I breathe harder, trying to resist the pull of his words. But his hand is warm, almost hot, and the calluses at his fingertips drag over my palm. I bite my lip, swaying toward him. Makari’s eyelids are lowered. He chases—but stops just short of a kiss.
“Take it, Roxanne. Use me.”
The words crash into me and unleash the tension I’ve been holding inside for days,weeks.He’s right.
I amso good.I obey everyone, and I do everything I’m supposed to do, and I’m exhausted and grumpy, and I justwant?—
Pulling him closer by the undone collar of his shirt, I press my open mouth to his. Makari moans into it, his tongue licking across the seam of my lips until I gasp them open again. Thoughtlessly, I lead his hand down, and his other one hikes my skirt up to allow him access.
He finds my core quickly, barely covered by the thin fabric of a ridiculous thong I have to wear with this silk skirt. With two fingers it’s moved aside quickly, and his fingertips ply my pussy lips, searching for the wet heat that’s gathered between my legs.
Leaning back on the desk, I open my legs to give him better access. Makari groans approvingly, pushing me back as his fingers enter me. I cry out against his mouth, back arching at the feeling of being full and not quite ready for it.
But he goesslow.Teasingly slow. Dragging his touch through the delicate heat of my pussy until I’m ready, wet sounds obscene in the room.
He picks up the pace. The knuckle of his thumb bumps roughly against my clit, and I try to scoot closer to him, moaning against his mouth.
“Not enough,” I gasp, hands fumbling at his half-undone shirt. My mind is hazy, though, and I’m not sure what I’m doing, drunk on needing him.
“What do you want, Roxanne?” he snarls. “What do you want, my love? Take it.”
Thoughtlessly, I push him back, ignoring the drag of his soaked fingers against my silk skirt. It’ll dry—maybe not fast enough for anyone else not to notice just how wet I am for him. We stand staring at one another, chests heaving.
He’s gorgeous. Broad and dark, with that tooth glinting between his parted lips like a promise, the black tattoo crawling up his neck.
“Get on the ground.”
Makari lifts a brow, but doesn’t argue. He kneels slowly, first on one knee and then the other. His hands wander questioningly up my calves, but I shake my head.
“I want to ride you.”
His shoulders tense at the words. For a moment, I worry he’ll say no and that he won’t be able to give up control. After all, every time before this it’s been Makari who makes the first move, who claims me and plays my body like an instrument he’s all too familiar with.
This time, I want to be the one pulling the strings.
With a smirk, he sits back on his haunches and slowly stretches out.
His erection strains against the charcoal trousers he’s wearing. I climb down next to him, my fingers fumbling at his belt. He helps me deftly unbuckling it, but his fingers tremble. As he thumbs open the button and undoes the zipper, I palm him and he moans.
He’s already rock hard and throbbing through the fabric.
My mouth waters at the thought of his thick cock. I want him in a way I’ve never wanted another man, and we’re both breathless as I hike up my skirt and straddle him, hands disappearing under the burnt orange silk to remove him from his boxers.
The thick vein on the underside of his cock throbs against my fingertips. Makari lays all the way back, flat on the ground, his hands gripping my hips as I lift myself and run the head of his cock through my soaked folds.
We both moan.
Completely lost in my pleasure, I play with myself until my thighs are trembling and Makari is cursing quietly in Russian beneath me. When I drop my head forward to meet his dark, bottomless eyes, my hair comes out of the clip it was in, grazing his face. I feel weightless, swaying, lost in the way his gaze devours me. I feel gorgeous and wanted and sinful and good all at the same time.
I sink down onto him, so wet that the stretch is more pleasure than pain.
“Fuck,” Makari mutters as I groan happily.
Take what you need.That’s what he said.
That’s what I intend to do.
I ride him like a ship in a storm, finding a rhythm quickly thanks to how solid and steadying he is beneath me. His hands grip my hips harshly, stiff from giving up control—fromnotguiding me to whathewants.
