Page 14 of Knot Their Princess

“Mikhail,” he growls against my inner-thigh. “You call me Mikhail from now on. Please.”

He adds the last as an afterthought, and my mind reels.

Despite his submissive disposition with me in the club, he’s always been “Mr. Petrov,” or simply “Petrov,” or some form of nickname that created a separation between us. Nothing personal, all business.

It’s how it is for most of my clients.

But now, we’re crossing a line.

Calling him by his first name for this rouse is one thing, but in an intimate setting like this, away from our normal surroundings, it just… doesn’t feel right.

I don’t respond. I won’t. Not to his demands, even if he tacks a “please” on the end.

Instead, I tilt my hips so my pussy is closer to his face, and he groans again, buries his nose and lips into my panties, drawing a contented sigh from me as his hot breath envelops my moist skin.

He sighs in return as his thick fingers curl around the fabric and pull the panel aside. He kisses one of my pussy lips, and I moan, core fluttering, wanting to be filled, even when my mind isn’t really connected to what’s happening. It’s like being on autopilot.

Moan, produce slick, cry-out, grind against the face, scream in ecstasy.

It’s what all men who like women want, regardless of designation.

But when his tongue languidly runs along my clit, his eyes roll up to look into mine, forcing some strange kind of intimacy between us. I’m not prepared for it. I want to look away, but his fingertips begin to circle my opening just as slow and lazily, getting them soaked in my slick before pushing inside me where my core sucks his thick digits deep, a silent cry spilling from my lips. He curls those fingers against my G-spot once, then pulls his fingers out of me, and my mind snaps.

“Do it again,” I hiss. “Suck my clit while you do.”

His hum makes my pussy vibrate, his eyes rolling slightly with the sound before he follows my instructions, curling those big fingers inside of me and sucking my clit, hard.

I begin to ride his face, sighing and moan without a single care if someone hears or sees us. All that matters is my release, which he will give to me. He always does. One of my only clients who can.

But when that orgasm wracks my body, making my vision go white, what I don’t expect is how I cry out his first name as my slick gushes to cover his bearded face.

Chapter Five

Sin

New York City feels completely different from L.A. More fast-paced, yet the history here is so apparent. It’s in the streets and the buildings all around, especially that of Sovereign Hall, the hotel we’re about to check into, and where the masquerade will be held tomorrow night.

The building is all carved, ornate stone and shaped to hug the street corner it sits on, making it rounded but triangular in the front where the entrance is. The bottom and top portions are different stonework than the center, lighter in color, and as we approach the giant entry doors, the sides of the building come into view, each sprawling around half a block.

This place is enormous.

It’s a bit more than twelve stories high, by my count, and looks like it belongs in some Gothic painting in a museum.

No gargoyles, though. Which is a shame. I’ve always been fascinated by those stone creatures, but have never seen any in person.

As Mr. Petrov—he’s back to a last name basis for my sanity—steers me through the entryway, the clacking of my heels changes sound from the concrete walkway to the marble floor inside the building, where I stop short, breath caught in my lungs.

Everywhere is cream and gold and brown, from the ornate marble floor to the walls and columns all around, to the massive staircase right in front of us that leads up to the next level, open with railings and tables. Above is the biggest chandelier I’ve ever seen, dripping with ornate crystals from the center of more decorative marble that matches the floor.

Petrov pulls me aside with a laugh, bringing some of my senses back to me.

“You can examine the entrance all you want after we’re settled. But maybe not from right in front of the door.”

Eyes round, my gaze sweeps the area, realizing I was standing in the way before he moved me.

“Sorry,” I whisper.

His chuckle is melodious. “No matter.” He dips his face down to kiss my cheek, his skin and beard still smelling of my slick despite him washing in the jet’s lavatory after I came like a geyser. “Let’s check in. Our luggage will be brought to us.”