Page 5 of The Pakhan's Secret Babies
I follow him inside.
He leads me into the bedroom and closes the door behind us without a word. The room is dark except for the bedside lamp he clicks on. Its soft golden glow spills across the wide bed and leaves the rest of the space in warm shadow. My pulse is so loud I swear the lamp is flickering in time with it.
Roman steps in front of me. His hands settle on my waist first. He does not rush. He slides the zipper down my spine one slow inch at a time, letting the cool air kiss my skin as the dress loosens and finally drops to my feet in a whisper of silk. I step out of it.
My heels stay on because he has not told me to take them off, and honestly, right now I need the extra three inches just to feel like I belong in this moment.
He hooks two fingers under the lace edge of my bra next. The clasp releases with a quiet snap. The straps slide down my arms and the bra joins the dress on the floor. Then his thumbs slip into the sides of my panties, and he drags them down my legs, kneeling as he does it so his breath brushes the inside of my thigh.
I stare down at the top of his silver head and think,Two years of watching this man from behind a desk, and now he’s on his knees for me.Life is weird and unfair and apparently very horny tonight.
Only after I’m completely naked does he rise again. His eyes drag over me in the lamplight, dark and unhurried. My mask is still in place. His is too.
He reaches behind my head and unties the ribbon. The silk falls away. Cool air touches my cheeks, and I hold my breath, waiting for any flicker of recognition. Nothing.
His gaze stays hot, focused, the same way it does when he studies a contract across his desk. Relief floods me so sharply my knees almost buckle. The sting follows right behind it. He still has no idea who I really am. Great. Fantastic. The hottest night of my life, and I’m still invisible.
He pulls his own mask off next and sets both on the nightstand. Then he looks at me again, mouth curving the smallest amount.
“Lena,” he says, low and sure, like he’s been saying it all night in his head too.
My stomach does that inconvenient flip again. I used to lie in bed and imagine exactly this: his hands on me, his strength pinning me without effort, his body hot and hard against mine. Now it’s happening.
“Tell me what you want,” he says.
I swallow. My voice comes out breathier than I planned. “Your hands everywhere. And… take your time. Please.”
He nods as if the answer satisfies him. His palms slide up my bare arms, then back down, mapping every inch. When he cups my breasts, his thumbs circle the peaks until they tighten and I gasp. The sound makes his eyes darken.
“Good,” he murmurs against my ear. “I like hearing that from you.”
He walks me backward until my thighs hit the bed. I sit. He stays standing long enough to strip off his own shirt. The lamplight catches every line of muscle across his chest and shoulders. Broad, sculpted, the kind of body that makes you wonder how he finds time to look like that between running empires and ignoring junior staff.
He is even more beautiful than I fantasized. Strong enough to lift me one-handed if he wanted, yet when he kneels between my spread thighs, he’s careful.
His shoulders are wide enough that my knees have to open wider to make room, and the heat of his skin radiates against the inside of my legs like a promise.
He leans in and presses his mouth to me. He licks once, slowly and exploratory, then again, learning what makes my hips lift off the mattress.
My fingers thread into his silver hair before I can stop myself. He groans against me, the vibration rolling straight through my body, and I think,Oh god, this is better than any late-night fantasy.
In my head, he’s always commanding, possessive, but here he is gentle in a way that undoes me more than roughness ever could.
His hands grip my thighs with just enough strength to hold me open, but his tongue is patient, teasing, circling until I’m trembling and whispering his name like a plea.
“Roman,” I breathe. “Please.”
He pulls back enough to look up at me, eyes dark. “Tell me when it’s too much.”
It is never going to be too much. I have waited two years for this. He rises, sheds the rest of his clothes, and the sight of him makes my thighs clench. He notices and smiles that almost-smile.
He reaches for the nightstand, rolls on the condom with efficient movements, then settles over me. His weight is perfect, heavy but braced, so I feel protected, not crushed. He kisses me deep, slow, letting me taste myself on his tongue. His hand slides between us, fingers parting me.
He stills.
Two fingers press inside—just the tips—and meet resistance. His eyes snap to mine.
“You’re a virgin.”
