I lift my hips and whisper, “Aleksei.”
“I know.”
“No, I mean now.”
That gets his full attention.
He looks at me for one beat, making sure. Then he stands up with me in his arms like I weigh nothing, carries me the three steps to the wall, and pins me there with one hand under my thigh while he lines himself up with the other.
My pulse is pounding so hard I can hear it.
“Quiet,” he says.
“You first.”
His mouth curves. Then he slowly pushes his cock inside me.
Slow enough to make me feel every inch.
Deep enough to make me lose the rest of my sentence entirely.
I cling to his shoulders, one leg wrapped around his waist, the other braced on the floor until he lifts that one too, holding me up fully now. The wall is cool at my back. He’s hot everywhere else.
“Tell me if this is too much,” he says.
It is. In the best possible way.
“Don’t stop,” I whisper.
So he doesn’t.
He starts moving, measured at first, then harder when he feels how my body answers him. Every thrust knocks a sound out of me I have to bury in his neck. His mouth is at my jaw, mythroat, my lips whenever he can reach them. One hand stays at my thigh, the other at the small of my back, holding me exactly where he wants me.
The angle is devastating. The urgency is worse.
There’s something about doing this here, in the middle of the house, with our baby sleeping nearby and six months of restraint finally burning off, that makes every nerve feel sharper.
He knows it too.
I can hear it in his breathing. Feel it in the way he loses rhythm for one second when I clench around him.
“Fuck,” he mutters.
“Quiet,” I whisper back.
That gets me a dark, hungry look.
Then he carries me to the sofa again without breaking contact and sits down hard, pulling me onto his lap facing him.
Now I can move with him. Control the angle. Grind down where I need it. Kiss him while he watches me take what I’ve been wanting for months.
His hands settle on my hips, my tits bounce in front of his face. He tries to catch my sensitive nipples every time I do, and I hiss.
He doesn’t use his hands, lets me guide the rhythm. Mine go to his hair.
I ride him while he kisses me like he has no interest in ever being patient again, and when I start to shake, he slides a hand between us and finds my clit immediately.
“That’s it,” he says against my mouth.
