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She’s tired of being a ball of nerves, trapped in her rooms and waiting to be bred as though she were a prized show pony. She needs a release, and she needs to be with someone she trusts. Someone with a large sexual appetite. Someone who admires her. And there was only one person she knew of who fit the bill: Velementov.
It makes perfect sense. At least, in her head it does. She resolves not to think about her decision too closely until she was safely with child. There would be plenty of time to worry later. And anyway, she was due for a meeting with the man in question, which was a perfect time, she'd argue, to bring it up.
“Now that we've gotten all that logistical nonsense out of the way, there's something I've been meaning to ask you, Velementov."
He must notice a change in her voice and in her delivery because his brows furrow, as though suddenly on his guard. But that was good. It means she has his interest and attention, which is exactly what she wants.
“Empress?”
She comes to the other side of her desk and moves in close, taking two steps forward for each backwards step he takes. His gaze stays on her, rapt but confused.
Catherine reaches out for him, and she runs her hands over his lapels before grasping them and steering him towards the settee. When it touches the backs of his knees, he sits down heavily. Now he’s looking up at her, dumbstruck.
She smiles to herself. Was this the man she was trusting with her entire army? A man who turned to putty in her hand with a simple statement, a few well-placed touches, and forward momentum? No matter. She trusts him both here and out on the field, and that’s all that really matters.
Catherine takes one last step forward, forcing him to crane his neck to look up at her. With their height difference reversed, she is able to place her hands on his shoulders. She inclines her head forward until her mouth is resting near his ear.
"Would you like me to ask my question now?"
"Indeed."
“Would you kiss me?”
She reaches down to grab one of his hands, which she places at her waist.
"This is a jape," he says, pulling his hand away. "Surely you mean to mock me."
She shakes her head and places his hand back where she left it. Cautiously, his other hand comes up, and his thumbs apply soft pressure to her hip bones, gently holding her in place as though she was moments from running away. When she doesn’t pull away, Velementov rests his head against her stomach, breathing in her essence. She runs her fingers through his short curls, and he swallows hard. She senses his reservations are evaporating.
“They want an heir," she murmurs. She gently traces the rim of his ear with a fingertip, and he shivers. His hands begin to roam until they reach around and grab her ass. She doesn't stop him. Her hands come to rest on his broad shoulders. “I must give them one. And soon.”
They both know what will happen if she doesn’t fulfill the single greatest reason for why she came to Russia in the first place.
“Catherine,” he husks, looking up at her once more. “You don’t know what you’re asking for. You’re talking treason."
His vodka-soaked vocal cords shouldn’t be affecting her the way they are, but she can’t help it. After months of fruitless sex and countless so-called libido enhancers, she’s found herself at wit’s end. She has had to stomach having her foul, cruel, barbaric husband seek and find his pleasure within her, titillating her just enough for her body to awaken to the attention before leaving once he had inseminated her. Months of tortuous teasing, and all for nothing. No children—no heirs—but no release either.
“Take me,” she urges. “I know you’ll make it good.”
She doesn’t really know that, but at this point, she was desperate to try. Perhaps they could try right now. Why not right now? Catherine can’t think of a reason to put a stop to this before it starts, and she’s not really trying to either. She nods to herself, mind made up.
“I trust you,” she says.
“If this is a jape," he begins, looking at her expectantly. "Just remember that while I'm by no means a young man, I still have a heart."
He tries to play it off as a joke, but she knows—without even looking—that he’s wary of being hurt.
"It is not a jape. I wouldn't do that."
He nods, thinking it all over perhaps. But she can tell he's aroused by the way he shifts in his seat and by the way his hands tentatively grope her. Because of course he was. He wasn’t known for having a discerning taste. Any halfway pretty thing would stir his cock, and she knows he’s lusted after her since they met.
“You’d be doing me a favor,” she says.
He pulls back from her and leans back in the chair with a chuckle, pinching the bridge of his nose. She smiles; she knew she was often impossible to work with, but Velementov always took things in stride and with good humor when it came to her. But for a moment, she's not sure what he's going to do. Obviously, she would respect him if he didn't wish to proceed. But then he stands. And begins to crowd into her space. Somehow she always forgot how large he was. It was another quality of his that attracted her to him. His burliness had its own sort of charm. He smiles at her wryly when she takes a step back.
“I don’t believe there are any court rules for this arrangement,” he says wryly. “So you’ll have to forgive me when I cock up what you’re imagining this will be.”
“I trust you,” she repeats. "You'll make it good."
Her cheeks burn when she speaks, but not from shame or embarrassment. It's because she means every word she’s saying. It was her right as empress to be given what she asked for. If people could demand an heir from her, then she should determine the means by which the child was conceived.
“Well then," Velementov says. "Let us proceed.”
“Oh dear,” Catherine mutters.
She’s suddenly rethinking her romanticization of Velementov’s honor and size. It is all well and good for her top general to be an imposing figure in stature and girth on a battlefield or on a diplomatic mission, but it was another thing to have such a man between her thighs. He gives a resigned sigh.
“This is what I meant when I said I’d cock it up," he grumbles.
Shit. She hadn’t meant for him to hear that. The last thing she wanted was for him to be reminded of Peter and his incessant taunts.
Velementov begins to pull away from her.
“Wait.” He stops, and they shift apart until she’s back out from under him. “We just need a better strategy. And vodka.”
He barks a laugh, and the sound pleases her. He shakes his head.
“It’s hard not to fall in love with a woman who goes out of her way to figure out how she can get a cock and a drink inside of her at the same time.”
Catherine affectionately rolls her eyes as she rises to fetch a bottle. She takes a good, long drink before passing the bottle to him. Velementov upends it and swallows the rest down. He tosses it behind him, and it crashes into a thousand fragments. They eye each other for a moment, both silently thinking the same thing, before she gets back on the bed and climbs into his lap. He settles himself back against the headboard to better accommodate her.
“This is better already,” she says. “Isn’t it?”
He looks up at her face, and she wonders what he sees in her that makes him look at her like that. Like she’s something equal parts frightening and beautiful.
“I’d say so.”
Time stands still for a moment before she shifts on his lap. He’s hard in his trousers, and it sends a thrill through her. She did that. She made that happen. This man wanted her. The true her.
Catherine presses in close, and his hands wander up off the cushions and up to her ass, her waist, her back. He cradles her head in his hands, fingers twined in her golden locks.
“Would you like to kiss me?” she asks.
This time, he brooks no argument. He pulls her towards him, and she willingly follows. This was how it was supposed to feel when one was kissed. It was supposed to be an act spurred on by instinct and desire. Kissing and fucking was never meant to be ruled by god or by law. It was supposed to be about two people unravelling each other with their mouths, their hands, their cocks, or their cunts.
She moans into his mouth.
“Christ,” he breathes, pulling away to catch his breath. “We—”
Catherine puts her hand over his mouth.
“Let's not talk ourselves out of it.”
It takes him a moment to process that, but he nods in agreement. Instinct and urges. Those were the only two things she would entertain in her mind right now. Not the fear of being caught and punished. Not the fear of what Peter would do to Velementov. Not the fear that—Oh, there were so many things to be afraid of, but she didn’t want to think about any of them. Right now, she was getting exactly what she wanted from the man she wanted, and she could worry about the details later.
Catherine presses their mouths together again, and this time she can taste the alcohol in his mouth. It’s not the same as taking a drink. It’s the ghost of flavor that makes her thirsty for more. She slides her tongue into his mouth and begins to lift up her skirts to give him the access they both crave.
She is loathe to have him move his hands away, but it is quite necessary for the next part. The reason they were doing this in the first place. She reaches down with the intent to guide him into her.
“Are you sure, Catherine, that this is what you want?” he asks.
She can feel the tip of him against the heat of her core, and she has enough presence of mind to admire that he cared that much about her, her feelings, and her needs whilst about to fuck her, the woman he’d propositioned on a number of occasions when they first knew each other.
Catherine doesn’t answer. Instead, she drops herself on him and lets out a long, satisfied moan. God, his cock was fucking divine. The girth of him made her throb. She melts against his chest, and he quickly envelopes her in a warm embrace.
“Fuck,” he curses hotly into the side of her neck. He thrusts up into her, powerfully and erratically, as though it were too much for him to handle, too. “Fuck.”
She grips onto his shirt as they bask in the heady newness of the other's body.
“Velementov?” she whimpers.
She bites her lip. She’s not sure what she’s asking for when he’s already given her everything she wanted.
“Matvey.”
“What?” she asks.
Her nerves are on fire, eclipsing everything around her. She’s not sure what he’s saying.
“My name,” he replies. “Matvey. ‘Matthew’ in the West.”
“Oh.”
This new piece of information, revealed to her at Velementov’s most vulnerable, strikes her in the most tender place within her heart.
“Matvey,” she repeats in his ear, trying her best at getting her Russian accent right. “Matvey...”
They don't say much after that.
He holds her in the aftermath. She rests with her head on his shoulder; his arms are wrapped around her protectively. Although what she needed to be protected from wasn’t immediately apparent. Perhaps he was subconsciously trying to shield her from Peter.
Peter.
“Velementov?”
“Mmm?”
She doesn’t say anything for moment. She wants this moment to go on for the rest of time, safe in the arms of her friend-turned-lover. But that is folly, and she’s been reckless enough for one day.
“I need to wash before dinner.”
If she didn't, then Peter would know, and he could absolutely never know about this.
Velementov sighs and shifts away from her. She unwillingly pulls away, and they go about redressing and their hair. It wouldn’t bode well for them to exit her chambers looking unkempt. Catherine walks him to the door and catches him by the hand before he crosses the threshold. He raises a brow.
“Thank you,” she says.
“'Twas a pleasure,” he says with a wink.
He bows and kisses her hand. The warm press of his lips stirs warmth in her belly once more.
“It might not work, you know,” she says. “The first time.”
“Is that so?”
“I know from experience,” she says, lip curling at the many sour memories she has of being fucked by Peter.
He pats her hand with his free one.
“We’ll soon put an end to all that,” he says. "To him."
It is exactly what she needs to hear. She reminds herself why she’s here. Why she’s doing this. Catherine takes a deep breath and looks up at her friend and her general.
“Yes, we will. Together.”