He shakes his head, that wicked smile curving his lips.
"Not yet. One more." His thumb tucks in, and he presses forward, his whole fist breaching me slowly, deliberately.
The stretch is unbelievable. I'm gasping, my body shaking as he fills me completely, his wrist disappearing inside. It aches, a deep, delicious burn that has me seeing stars, my pussy clenching and fluttering around him as he brings his other thumb to my clit and presses.
"Rurik!" I sob, my hips jerking involuntarily. It's too much, I’m too full, but I can't stop grinding against him, the pressure building to a razor edge. His fist twists slightly, knuckles grazing every sensitive spot, and I feel like I'm going to shatter.
“Beg for it," he demands, pumping his fist shallowly now, the motion sending shockwaves through me. His other hand pinches my clit, tugging hard. "Tell me how much you love being stretched like this. How you'll let me breed you over and over, fill this greedy cunt until you're dripping."
"Please... it hurts so good... I can't…I need to come. Let me come, please!" I gasp, tears spilling down my cheeks from the intensity. "I love it. I love you stretching me, owning me... please, Rurik, breed me. I need it, need you... please, let me come!" My whole body is taut, aching, hovering on the brink, begging for release as he fists me deeper, harder, pushing me to my limits.
When his warm mouth covers my clit and sucks, stars burst in my brain. I shatter on his fist, his knuckles dragging over parts of me I never knew could feel so stimulated.
My vision goes, my hearing with it. All I know is the pleasure that throbs through me.
I’m shivering when my vision returns.
Rurik is gently pulling from me, then licking every part of my gaping center. Then he is standing between my legs, pumping his cock violently, saying all kinds of dirty things until his hot cum splatters over my wide-open pussy.
Rurik
When the noise in my blood finally settles, exhaustion takes its place. I pull Jessica up to standing and we go through to the bedroom together. I strip off my clothes and climb into bed beside her, enjoying the way she curls against me. .
Sex has never mattered to me beyond the moment. It’s always been about appetite and release, control maintained through detachment. But with her, it feels like a declaration. A line drawn so deep it can’t be erased.
Lying next to her, drifting off to sleep, I finally allow myself to think about what she represents.
Jessica is not a weakness. She’s a catalyst.
I fall asleep with her in my arms, knowing what has to happen next.
We wake in the late afternoon, the light already sinking to darkness.
“I still have some work to do,” I say against her neck. My cock is already nestled between her thighs, warm and hard.
She tightens her thighs, gripping it.
“You need a break, Jessica,” I say, fighting the urge to fill her again. “Are you in any pain?” I ask.
“A little, only an ache. A good ache.” She opens her eyes and turns to look at me. “I needed it. I needed to feel that way. I liked it, and I’m glad we did that.”
Her words are meant to reassure me, but I can’t help but think I took it too far.
“Jessica—” I start, but trail off, not knowing how to say what I’m thinking. How do I tell her that I’m obsessed with her? That I want to make her mine in every conceivable way? How her begging me to do what I did has altered something in my chemistry?
No woman has ever made me feel so powerful, so alive. To hold her pleasure so entirely, for her to trust me with it…
“I’ll get some food sent up, then we need to arrange for your stuff to be brought here,” I say instead.
If she suspects that wasn’t my original train of thought, she doesn’t say anything. She just smiles a sleepy smile and nods.
I leave her to rest a while longer and get back to work, stopping only to allow room service in with the food, and to arrange for one of my men to empty her apartment.
Then my focus is where it needs to be. Not on Jessica and her perfect, hungry pussy, but on Michaelsson and the shit storm he has created by marrying her mother.
Lena Rookeridge didn’t resurface by accident. She always moved toward leverage. Toward men with ambition and appetites she could manipulate. A candidate with a reputation problem is exactly her type. A man desperate enough to believe marriage cleans sin.
Michaelsson thinks he married insulation.
