Enough? Hell no. This forbidden game was just getting started. Ismirked against her skin, my hand sliding under the hem of her nightgown, palm pressing against the soft flesh of her inner thigh. She tensed, instinctively trying to clamp her legs shut, but I wedged them apart with more force, my fingers stroking upward, teasing the heat building there.
"Look at us," I murmured, voice low and gravelly. "Doesn't this feel like we're sneaking around? Like a dirty little affair?"
Her body jolted, a shiver running through her. She stammered, words failing her—"I... you..."—but the way she trembled, the slick warmth pooling between her thighs, betrayed her. She liked it. Her hips shifted just a fraction, pressing into my touch, her excitement obvious in the way her breath hitched and her core clenched around nothing.
Seeing her give in like that fired me up. I leaned in close to her ear, my lips brushing the shell. "I want a taste of Mrs. Morozov," I growled, fingers dipping higher, circling her entrance. "Let me check how ready you are for me. Bet you're dripping already, aren't you? All wet and eager for this stranger in your bed."
Her reaction was instant—her nipples pebbled hard against the fabric, her thighs quivered, and a fresh rush of arousal coated my fingers as I teased her folds. She gasped, arching slightly, her body betraying her thrill even as her hands clutched at my shirt. But then she fired back, voice breathy and defiant: "Fine, show me how you stack up against my husband. Think you can do better than that controlling bastard?"
Her words hit like a spark to gasoline. I growled low, spinning her around in my arms, pinning her from behind. One arm banded across her waist like iron, holding her tight against me, while my other hand roamed freely, sliding down her belly and back between her legs from this new angle. I pressed my palm against her nape, keeping her facing forward, not letting her turn to see me. "You asked for it," I muttered, voice rough with need.
With a swift tug, I yanked off her nightgown, the last barrier gone. Moonlight spilled over her, highlighting every perfect curve—her breasts full and heaving, the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips. Shewas breathtaking, exposed and vulnerable. "Mrs. Morozov, you're fucking addictive," I rasped, grinding against her ass to let her feel how hard she made me. "Can't get enough of this body."
I fumbled with my belt, shoving my pants down just enough. Gripping her hips, I positioned myself and thrust into her from behind in one deep stroke, burying myself to the hilt.
She cried out sharply, the sound piercing the quiet room. I clamped a hand over her mouth immediately, leaning over her, my body covering hers. "Shh, not so loud," I hissed in her ear, voice strained. "You scream like that, and someone hears? We're both fucked. Keep it down, or this little affair ends before it starts."
Her walls clenched around me like a vise, hot and soaked, pulling me in deeper. It took everything not to lose it right there. I started moving, slow at first, building rhythm. I hooked one of her legs over my arm, lifting it to open her up more. In this position, I could thrust hard while my free hand worked her clit, rubbing circles that made her shake beneath me. She whimpered brokenly, body trembling, her muffled moans vibrating against my palm.
I leaned in, breath hot against her ear. "Who do you like better? Me or that asshole Kholod?" My voice was hoarse, thrusts picking up pace.
"You," she gasped when I eased my hand off her mouth just enough.
"Liar," I snarled, slamming into her harder, the bed creaking under us. "Who is it really?"
"Kholod," she moaned, fingers digging into the sheets.
I drove deeper, relentless. "Wrong. Who am I?"
"You! Kholod, you bastard!" she screamed, voice cracking.
That did it. I pushed her fully onto the bed, face down, ass up, grabbing her waist and hauling her back against me. I pounded faster, harder, the slap of skin echoing in the room. She begged, "Slower... please, it's too much," but I bit down on her shoulder, marking her with my teeth. "Can't wait," I growled. "Been dying for this forbidden fuck all night."
I flipped her onto her side, still buried deep, one leg draped overmine for leverage. My hand roamed her breasts, pinching nipples until she arched and whined. "Imagine your husband walking in," I taunted, thrusting at an angle that hit her sweet spot. "Seeing you like this, creaming around a stranger's cock. Bet that turns you on more."
She shuddered, inner muscles fluttering, a telltale sign she was close. "Yes... god, yes," she admitted, voice wrecked. Her hands reached back, clawing at my thigh, urging me on. I obliged, sliding a finger alongside where we joined, feeling how stretched she was, how slick and desperate. The wet sounds filled the air, obscene and intoxicating.
I pulled out briefly, just to tease, rubbing my length against her entrance. "Beg for it, Mrs. Morozov. Tell your lover what you need."
"Please... fuck me," she whispered, hips bucking. "Harder. Like you own me."
Grinning darkly, I slammed back in, the side-rear position letting me control every inch. I wrapped an arm around her throat—not choking, just holding her in place—as I rutted into her. Sweat slicked our skin; her breaths came in pants, matching my grunts. I nipped at her earlobe. "You're mine tonight. Forget that prick of a husband. This pussy's clenching like it knows who it wants."
Her body tensed, orgasm crashing over her—she bit her lip to stifle the cry, walls pulsing rhythmically around me, milking every thrust. It pushed me over the edge; I buried my face in her neck, groaning low as I spilled inside her, hips jerking erratically.
But I wasn't done. The game wasn't over. I rolled us so she was on her back, me hovering above, still half-hard inside her. "Round two," I murmured, kissing down her body. My tongue traced the bruises I'd caused earlier, now mixed with fresh marks from our frenzy. She squirmed, oversensitive, but her fingers tangled in my hair, pulling me lower.
I spread her thighs wide, settling between them. "Let's see how you taste after that." My mouth descended, lapping at her soaked folds, savoring the mix of us. She bucked, moaning softly, the thrill of secrecy making it hotter. "Quiet, remember? Or the whole house knows you're cheating."
Her hands fisted the sheets as I sucked on her clit, fingers curlinginside her to hit that spot again. She came undone fast, thighs clamping around my head, body arching off the bed. I didn't let up, drawing it out until she was a trembling mess.
Finally, I crawled back up, pulling her into my arms. We lay there, breaths syncing, the room heavy with the scent of sex. "Admit it," I whispered, nuzzling her neck. "You love this sneaky shit."
She turned, eyes gleaming with post-climax haze. "Maybe. But don't think this changes anything with... him."
I chuckled darkly. "Oh, it does. Because next time, we'll make it even riskier." My hand slipped between her legs again, stroking lazily. The night stretched on, our bodies entwined in this twisted play, the lines between game and reality blurring with every touch, every whispered taunt. She melted under me again and again, the stolen passion burning hotter than any legitimate claim. By dawn, we'd exhausted ourselves, collapsing in a tangle of limbs, the compass necklace forgotten on the nightstand—but its direction? Pointing straight to her, always her.
Chapter Twenty-Four
