I’m leaning my chin in one hand, staring at a puzzle piece of yellow fur. I finished the castle, though there are a couple of pieces missing, and moved onto the puppies.

This one is actually harder, because every puzzle piece of dog fur looks exactly the same. All I’ve really got to go on is gradations of light and color, plus the shape of the puzzle piece itself.

Not exactly thrilling, but there’s nothing else to do. The only book in English is the Russian-to-English dictionary, and at least the puppies are cute.

It’s a moment before I realize that the bunker’s gone quiet. Kostya kept the office door slightly ajar, so for the past hours I’ve been listening to men talking, shouting, and arguing in Russian. Not the most soothing soundscape, but it was nice to know that at least I wasn’t alone down here in this Cold War bunker.

Kostya opens the door and leans out.

“Hazel,” he calls. I look up. “Your parents want to talk to you.”

I jump up, leaving the blanket in the chair where I was sitting, and walk for the office in the tube socks I found when my shoes got too uncomfortable.

There they are, their faces on the screen.

“Sweetheart,” my mom says.

“I’m okay,” I say, sitting in the chair. Kostya’s in the doorway. He nods once at me and then disappears.

“I’m so sorry about all this,” she says.

“Mom, it’s not—”

“I never should have suggested you come here,” she says, and I think my iron-willed mother is close to tears. “I knew that the situation was worse than they were letting on, but I didn’t think it was this dire, and — oh, God, I’m just so glad you’re okay.”

My dad’s got an arm around her, holding her tight.

“You guys okay?” I ask, even though it’s rhetorical.

“Perfectly fine,” my dad says, rubbing my mom’s shoulder. “We were relieved to hear you were with the prince.”

“I ran into him after my fitting and he offered to give me a quick tour,” I say, hoping that I’m better at lying over video than in real life. “I guess the closest bunker to us wasn’t too popular.”

I’m pretty sure I’m blushing.

“These things are very safe,” he says. “Built to withstand nukes, so they’re pretty serious.”

“Any news?” I ask. “I’ve been listening in a little, but it’s all Russian.”

“Nothing concrete yet,” my mother says. “But they’re working on it. The King says we’ll be out of here in a few more hours. I’m just glad you’re all right,” she says. “We have to go, official business. Stay safe, all right? I love you, Hazel.”

“Love you, sweetheart,” my dad says.

“Love you guys too,” I say, and the screen goes black.

I rest my head in my hands, silently thankful that my parents are okay. I have no idea what I’d do here without them.

Then, despite myself, I think of Kostya with his face up my skirt, and I press my thighs together.

He reappears in the doorway, and I stand, walking around the desk. I lean back against it, the hard steel cutting into the backs of my legs.

“Your parents okay?” he asks.

I just nod.

“Shaken up, I think. Yours?”

Kostya shrugs, leaning against the door frame. His sleeves are rolled up and his shirt has the top two buttons undone.

Even here, now, in this bunker after hours of stress, I can’t help but watch the way he moves, the calm self-assuredness he has.

“My mother is borderline hysterical and I’m not sure my father’s noticed yet that he was shot,” he says.

“They’re a strange couple,” I muse. My mind is half on this, half on the stairwell.

Then I look at Kostya again.

“Sorry,” I say. “Opposites attract, I guess.”

He shakes his head.

“My mother was two months pregnant with me when they got married,” he says. “When my father became king, he changed the marriage license so it looks like they got married first. So they could be the perfect, ideal family.”

“There’s a lot of pressure on a ruler,” I say. I think of Yelena, the wannabe-princess who throws masquerade balls, and for a split second I’m angry that anyone could think that Kostya could ever be with her.

“He found out where I was last night,” Kostya says. “One of the military police recognized me.”

He glances around the corners of the office, almost looking amused.

“He got shot today, the country might fall apart, and he’s angry that I’m going to illegal bars,” he says, half to himself. “You know what else he’s angry about?”

“What?” I ask.

He gives me a long, long look, and I feel like it goes straight through me and lights my core on fire.

“Me?” I ask, softly.

“He’s furious that I could have my pick of any Svelorian girl, and instead I’m spending my time with a trashy American,” he says.

I swallow as heat pools inside me.

This is terrible timing, I think. You cannot get horny the same day as an assassination attempt.

I glance down. Judging by the lump in Kostya’s gray pants, I’m not the only one.

“The trashy American probably shouldn’t be spending her time with you, either,” I say.

Kostya grins. Then he straightens up and walks over to where I’m standing and rests his hands against the desk on either side of me, our faces inches apart.

“Probably not,” he says, his voice a low growl. “I always seem to get in trouble when she’s around.”

“You know what they say about American girls,” I say. He’s even closer now, and I’m panting for breath. “Trouble.”

“I think it’s just this one,” he says. “I can’t seem to behave myself when she’s around. I gave her the shirt right off my back when she asked.”

I slide one finger under the waistband of his pants and tug gently.

“She sounds dangerous,” I say.

“She is,” Kostya says. His hand moves to the small of my back and presses me against him. “When I’m with her I end up running from the police and getting into fights. I’ve still got a split lip.”

“Are you sure that was her fault?” I tease.

I lift one hand to his face and touch his lip, the thin red line just visible.

“The last time I ran into her, I ended up eating her out in a public stairwell,” he whispers. “And I can’t stop thinking about it.”

His erection throbs against me.

“There was a national crisis today and I was hard the whole fucking time,” he whispers. “Someone would ask me a question and I’d be staring off into space, wishing my tongue was in her pussy.”

I turn bright red, even as heat surges through me.

“That’s not very princely,” I say.

“Fuck princely,” Kostya says, and kisses me. I open my mouth instantly and let him in.

This isn’t like the kiss last night, slow and sensuous. This is hard and fast, an I-fucking-need-this-now kiss, a wound-so-tight-I-might-explode kiss.

Kostya pulls back and I bite his lip just hard enough that he growls, then moves his lips past my ear and down my neck, dragging a low groan out of me.

“Fuck, that’s sexy,” he says, his lips moving against my skin. He nips at the cords in my neck and I gasp.

“Please don’t leave a mark,” I say.

He laughs.

“I know better,” he says.

He nips again and pushes my skirt over my hips and I gasp at the cold steel desk against my ass. He lifts me onto it and I instantly wrap my legs around him, squeezing his thick erection against me. We kiss again and his hands are scrabbling for something on my back.

We pause.

“Where the fuck is the zipper?” he says, panting for breath.

I reach over to my side and pull it down and then he’s pulling the dress over my head and off. I unbutton one more button on his shirt and then pull the whole thing messily over his head, running my hands down the hard, broad muscles in his chest and abs.

Kostya pulls one bra strap down to my elbow. The second my nipple is visible it’s between his teeth and I can hear myself make a guttural, animal noise.

“You even sound like a barbarian,” he says, my nipple still in his teeth.

He pushes me backward onto the desk as he drags my other bra strap down and pinches my other nipple. I arch my back and groan, the sound echoing around the concrete office.

Suddenly, the computer chirps, and the screen flickers to life.

I gasp and put my hands over myself, as if I could possibly act like I’m not nearly-naked on this desk.

Kostya’s totally unruffled. He reaches over and yanks the cables from the back of the monitor without missing a beat, and the screen goes mercifully dark.

“Camera’s in the monitor,” he says, and kisses the space between my breasts, sliding his fingers under the sides of my panties and pulling them off, his lips moving quickly down my stomach.

“Wait,” I gasp. “Microphone? Can they hear us?”

Kostya ducks for a moment. My bra’s tangled around my waist, and I get it off as I hear the sound of one thing after another being unplugged, and then he stands again and tosses a surge protector onto the desk next to me with a crash.

“No,” he says, and plants a kiss on my stomach, dipping his tongue into my belly button.

It tickles a little. I laugh, and I can feel Kostya smile against me.

“Are there noises you don’t make?” he asks.

“I don’t quack,” I say.

He pushes my thighs apart and my knees over his shoulders, then slides one finger slowly down my mound. My body jolts when he runs it over my clit, and then he slides it between my lips.

“You don’t quack yet,” he says. “You’re wet enough to be a duck.”

It shouldn’t be sexy, but it is.

“I think I’m wet enough to be a shark,” I say, which probably doesn’t make sense but I don’t care.

Kostya slides the underside of his tongue down over my clit, and my body jolts again with the sweet pressure. He starts licking me slowly and firmly, flattening his tongue as he licks up, curling it as he licks back down.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I gasp, because he is really good at this.

He keeps licking and licking, but already, I can tell I’m gonna come if he doesn’t stop soon. It’s like he found a light switch inside my body and flipped it and suddenly every nerve in my body is lit up.

Kostya runs his fingers along my lips, just barely nudging inside, and I groan. I’m grabbing the edges of the desk, both hands clenched, because the last thing I want to do is grab Kostya’s head and ruin this.

Then he suddenly slows his tongue, pressing even harder as he slides his fingers inside me, all the way to the knuckle.

“Oh, fuck yes,” I whisper, because words are hard.

He moves his fingers inside me once. My toes curl and I gasp, so he does it again, in time with his tongue, then again and again. It’s so good that I feel like I’m floating somewhere above the desk, in danger of crashing down.

“Kostya, you’re gonna make me come,” I gasp.

His fingers move harder, and I nearly shout, the noise trailing off into a moan.

“Really hard,” I say, my voice halfway to a whisper.

He keeps going and I’m millimeters from the edge, moaning my face off, lying on a Soviet desk while the crown prince eats me out.

Then his hand snakes up my torso and pinches one nipple.

“Holy fucking shit,” I gasp, and then I come so hard I can’t breathe.

All the muscles in my body clench at once. My vision goes white at the edges, and I squeeze my eyes shut. I can hear myself moaning fuck yes over and over, but I can’t even feel myself saying it as I rock back and forth, my body wracked.

It feels like it takes a long time before it’s over and I can open my eyes. I take a deep breath, and Kostya stops licking me and kisses the inside of my thigh, right next to his face.

I realize that I’ve got my hand on his, clutching it to my chest and squeezing, so I let it go, but he leaves it there for a moment.

I take another deep breath, just trying to collect myself. Kostya kisses the crease where my inner thigh meets my torso, and I giggle. He growls.

I sit up and he finally slides his fingers out of me and pulls me forward on the desk until his cock is right between my legs, so I wrap them around him and squeeze. He kisses me hard, and I can taste myself.

“Do I taste like Coca-Cola?” I ask.

“No,” he says, grinning. “Better.”

I unbuckle his pants and push them down, grabbing his cock in one fist.

“Is this from eating me out?” I murmur.

I think I turn slightly pink when I ask, but he talks dirty to me, so I figure it’s fair.

“It’s from eating you out,” he says, thrusting into my hand and groaning into my ear.

“And it’s from making you come so hard I thought your pussy was gonna break my fingers,” he goes. “It’s from your tongue in my mouth, and from your hand on my cock, and Jesus, zloyushka, it’s from watching your ass as you walked away last night.”

I rub my thumb over the head, slick with pre-cum, and he growls softly, going even harder in my hand. I bite my lip, almost breathless with desire, and then push him away from the desk.

He gets his pants off, kicks them away, and lets me push him back against the concrete wall of the ugly office. I kiss him slowly, stroking his cock with one hand, and trail my lips down his body until I’m on my knees in front of him.

I don’t tease him. I slide my lips around the head of his cock and look up at him as I lick at the underside, and then push my mouth down the shaft as far as I can.

Kostya groans so loud I can feel his cock vibrate in my mouth. I pull back and look up again, and he’s still watching me, so I keep going, stroke after stroke, taking as much of him in as I can.

My jaw starts to get sore, but I ignore it, listening to his breathing become irregular.

“Stop,” he finally whispers.

I pull back until just the head of his cock is in my mouth, and look up at him. I take my lips off slowly, and I think he shudders, then pulls me to standing. He kisses me hard and slow, like he’s trying to collect himself.

“I want to come fucking you,” he murmurs.

My breathing hitches. I swallow and then just nod.

“Good,” I whisper.

He slides his hand between my legs and along my lips, kisses me deeply again, and smiles.

“Shark,” he says, then pulls me toward the desk. He sits on the chair and I straddle his lap and before I know it his cock’s in my fist again and he’s kissing me, my back up against the cold steel desk.

I swallow.

“Do you have—” I ask, but he opens a desk drawer and starts fishing through it.

I raise my eyebrows. He closes that drawer and opens another.

“One of these has a false bottom,” he says, opening a third drawer.

He feels around for a moment, then grins and pulls out a condom.

“The bunker has condoms?”

“People get bored down here,” he says, unwrapping it and rolling it onto his girth.

“Is that why we’re doing this?” I tease. “We’re bored?”

He runs his fingers down my body slowly, then moves them between my legs and starts rubbing my clit lightly.

“If it is, let’s get bored together all the time,” Kostya says.

He kisses me, fingers on my clit, spikes of pleasure already working their way through my body. I put my feet on the seat of the chair behind him, my elbows on the desk behind me, and arch myself up until he’s right at my entrance.

Then I take a deep breath, because while Kostya definitely has the biggest cock I’ve ever seen in real life, I’m also ten times as wet and ready as I’ve ever been before. He stops rubbing my clit and moves both hands under my ass, the muscles in his arms bulging.

“I promise to fuck you slowly,” he says, and kisses me right below the sternum, the strangest combination of filthy and sweet I’ve ever heard.

I relax a little, my elbows still on the desk, and ease the head of his cock into me. It’s bigger than anything I’m used to, but God it feels good and my eyelids flutter shut as I sigh.

He lifts me a little and then I sink another inch onto him, then another. I feel like lava is running down the inside of my skin, and then his lips are on my neck.

“You feel even better than I imagined,” he whispers.

I arch and ease down a little more, and he growls into my ear.

“Going slow might be the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” he says. “But now I can feel every inch of your pussy. And zloyushka, I can already tell I’m never going to get tired of watching you slide onto my cock.”

I take the last inch of him staring straight into his eyes. Even sitting on him, he’s a tiny bit taller than I am. I wrap my legs around him and then pull his face down toward mine and kiss him hard as I move my hips back and forth, still leaning against the desk.

Kostya moans into my mouth. I gasp and stop, because Jesus that felt good, almost dangerously good.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

I just nod, breathing hard.

“Better than okay,” I whisper.

Kostya moves again, gently, his hands on my hips. I moan softly, holding my forehead to his.

“Still okay?” he asks, but now there’s a teasing edge to his voice.

“You feel incredible,” I say. Now I’m moving my hips in time with him, squeezing him with my legs, taking him as deep in as I possibly can and moaning every time he hilts himself. We’re not moving fast, but every time he moves it hits every pleasure spot inside me.

Suddenly Kostya pulls me all the way down, as hard as he can, and stops.

“Don’t stop,” I say, but he holds me there.

“You’re gonna make me come,” he says, kissing me slowly. “Fuck, I’d come just watching you fuck me.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” I say, and flex my hips, moving him inside me.

“Don’t,” he murmurs.

I move again, and he groans.

“Come on,” I whisper.

He growls something in Russian into my ear and moves his hips against mine, sinking himself deep, the edge of the desk digging into my spine.

I gasp, sparkles flickering through my vision.

“Kostya, make me come again,” I whisper.

He pulls me onto him hard, again and again. My legs are still wrapped around him, my toes curl, and I know I’m going to have a bruise tomorrow where I’m up against the desk but I don’t give a damn. I feel like I’m disintegrating and being carried off by the wind.

Then Kostya puts his lips to my ear and says something in Russian, a long string of rough, guttural consonants that send prickles down my spine. He fucks me again and I squeeze my legs around his waist, right on the brink.

“Oh, fuck,” I whisper, and then I come so hard I almost can’t move.

I feel like I hit a brick wall but in a good way, stunned and gasping as my body takes over and it’s all I can do to hang on and ride this out, jolt after jolt as Kostya groans into my ear. Just as I slow, I can feel him pulse and then explode inside me as he pushes me hard against the desk, his face in my neck, my arms wrapped around his shoulders.

Finally, we go still. We’re both breathing hard and I can feel Kostya’s heart beating against my chest.

“Below never at no,” he murmurs.

I stroke his hair.

“What?” I ask.

He squeezes my hip in his hand one more time and then sits up so we’re face to face.

“Sorry,” he says, a lazy smile lighting his gray eyes. “Fucking incredible.”

He kisses me one more time, and then we untangle ourselves clumsily until we’re both standing. The concrete floor isn’t as cold as I was expecting, and I look down at my feet.

I’ve still got the ugly Soviet tube socks on.

I just start laughing.