated, seething when my first order had been ignored.
Silenced and unwilling to move a muscle, our men grew close to drooling when Natalia stretched, her back arching as she sighed out a smooth moan.
The side of her thigh pressed against the pathetically pulsing erection begging to fuck her in the way she so blatantly made clear, and my fingers curled around her hip to draw her closer and increase the raging ache I succumbed to.
Our men stared at my wife, and a satisfied smile pulled on her painted lips as she looked down her nose at me.
Her hand placed on my chest and, heart rate increasing and a twisting need coiling in my lower stomach, I lost it.
I grabbed the back of her neck to direct her to me, and the quiet whimper that escaped her sounded in my head like a symphony. It held the emotions that without fail broke down every last brick of my self restraint and forced me to my knees: her fear, pleasure and love.
I wanted her to know she was really pushing it this time. She wanted me to show her just how much.
This was further than the extents to which she'd gone before, during the handful of cases when she hadn't gotten her way.
Whatever she wanted and saw fit, I made happen. We ruled the entirety of this universe and the next together. Whichever outcome she wanted, I drew the plans for.
YOU ARE READING
Mikhail
Romance❝I'll fuck myself into you and have your pretty little cunt cream on my cock. I'm growing tired of you pretending you don't like this,❞ he growled. -- Natalia Wellesley wasn't born to be soft and quiet, she was born to make the world shatter and sha...
