"Yes," I hiss, my forehead pressed to the glass. "Again."
He delivers. Once, twice, and my body feels claimed. Owned. I stop bracing myself and just let it roll through me, blood singing in every vein.
Next, his hands grab my hips, unmercifully, he lines himself up, and in one relentless thrust, fills me to the hilt. I watch his face in the mirror. See his clenched jaw. His eyes have gone black as he loses himself in the rhythm he sets. The mirror catches my reflection, cheeks flushed, hair in my face, lips parted in a silent scream.
He fucks me hard, like he needs to leave evidence. His fingers dig crescents into my hips as his cock pistons inside me, every thrust a little more desperate. My breasts bounce against the cold counter, nipples pebbled, every nerve lit up and burning. The heat in my belly coils tight, pleasure and pain braided together so perfectly I can't tell which is which.
"You're mine," he says, breath ragged. "Understand?"
"Yes," I choke out, and then he reaches around to rub my clit, grinding the heel of his hand against it in brutal little circles. My body goes liquid, knees buckling, and he has to hold me up to keep fucking me. I'm gone, gone, delirious.It builds, crests, and explodes. My orgasm is so violent that I see starbursts behind my eyelids. My legs are jello, my voice is gone, but he keeps going, chasing his own finish.
He slams into me once, twice, then roars out my name and comes so deep I swear I can feel him paint my insides. I sag against the counter, my cheek pressed to the marble, sweat cooling instantly against my skin.
We stay just so, a heap of tangled bodies and breath, until he finally straightens and pulls me up with him. I collapse back against his chest, boneless, letting him hold all my weight. His lips graze my ear, soft now. "Next time, we go slow," he murmurs, but I know it's a lie.
I laugh, hoarse and true. "Promises, promises, promises."
He spins me around and kisses me, sweet and filthy at the same time. I taste blood—I must've bitten my lip—but I don't care.
He grins, all wolf, like he can taste my surrender and it’s the best delicacy of his life. "Oh, I like a challenge," he murmurs.
Without warning, he hoists me up, like I weigh nothing, and tosses me over his shoulder like a bag of rice, my towel pooling on the tile behind us. I bark out a surprised laugh and smack his ass on instinct, which just makes him dig his fingers harder into the backs of my thighs. He carries me to the bed, flinging me onto it so the mattress bounces and swallows me, knees splayed, hair wild aroundmy face.
He straddles my hips, looming over, and just… drinks me in.
I expect him to fuck me right away, but instead, he makes a slow, torturous meal of my skin. He starts with my clavicle, nipping and licking, then works down, mouth on my breast, tongue a leash over my nipple. Heat lances straight to my cunt. He sucks, bites, then moves to the other tit, lavishing attention until both are raw and hypersensitized. I arch, desperate for more, but he just pins my wrists over my head with one hand and grins down, infuriating and perfect.
"Don’t move," he says. The note of command in his voice shreds all my restraint. My legs twitch; my hips buck under his weight. I’m so wet, I can feel slick pooling between my thighs and onto the sheets.
He trails a line of kisses down my belly, pausing to bite above my hip, then grazes his teeth over my stitches, grinning like he’s found a state secret. "I'll never get tired of tasting Russian," he teases, and then he’s between my legs, spreading me open with two thick fingers, not inside, just rubbing circles over my clit until I’m dizzy with want.
"Look at you," he says, voice thick with awe and hunger. "So fucking wet. Is all that for me?"
I’m panting, fighting the instinct to grind against his palm. "Shut up and eat me," I snarl, but my words come out ruined, pleading.
He likes that. Likes that too much, if the way his cock twitches against my leg is any clue. He bends down and lays his tongueflat against my pussy, slow at first, then speeding up until my thighs are trembling and my head’s pressed hard into the pillow. I wrap my legs around his shoulders, try to control the rhythm, but he clamps my hips with his hands, holding me still while he wrecks me with his mouth.
He gets me so close I’m shaking. So goddamn close. Then he stops. Fucking stops. Pulls away and blows a cool breath across my clit.
The sound I make is not human. "Stephano?—!"
He presses a finger to my lips. "No. You want to come, you ask me. Understood?"
I could claw his eyes out, but I nod instead. He goes back to work, this time adding a finger, then another, curling just right, tongue working me over until I’m right back on the cliff. My whole body locks up; I’m ready to explode.
He stops. Again.
"Fuck you!" I spit, voice hoarse.
He snorts, amused and delighted. "Not yet, Zhena."
I’d be furious if I weren’t so wound up. My hands fist the sheets, and I hate him, I hate him, I want to bite his fucking nose off, but Christ, I can’t imagine anything better than him between my legs right now. He resumes, and the cycle keeps going, tease, edge, deny, until I’m shaking all over, begging with my eyes, my voice shot to hell.
"Please," I gasp. It burns to say it, but I do.
He sits up, looming over me, eyes wild, hair mussed. "That’s my girl," he says, and then finally, finally, he fucks me, deep and unrelenting, each thrust like an answer to every time he made me wait. I unravel so hard it’s almost dangerous. My orgasm tears through me, wild and endless, leaving me trembling, sobbing, limp in his arms.
He grinds against me, not stopping, pummeling every last drop of pleasure from my body until I’m raw and boneless and sobbing for mercy. I feel him stiffen, burying himself as deep as possible, and with a grunt, he comes too, hot and hard, pulse after pulse.
