He lingers there for a second longer, his hand coming up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “You smell like me.”
His words hang between us.
He’s so close I can feel the heat of him, the wood and leather of the desk pressing into my thighs. I don’t move—my pulse is pounding in my throat, breath coming a little faster, all thecaution I felt a second ago replaced by this wild ache. Aleksander looks at me, eyes dark, daring me.
Something shifts inside me. I want to take control.
I lean in, running my hands up the front of his shirt, feeling the hard lines of his chest under the soft cotton. “Maybe you should worry about smelling like me instead,” I murmur, and my voice is lower than I expect, thick with need.
He smirks, but he doesn’t push back when I turn the tables, pushing him gently until he’s against the desk. I drop to my knees, the floor cold through my jeans, but all I feel is the heat rolling off his body. I look up at him, letting him see the wicked grin on my lips as I reach for his belt, undoing it slowly, teasing. He lets out this impatient sound—half growl, half moan—and I see the way his hands flex against the wood behind him.
The buckle clinks, and then his zipper, and I slide his pants down enough to free him. His cock is already hard, thick and heavy in my hand, hot as I wrap my fingers around him. Aleksander hisses in a breath, jaw clenching. I like making him lose control.
I don’t rush. I lick the head, tasting him, slow circles with my tongue, watching his eyes flutter closed. “Fuck, Bella,” he mutters, voice rough. I take him in deeper, sucking him in slow, savoring the weight of him on my tongue, the way he fills my mouth. I move my hand in sync, twisting, stroking, taking him deeper with each bob, until I can feel him hitting the back of my throat and tears prick my eyes, but I keep going, loving the way he’s trembling.
His fingers find my hair, tightening, guiding but never forcing. He’s letting me set the pace—my pace, my mouth, my rules. I hum around him, letting the vibration travel through him,and he curses again, head falling back. I glance up, loving how wrecked he looks, how undone I can make this man.
I pull back, letting my lips drag along the length of him, then suck him in hard and fast, my hand moving with more urgency. I want to taste him, want to ruin him. He’s so close—I can tell by the way his thighs are tensing, his grip in my hair getting desperate. I hollow my cheeks and take him in as deep as I can, swallowing around him, and that’s it—he loses it.
“Bella, I—fuck?—”
He tries to pull away, but I hold him tight, and he spills, hot and salty on my tongue, spilling past my lips, thick spurts that coat my mouth and chin. I let some of it drip onto my chest, not caring, watching him shudder above me, watching him completely unguarded.
When he’s done, I pull back, licking my lips, wiping the mess with the back of my hand, grinning up at him, breathless. “Now you smell like me,” I say, voice smug and playful, and I see the way his eyes darken all over again.
He’s still catching his breath, pants barely held up, chest heaving, but he laughs, this low, wrecked sound, and reaches for me. “Come here,” he says, voice softer, but rough at the edges.
I stand, and he pulls me into him, his mouth crashing onto mine, tasting himself on my lips. His hands slide into my hair, fingers tangling, tugging me closer. There’s nothing gentle about the kiss—it’s raw, messy, desperate. I can taste his release, feel the slickness on my chin, feel how wild I’ve made him.
His hands find the hem of my shirt, tugging it up, and I let him, skin prickling in the cool air. He palms my breasts, pinching my nipples through my bra until I gasp, my own knees going weak. Ican feel how wet I am, how badly I need him, and I grind against his thigh, chasing friction.
He grins against my mouth. “You like taking charge, huh?”
I nod, biting his lower lip. “Sometimes. Sometimes I just want you in my mouth, want to taste you, want to see you lose control.”
He growls, deep in his chest, and grabs my ass, lifting me onto the desk, spreading my legs. “And what do you want now?” he asks, voice dark, fingers teasing at the waistband of my jeans.
I shiver, anticipation curling in my belly. “I want you,” I whisper, barely able to speak as his fingers dip beneath the denim, brushing over my slick heat. “Now.”
He doesn’t make me wait. In a blink, my jeans are down, his mouth hot on my neck, biting, sucking, his fingers sliding through my folds, pushing into me, making me gasp and writhe against the desk. He’s rougher now, urgent, but I love it, love knowing I can make him lose it like this.
My jeans are halfway down my thighs, panties tugged aside, and there’s barely a second to breathe before his mouth is on mine again—hungry, desperate, tasting himself on my lips. His cock, already hard again, and still slick and heavy from my mouth, presses hot against my inner thigh.
I reach between us, wrapping my hand around him, guiding him right where I want him. The need is molten inside me now—my pulse throbs between my legs, everything tight and aching. Aleksander holds my gaze, eyes dark, his breath coming harsh against my cheek as I rub his tip along my soaked folds, teasing us both, spreading the mess he made across my skin.
He growls, deep and Russian and feral, and thrusts into me in one long, hard stroke. My back arches, fingers clutching at his shoulders as he fills me, stretching me open. The desk creaks beneath us, papers and pens scattering to the floor, but I don’t care about the noise, or the fact that anyone could walk in—I just want more.
He sets a punishing rhythm, hips snapping against mine, cock driving deep. Every stroke hits something electric inside me, making me gasp and claw at his back, nails leaving red lines in his skin. Aleksander’s hand finds my throat, not squeezing, just holding, grounding me in the sensation—his rough thumb pressing under my jaw, making me look up at him, making me feel everything.
“Look at me,” he commands, voice all gravel and heat.
I do. Our eyes lock, and it’s like something raw and wild pulses between us. I tighten my legs around his waist, heels digging into his ass, pulling him even deeper. The edge of the desk bites into my hips but I don’t care—I want to feel every inch of him, to be ruined and marked and split open by this man.
He fucks me hard, relentless, his body pinning mine down, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the quiet room. His free hand slides under my shirt, shoving my bra up, fingers pinching and twisting my nipples until I cry out, body jerking under his touch. I can feel him everywhere—inside me, over me, under my skin.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, thrusts getting rougher, deeper. His hips stutter and I know he’s close, but I want to come first, want to feel myself clench around him, to pull him over the edge with me.
I reach down, rubbing my clit in tight, desperate circles, chasing the heat that’s building. Aleksander watches, eyes burning, groaning as he sees me touch myself. “Good girl,” he mutters, voice ragged, hips never slowing.
