“I saved your life, and I’d do it again.”
His forehead drops against mine, breath ragged. “Dinara.” Just my name, broken open.
“Maybe I should just fuck you with my fingers. Make you come like this and send you back to your room.”
“No!” I grab his shoulders, desperate. “Please. I need more. Need all of you.”
“All of me?” His thumb finds my clit and I nearly sob. “You think you can handle all of me when I’m like this? When I’m not going to be gentle or sweet? When I’m going to take everything I want and leave you wrecked?”
“Yes. God, yes. Please.”
Something in him snaps. He pulls his fingers out of me and roughly pushes me off his lap. “Stand up.”
I do, my legs shaky.
He’s still in his pants, cock thick and heavy, jutting out from his open zipper. The contrast between his put-together appearance and his exposed need makes something clench inside me.
“Sit on my cock,” he orders. “Take what you need.”
I straddle his lap, positioning myself over him. The head of his cock nudges against my entrance and we both groan.
“Slowly,” he commands. “I want to watch you take every inch.”
I lower myself down and feel the stretch, the burn, the perfect fullness. By the time I’m fully impaled on his dick, we’re both breathing ragged.
“That’s it. That’s my good girl.” His hands grip my hips. “Now ride me. Show me how badly you needed this.”
I start to move, rolling my hips, finding a rhythm. He watches me with those dark, hungry eyes, like I’m the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.
“Faster,” he growls.
I speed up, bouncing in his lap, chasing the pleasure building inside me. His hands move to my breasts, playing with them roughly while I work myself on him.
“That’s it. Look at you, taking my cock so well. You love this, don’t you? Love being used like this.”
“Yes,” I gasp. “Love it. Love feeling you inside me.”
One of his hands slides down to where we’re joined, his thumb finding my clit. The added stimulation makes me cry out, my rhythm faltering.
“Don’t stop,” he demands. “Keep riding me. I want to feel you come on my cock.”
I’m so close, teetering on the edge. His thumb works my clit in tight circles while I bounce on his length, and the combination is too much.
“Kirill, I’m going to…”
“Come for me. Now.”
The orgasm crashes over me like a wave, and I throw my head back with a scream. He doesn’t let up, doesn’t give me a chance to recover. His hands mercilessly grip my hips as he drives into me, hard and fast.
“My turn,” he growls. “Hold on, solnyshko.”
He ruthlessly fucks me through the aftershocks and straight into another climax, using my body exactly like he promised he would. His fingers dig into my hips, bruising, but I don’t care. I want proof of his claim on me.
“So perfect,” he mutters, voice strained. “So fucking perfect. Mine. This counts as consummation, wife.”
“Yours,” I agree, because at this moment it’s true. Because I want to be, even though I know better. “All yours.”
That does it. He buries himself deep and comes with a guttural sound that makes me clench around him. He pulses inside me, filling me, and pleasure ripples through me again.
