“It is.” She taps the clipboard again, a teasing glint in her eyes. “My brothers haven't been stateside in years, and you know how particular they are about—”
I don't let her finish. In one smooth motion, I pluck the clipboard from her hands and pass it to the nearest staff member. Then I bend, hook my arm behind her knees, and lift her over my shoulder like a sack of flour.
Her shriek of surprise echoes through the kitchen, followed by the muffled laughter of the staff.
“Agafon Letvin! Put me down this instant!” She pounds lightly on my back, but I can hear the laughter in her voice.
“I will,” I promise, already heading for the stairs. “Eventually.”
“I was in the middle of something!”
“So was I. Something called 'watching my woman boss everyone around like she owns the place.'“ I adjust my grip, my hand deliberately sliding over the curve of her ass. “I find I quite enjoy the view of my bossy little mistress.”
I climb the stairs as quickly as I can, desperate to get her alone.
“The staff will talk,” she says, but her breathlessness betrays her excitement.
“Let them. It's my house.”
“Our house,” she corrects.
I pause at the top of the stairs, something warm unfurling in my chest at her words. Six months of being married, and I'm still not used to that. To us. To the way she carved herself a place in my life as easily as breathing.
“Our house,” I agree, pushing open the bedroom door with my foot.
I set her down beside our bed, watching as she smooths her dress, her cheeks flushed with color.
“You're impossible,” she says, but her smile tells a different story.
“And you're incredible.” I step closer, invading her space, knowing it’s sending shivers down her spine. “Standing there, giving orders, looking like that.”
Her eyes darken. “Like what?”
“Like something I want to devour.” I trace a finger along her jawline, down her throat, feeling her pulse jump beneath my touch. “Those heels,myshka. That dress. You know what they do to me.”
She leans into my touch, her eyelids fluttering. “So tell me.”
“Better yet—” I grip her hips, pulling her against me so she can feel exactly what she does to me. “Let me show you.”
Her breath catches. “The menu—”
“Can wait.” I lower my head, my lips brushing against her ear. “I can't.”
She shivers, her hands coming up to rest against my chest. “Well, when you put it that way...”
I capture her mouth with mine, swallowing whatever else she was going to say. Her lips part instantly, inviting me deeper, and I groan into her mouth.
My hands find the zipper of her dress, dragging it down with deliberate slowness. She retaliates by tugging at my tie, nimble fingers making quick work of the buttons on my shirt.
“Eager,” I murmur against her lips.
“For you? Always.” She pushes my shirt off my shoulders, her hands tracing the contours of my chest, my abdomen. When her fingers brush against the waistband of my pants, I catch her wrist.
“Not yet.”
I step back just enough to watch as her dress pools at her feet, leaving her in nothing but lacy white underwear and those sinful red heels. The sight knocks the breath from my lungs.
“Fuck, Lilibeth.”
