Page 44 of The Pakhan’s Debt by Leona White

“Stay still.”

His fingers run over the seam of my panties, then hook in the lace and rip them down, tearing them in half. The ruined fabric hangs from his fist before he tosses it aside. He strokes my slick folds, fingers parting me, rubbing slow circles around my clit. My head drops forward. His other hand grabs the back of my neck, pushing me down.

“Does it kill you that you’re wet for me?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

He laughs, dark and dangerous. “Too bad.” Two fingers slide inside me, knuckles deep. I gasp. He curls them, hitting that gut-wrenching spot, pumping while his thumb grinds my clit. The table rattles with every thrust. My toes curl, nails digging into the wood. He keeps me on the edge until my thighs shake, and right when I’m about to break he pulls out and steps away. Pain flares in the absence. I curse him, raw.

“Do it again,” I snarl.

“I plan to.”

His hands clamp around my hips. He slams in without warning, burying himself to the base. I cry out, the thrust brutal, pushing me forward on the table. He doesn’t pause. He sets a vicious rhythm, hammering into me, each stroke slapping skin against skin, loud and primal.

My body opens and re-opens around him, heat licking through my veins. He leans over me, his chest pressed between my shoulder blades, breath hot against my neck.

“Who do you belong to?” he growls.

“No one,” I gasp, even though everything inside me is bowing.

He grips my hair, yanks my head back so I look at us in the reflection of the window glass. My face is flushed, eyes wild. His teeth skate up the side of my throat. He bites down, sharp, sucking to leave bruises. I moan, pulse raging. He grinds deeper, hitting that spot again and again until my vision goes hazy.

“Say it,” he insists.

“Fuck you.”

He slaps my ass again, the crack loud enough to echo. “Say my name.”

“Maksim!” It rips from me on the next thrust, a bark of pleasure and fury tangled together. He hisses, satisfied. His hand drops to my clit, thumb circling brutally while his cock pistons in and out. The sensation overloads me. I push back against him, meeting every thrust with equal force, wanting all of it, every savage inch. He groans, the sound low and raw, and drives harder.

“Don’t come until I tell you,” he commands.

My muscles tremble from the strain. I clench around him, desperate and thwarted. He keeps me there, riding just shy of the edge, the tension stretching needle-sharp. Sweat slips down my spine. I bite my lip to hold back. He moves his thumb lower, pressing directly on the same spot his cock pounds inside. Stars explode at the edge of my sight.

“Now,” he says finally.

The word detonates whatever restraint I had. The orgasm tears through me, violent and delicious, ripping a scream from my throat. “Maksim!” My inner muscles clamp down around him, spasming. He curses, guttural, keeps thrusting, milking every contraction until I nearly collapse.

He doesn’t stop. He grips my hips and hauls me upright, still embedded inside me, then pivots so he can walk me backward. My thighs wobble, dress bunched at my waist, his body sealing to mine from behind. He drags me across the room, shoves the door to the private hall open with his shoulder, and marches us through the corridor without bothering to cover me. Anyone could see. He doesn’t care. Neither do I.

He pushes my back against the wall halfway down the hall, lifts one of my thighs, hooking it over his arm, and plunges into me again. I claw at his shoulders, dig my nails into his biceps. We fuck against the wall, hard and fast, his mouth devouring mine, biting my bottom lip. I grind down on him, riding high, chasing another peak.

He groans and pounds harder. My foot slips on the polished floor. He lifts me entirely, hands under my thighs, carrying me, still thrusting, down the hall. My back slams into another wall, and then he shoulder-checks the bedroom door open.

We crash into his suite. He kicks the door shut, strides to the bed, and throws me onto it belly-down. I bounce once, breath knocked out. He drags me to the edge by my hips, flips me onto my back, and climbs over me, his cock slick with both of us. He pushes my knees to my chest and slams in again. The mattress muffles my cry. He pounds me into the thick duvet, eyes blazing.

“You’re going to suck me again after I fuck you,” he says, voice hoarse. “And you’re not leaving until you do.”

“Make me,” I gasp and wrap my legs around his waist, locking him deeper. He snarls and bites down on my collarbone, the pain sharp and electric. He braces on his forearms, driving harder, hips pistoning. The headboard thuds against the wall. Each thrust scrapes across the spot inside me that’s still raw from the first orgasm, turning it to molten pleasure again. I claw his back, leaving angry lines. He hisses and slams faster.

“Touch yourself.”

I reach between us with a shaking hand and rub my clit, tiny frantic circles that sync with his thrusts. The pleasure coils again, high and tight. He watches my fingers move, eyes dark.

“That’s it,” he whispers. “Fall apart.”

“I hate you,” I gasp.