Page 63 of Hidden Empire

“All night,” I confess breathlessly.

“Well, we can’t have that,” he tsks.

Dmitri crushes his lips to mine in a powerful press of his mouth, kissing me like our lives depend on the touch. His taste makes me gasp, and he uses the part in my lips to flood me with more of it, tongue pushing through the gap. I haven’t quite got the hang of that part, but follow his lead, chasing the way it makes me feel when our tongues tangle together.

I fumble around in his lap, positioning myself to get closer while we kiss. My thighs end up on either side of his hips, squeezing tight to hold me up. I have to spread my legs to encompass his thick frame, but it’s more than worth it.

My fingers latch around his muscular neck, digging in hard enough to leave white spots behind when I eventually pull back—maybe even bruises if I hold him here long enough. I’d hold him here forever if he’d let me.

One of his hands steadies me, holding me by the front of my thigh. He’s able to grab so much of it that I feel anchored, less like I might slip because of how wide my legs are, and more like I’m firmly in place. His fingers are tucked underneath my skirt but not rising. Still, the hold gives me a hot rush of arousal that has me thinking we should move way faster than we are. Everything about Dmitri Morozov lights me up.

His other hand holds the side of my face, two fingers below my ear, the others above. It feels so good, like he’s owning me with the simple touch. The way he controls the weight of my head, using the touch to ignite me further.

“You’re my boyfriend, right?” I ask, pulling out of our kiss and blushing beet red. “I can call you that in my head?”

“I’m yours,” he answers immediately, giving me a flood of serotonin straight to my brain. His lips press against my jaw. “You can call me anything you want.”

“What do you call me inside of your head?” I ask, biting my lip.

“Mine,” he says simply.

“Is that what Krasotka means?” I ask, trying not to butcher the word.

“No.” He smiles, rubbing his thumb in a circle on the soft skin of my inner thigh. “Krasotka means gorgeous.”

My face flames. “Wow,” I breathe. “That’s so sweet.”

“It’s accurate,” he simply states. His hand lays against the side of my face, thumb softly stroking my cheekbone. “You are the most gorgeous thing I have ever seen.”

There’s no way that’s factually accurate, but I don’t even care. I can tell he feels that way, even if he’s physically seen more beautiful people, he doesn’t see them that way. He sees me that way.

“You’ve had sex before, right?” I blurt out, slapping a hand over my mouth as soon as the words come out. “You don’t have to answer that,” I immediately add.

“I have,” he answers, unaffected by the personal prying. I’m not even sure why I asked since it’s basically a guarantee for his age and position. Mafia men view sexual promiscuity as extremely normal. Mafia men view sexual promiscuity as extremely normal. “Does that bother you, Krasotka?”

Well, I don’t love it.

“No,” I say ultimately. “You can’t control your past any more than I can control mine. I’m a bit relieved that at least one of us will know what they’re doing.”

Aaaand I just implied that we’re going to have sex. I really have to learn to filter what I’m thinking before I just blurt it out around him. He makes all of my practiced thoughts just poof out of my head as soon as his eyes find mine.

He flashes a charming grin. “We don’t need to worry about that for a while, baby.”

Oh god, him calling me baby makes me wish I was having his. How the hell does one simple word hit me right in the vagina. Seriously, am I throbbing?

Wait, what did he say before that?

“We don’t?” I ask, frowning. Does he actually not want to have sex with me? He just said I was his!

“Krasotka, when I fuck you, you’ll be madly and irrevocably in love with me. It’ll be shortly after I put a ring on this little finger,” he says boldly, holding up my left hand to emphasize my ring finger. “And until you’re ready for that, our clothes stay on.”

Holy. Shit.

I gulp, suddenly thirsty. “You know you can’t say things like that while telling me we can’t fool around,” I complain, tugging the front of his shirt into my fists. “It’s not fair.”

“That’s not what I said, Krasotka,” he tells me, clicking his tongue. “I said I wouldn’t fuck you, I never said I wouldn’t take care of you.”

“O-oh?”