“You thought I was bad before,” I say quietly when we pull apart. “I’m not going to be able to keep my hands off you now.”
“Is that a promise?” she asks, her eyes twinkling in the dim light of our bedroom.
Kira
“You’re in a mood,” he murmurs, voice low enough to vibrate through my bones.
“I’m in aclaimingmood.” I lean in until my lips brush the shell of his ear. “And tonight, you’re going to take it.”
A rough sound tears out of his throat, half laugh, half growl.
I begin unbuttoning his shirt, then push both that and his jacket from his shoulders. His chest is a map I’ve memorized: the faint white scar under his left pec, the dark trail of hair that disappears into his waistband, the way his nipples tighten the second the air hits them.
I drag my nails lightly down his sternum.
His jaw flexes. The muscle jumps. I grind against the thick ridge already straining behind his zipper. His hips jerk up before he can stop them. A choked Russian curse leaves his lips.
I smile against his throat, then bite.
“Fuck—Kira—”
“Shh.” I lick the mark I left. “You’ve had me against every surface in this house for weeks. Now it’s my turn.”
I work his belt open with deliberate slowness. Button. Zipper. I don’t try to pull his slacks down with me sitting on his knee, just open them enough to free him. His cock drops into my hand,hot and heavy, already leaking at the tip. I give one slow, twisting stroke from root to crown.
His head falls back. Tendons stand out in his neck.
“Look at me,” I whisper.
His eyes snap to mine. Blown, wild, glittering with something close to insanity.
I rise up on my knees, move my panties aside and notch him at my entrance, before sinking down in one long, ruthless glide.
We both groan.
He’s so thick it borders on too much, even after weeks of him inside me every chance he gets. My walls flutter and clutch, trying to take all of him at once. I feel every ridge, every vein, the blunt head kissing my g-spot when I bottom out.
I hold there, motionless, letting him feel how tightly I’m gripping him.
His fingers tighten on my hips until his knuckles go white. His chest heaves.
“You feel that?” I rock my hips in the tiniest circle. “That’s me taking what’s mine.”
“Kira—” His voice is shredded. “If you keep talking like that this will all be over before you get what you need.”
I lean forward, brace my hands on his shoulders, and start a slow, torturous grind, but not giving him the deep, pounding strokes he’s dying for. Just enough friction to drive us both insane.
His hips try to thrust up. I clamp my thighs tighter, pinning him.
“Stay still,” I breathe against his mouth. “Or I’ll stop and finish myself on your tongue instead.”
A broken sound rips out of him.
I reward obedience with a harder roll of my hips. His cock drags against that perfect spot inside me and lightning shoots up my spine. I moan, loud and shameless, and his control visibly fractures.
“Fuck, you’re dripping down my balls,” he rasps. “So wet I can hear it.”
I am. I can feel it. Slick, obscene, coating us both every time I lift and sink again.
