This is something else entirely.
This is two people who’ve seen each other’s darkness and decided to dive deeper instead of running away.
My robe falls open as he rolls us, his body covering mine, weight delicious and overwhelming. His hands map every curve, every hollow, like he’s relearning what’s already his. My hips arch against his, seeking friction, seeking connection, seeking anything to bridge the last gap between us.
“Please—” The word escapes as a gasp when his mouth trails down my throat, teeth scraping my pulse point.
“Please what, Isabelle?” His voice is rough with want. “Tell me what you need.”
“You.” I pull his mouth back to mine, kissing him like he’s oxygen. “I want to taste you.” I push against his shoulders, rolling us until I’m straddling his hips, his hands gripping my waist. His pupils are blown black with need, his breathing ragged as I slowly work my way down his chest, tasting salt and skin and Sergei.
“Jesus—Isabelle—” His fingers tangle in my hair as I reach his waistband, teasing the fabric with my tongue.
I pull his sweats down, freeing him. He’s hard, thick, already weeping with want, and the sight sends a fresh wave of desire through me. I wrap my hand around him, stroking slowly, watching his face contort with pleasure.
Then I take him in my mouth.
Sergei groans, low and guttural, his hips bucking involuntarily. I work him with everything I have—tongue, teeth, hands—learning his responses, memorizing what makes him curse, what makes him gasp, what makes him lose control.
I lick his balls, sucking them into my mouth one at a time, my hand stroking his shaft. His hands fist in my hair, holding on, and the edge of pain only fuels my hunger.
“Isabelle—stop—I’m going to—” His warning comes out strangled.
I don’t stop. I take him deeper, swallowing around him as he comes with a hoarse cry, his body arching off the bed. I swallow everything he gives me, not releasing him until his last shudder subsides.
Then I crawl back up his body, settling my chest against his as his breathing gradually returns to normal.
His eyes are closed, his expression one of pure, sated bliss. I trace the tattoos covering his forearms—the snarling wolf, the Cyrillic words I still don’t understand but now feel intimately connected to.
“God, woman.” His voice is rough, wrecked. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
“I’m just returning the favor,” I say, then give him a wicked smile. “Besides, I’m not done with you yet.”
His eyes open, grey and hot. “Is that so?”
“Mmm.” I move closer to whisper into his ear. “I want to sit on your face.” His hips buck against mine. “And then I want you to fuck me. Hard. Until I can’t remember my name.”
Sergei growls, and then the world tilts as he rolls us. In seconds, he’s arranged us how I requested—me straddling his face, my hands braced against the headboard as his hands grip my thighs.
Then his mouth is on me.
He devours me with practiced skill. His tongue traces patterns. His lips suck. His teeth graze exactly where I need it. My head falls back, a gasp tearing from my throat as he builds me higher, higher, until I’m trembling uncontrollably, hovering on that knife’s edge between pleasure and pain.
His tongue enters me, deep and hot, and that’s all it takes. I shatter with a cry that probably wakes the entire neighborhood, my body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure washes over me. Sergei keeps going, working me through it, until I’m begging him to stop, oversensitive and wrung out.
But he’s not finished.
Before I can recover, he’s moving me, positioning me on my hands and knees. He kneels behind me, his hands gripping my hips.
“Remember what you said about hard?” He leans down, his chest against my back, voice hot against my ear.
I nod, unable to form words.
“Good.”
He thrusts into me in one smooth, deep movement that steals my breath. He’s not gentle. He’s not slow. He takes me with thekind of primal need that’s been building between us for weeks, setting a punishing rhythm that has me seeing stars.
My fingers scrabble at the sheets, my body pushing back to meet each thrust. It’s raw and possessive and exactly what I need—this claim, this ownership, this reminder of what we are to each other.
