44. Viviana

Mikhail turns away from me to stare at the slideshow he made. We're both watching it. The pictures flicking through one by one. Each frame that passes makes me blush that much harder.

"We already talked about my little photoshoot," I mumble. "I said I was sorry."

He tips his head to the side, appreciating a landscape photo of me lying on my stomach across the bed. My knees are bent, ankles crossed. I am my own harshest critic, but even I have to admit it's hot. The lace thong does absolutely nothing to cover the curve of my ass and my arms are squeezing my chest together.

"Sorry for what?" Mikhail asks thoughtfully.

I tear my eyes away from the slideshow and focus on him. The way he swallows. The finger drawing slow circles along his knee. Is he imagining he's touching me?

"You were pissed about these pictures," I remind him. "You hated them."

He turns to me, his icy blue eyes laser-focused. "I was pissed that you missed the point. I was pissed that you used your entire day to punish me."

"Punish you? I was the one locked in my bedroom. If anyone was being punished, it was me."

Mikhail stands up and paces slowly around his desk. His sleeves are rolled around his forearms. I can see the way his muscles work as he flexes his hands at his side. His pants pull taut across his muscular thighs… and the large bulge centered between them. "You wouldn't say that if you knew how fucking hard I was all day. It was a special kind of torture."

"Because of me?" I whisper.

He tips his head towards the wall where the pictures are still flashing. Another one is of me from the neck down, kneeling on the bed. One hand is curled over the red lace of my panties. The other is cupping my breast.

My instinct is to be embarrassed. To ask him to turn them off. My eyes want to focus on the stretch mark over my thighs and the mushy cellulite of my hips.

But Mikhail doesn't let me.

He moves behind me, his heat burning through the thin layers of my clothes. His breath on the back of my neck brings my entire body to attention.

"I had to come to my office between meetings and fuck my hand because I couldn't focus on anything but the way you looked with your legs spread on the bed." His hand slips over my shoulder and lower, circling my breasts. My nipples ache, but for the first time in days, it's a good kind of ache. "I was supposed to be talking numbers and projections, but the only thing I wanted to know is how wet you were."

"Very," I breathe, leaning back against his hard chest. His cock presses into my lower back. "I was so worked up. I never…"

His mouth is hot on my neck. He slides his hands up my waist, spreading his fingers across my ribs like he wants to hold as much of me as possible.

"Never what?" he growls in my ear. He asks the question like he already knows. He just wants to hear me say it.

I squeeze my thighs together and grind my ass against the bulge in his pants. "I never finished. I couldn't. I knew my hand would never satisfy me the way you could."

"No one can satisfy you the way I can." He works his hands around my waist and slips one inside my pants. The second his finger strokes over my soaked center, I'm putty. I sink into him, my head on his shoulder. "Can they?"

"No," I gasp.

He shoves my panties aside and dips into my wetness. He teases me up and down until he's teasing agonizingly slow circles over my clit. "Say it, Viviana. Tell me."

I squeeze my eyes closed, already fighting off my climax. "No one can satisfy me the way you can, Mikhail. No one has ever fucked me like you do."

He takes his hand away and I think I said something wrong. Then he grips my chin and forces my eyes to the wall. "Look at yourself. Look at how dirty you are for me."

A blush creeps up my chest and my neck. I've never sent dirty pictures before. I had never even considered it before the other day. But Mikhail makes me crazy. He drives me to do things I would never do: like, oh, I dunno… fuck him in my bridal suite the night before my wedding to his brother.

Or watch a slideshow of myself projected on his office wall while he undresses me.

Once my pants are gone, Mikhail kicks my ankles apart, spreading my legs. Then he slowly bends me over his desk.

"Keep looking at yourself," he orders as he slides his own zipper down.

"I want to look at you," I whine.

"Then maybe this will be a fitting punishment for the hell you put me through the other day, after all." He slides the string of my thong to the side and strokes his head up and down my opening. I stretch my arms long in front of me, gripping the far side of the desk so I don't melt into a puddle of goo on the floor.

The slideshow starts over. It's me sitting in front of the camera, my skirt hiked high on my thighs and my shirt gaping open. Add a couple inches to the skirt and do up one more button and it could be a professional headshot. I'm not even sure why I sent it.

But Mikhail growls. "That one is my favorite."

I huff out a laugh. "That one? Why?"

"Look at your eyes." He strokes himself through my wetness, teasing us both. "That's the look you give me when you want me. When you look at me like that, I know I'm about to be inside of you."

I'm about to tell him that I always look at him like that when he pushes into me. I moan, arching back to take him deeper. But Mikhail teases in and out of me. He moves in toe-curling increments, taking me a little deeper with every thrust.

I reach back and drag my nails over his thighs. He's still wearing his pants and it's doing something for me. The thought of him zipping up his pants and wearing these clothes into a meeting minutes after being inside of me… I like it.

"You're going to smell like sex the rest of the day," I gasp, bucking my hips back to meet him. "You're going to smell like me."

He groans and drives into me, finally buried as deep as he can go. He grabs a handful of my hair and bends my neck back so I'm looking at the screen again.

"Once I fuck a baby into you, I want you to take these pictures again."

The words are on the tip of my tongue. I'm pregnant now. You've already fucked a baby into me.

But I don't want him to stop. I don't want this moment to be sweet or tender.

I want to feel depraved.

"I hope it happens now," he snarls, our bodies slapping together. "Any time I see you and the way you're growing my child, I'll remember you like this: bent over my desk, dripping wet for me."

My pussy quivers around him. Pleasure pulses through me and I know he feels it based on the way he grunts, his fingers digging deeper into my hips.

All at once, he pulls out and flips me over.

"Mikhail!" I whine, instantly sliding my hand between my legs. "I'm so close."

"Me, too. But not yet." His eyes are black as he reaches for my shirt and shoves it over my chest. He palms my breasts, making my sensitive nipples scream. I hiss and he likes it.

So do I.

"You lured me here with lunch and now, you're edging me on your desk?" I whimper, sounding every bit as pathetic as I feel. "It's cruel."

"I'm not edging you, Viviana." He drags a finger between my breasts and over my belly button. He slips between my legs and parts me, examining the most intimate part of me like it belongs to him. Because it does. "I want to test out a theory."

I sink my teeth into my lower lip. "What theory is that?"

He leans over me, kissing my stomach and my hips. Then he grins over the length of my body. "I want to know if you taste as good as you look."

He drags his tongue over me and I cry out. My fingers find their way to his hair and I tug on him, not fully sure if I'm pulling him closer or pushing him away. The sensation building is too big. I don't know what to do with it.

His tongue delves into me as he hooks my legs over his shoulders. I clench my thighs around his ears, terrified he'll leave me like this.

"Is this better than your hand?" he murmurs between kisses to my clit.

My back arches off the table. I can't answer him, but the cry I let out has to be enough. He has to know that he's absolutely destroying me.

He thrusts his tongue into me again and then grabs my wrist. He brings my hand between my thighs and he doesn't need to tell me what to do.

I circle my fingers over myself the way I wanted to the other day. It wouldn't have been enough then, but with Mikhail tongue-fucking me, it only takes a few strokes before I'm airborne.

"Mikhail!" I moan, rolling my hips against his mouth to take him deeper. He has to band his arm across my hips to keep me from bucking off the desk.

"We're so much better together," he growls and I feel the vibration of it inside of me. Then he stands up and slams himself inside of me.

I'm still pulsing when he fills me.

"Oh, fuck." My leg is hooked over his shoulder and he turns and kisses my knee, my calf. He thrusts into me, prolonging what was already an earth-shattering orgasm. "You feel so good, Viviana."

I'm coming down and my vision clears. I get to watch as Mikhail pumps into me. His brows are pinched together. His square jaw is like granite, clenched tighter than I've ever seen it.

Knowing the pictures I sent could bring a man like Mikhail to this is intoxicating.

Then he looks down at me and explodes.

He spills into me in long, steady strokes. I feel the heat of him seeping through every part of my core. When he's done, he lets my legs fall to the side and collapses against my chest.

"Fucking hell." He presses a lazy kiss to the underside of my breast. "You look so good when I make you come."

"What a coincidence. I feel so good when you make me come." I laugh and run my fingers through his sweaty hair.

After a few minutes, he stands up and finds my clothes. He slides them over my legs.

"I need to clean up."

He shakes his head, a dark look in his eyes. "Don't. The only way I'm going to be able to let you leave this room is if I know I'm still inside of you."

Some small part of me wants to be embarrassed and argue. What if people can smell him on me? What if they know what we did in here?

But Mikhail was right before: I'm dirty for him.

So I do exactly as he says.