If You Don't (Fyodor X OC)

Sea Of Sin

"𝙼𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚕𝚢, 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢, 𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚞𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚝" - 𝙵𝚢𝚘𝚍𝚘𝚛 𝙳𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚎𝚟𝚜𝚔𝚢

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(A/N: this is another SpiCY chapter. This one is okay to skip if you'd like. It's just filler (: )

I walked up to Fyodor, who had been hard at work as always. He was sitting on a stool in front of the island, typing away on his laptop. I reached my hands out, massaging his shoulders gently. I could see his lips curl up from the side as he closed his eyes momentarily.

"It's late, my love. You should come to bed," I said softly, digging the pad of my thumbs into his tense muscles.

He swiveled on the stool, turning to me and wrapping his hands around my waist. He looked at me through drowsy eyes, seeming to be as content as he could possibly be. "I have to finish my preparations," he said quietly.

I ran my hands through his hair. His raven strands were as soft as always. "It can't wait until morning? I know you don't want to wait any longer, but you can't follow through if you're too tired to even stand by the end of it," I spoke softly. He leaned into my hands, melting into my touch.

Fyodor grinned, pulling me closer to him. I stumbled forward a bit, but quickly readjusted myself. His hands traveled up and down my sides, and I could see a shimmer of deviousness in his smile.

"You never fail to surprise me, Anastasia. If it were not for this book, I would certainly make plans for you to be my wife," he mused, pulling me into his lap.

My eyes went wide as he wrapped my legs around to rest on the sides of his waist. His wife? The thought made my heart stutter. Is that something I would have wanted? Would I have said yes if he asked? I suppose it didn't matter.

"Your heart is pounding beneath my palm, and your breathing has sharpened. Tell me, does the idea of marrying me bring you that much anxiety?" He looks slightly pained but more curious than anything as he gazes at me. He tucks some strands of hair behind my ear.

I lean in and kiss his cheek. It's hard to ignore the fact that I am sitting in his lap, illuminated only by the light above the stove. "It's not that.." I mumbled, trying to find a way to explain it to him. "I just never fed the thought when it came. For the longest time, I believed you would never feel the same about me, let alone want to marry me. So imagine my surprise when my enemy tells me he would spend the rest of his life with me if he could," I laughed slightly as I shook my head, smiling at him.

Suddenly, his hand gripped my hair. I gasped, eyes growing wide. He pulled it back slightly, and I gripped his shoulders so I wouldn't fall backwards. "I am your enemy?" He said lowly, his lips grazing my neck. I could feel his breath on my skin, and I shivered.

My legs squeezed around him, both for security and an attempt to hide the fact that I was enjoying this. "You used to be," I whispered, gazing at him.

Fyodor raised a brow as a smirk grew on his lips. Those delicious and tantalizing lips. Ones that begged for company. "You enjoy this," he mused.

I could feel my cheeks flush. I averted my gaze, trying desperately to hold my composure in front of the Russian. It didn't last long, for when his mouth caressed my jaw, I felt the waves of desire crashing through me at an impeccable rate.