Page 16 of The Captive

He shuddered, his breath coming faster. “Bozhe moi,” he gasped, his voice rough with need.

I didn’t know the words, but I understood the prayer.

A thrill shot through me—power, pure and heady. This man, this wolf of the steppe, was at my mercy, despite me being his captive.

I stroked him, slow and firm, my thumb swirling over the slick head, watching his face as pleasure twisted his features.

“I could get down on my knees for you, Dmitri,” I murmured, my voice thick with desire. The Supplicant Swan. The thought of it made my cunny clench, slick with arousal. “Would you like that?”

His dark eyes burned into mine, his jaw tightening. For a moment, I thought he would say yes, that he would let me take him into my mouth, let me taste him, let me show him how much I had learned over these last dozen years.

But then his expression shifted—something fierce, something possessive—and he surged forward, his hands closing around my waist.

“I would not have my men think I couldn’t provide for my krasivaya,” he growled.

Before I could react, he scooped me up over his shoulder, my world tilting as my stomach pressed against his muscled back. I gasped, my hands scrambling for purchase, but his grip was iron.

“Dmitri!” I cried, half-laughing, half-protesting.

He smacked my arse, hard enough to sting. “Quiet, woman,” he commanded, his voice dark with amusement. “You are mine, and I mean to take you.”

The bed came into view as he turned, and then I was flying through the air, bouncing onto the furs with a breathless oof. He followed me down, crawling over me like a wolf stalking prey, his dark eyes locked onto mine.

My breath caught in my throat.

He was magnificent; all hard muscle and rough edges, his cock jutting proudly between his thighs, his scars gleaming in the lamplight. And the way he looked at me…like I was something precious, something he had claimed and would never let go.

“First,” he murmured, his voice a velvet threat, “I will make you scream for me again.”

He lowered his mouth to my throat, his lips hot against my skin. I arched into the kiss, my fingers tangling in his hair as he trailed his mouth down my body…over my collarbone, between my breasts, his tongue swirling around one nipple before he took it between his teeth.

I gasped, my back arching off the bed as pleasure shot through me. He lavished attention on one breast, then the other, his hands roaming over my ribs, my stomach, his touch both greedy and reverent.

Then his palm slid down my belly to rest possessively over my mound.

At the first brush of his fingers over my clitoris, I moaned and lifted my hips, as if I could thrust my core closer to him. He chuckled against my nipple and shifted his angle so he could stroke my folds with his fingers and my pearl with his callused thumb.

My fingers twined through his dark hair as his beard tormented my delicate skin. He slid a second finger inside me, the coarseness intoxicating.

“Dmitri!” His name tore from my lips, desperate and needy.

He chuckled against my flesh, the vibration making me whimper. “Da, little rabbit. Scream for me.”

I wasn’t ready to scream, not yet, but I settled for another moan as I writhed beneath his expert ministrations. When he clamped my nipple between his teeth and tugged gently, I gasped loudly.

“Oh God!” My hips bucked, my fingers yanking at his hair. “Dmitri, please⁠—”

His laughter was dark. “Augusta, my duchess, I want you to come. Should I use my mouth on you?”

Last night he’d done that so selflessly, and just the memory of his mouth on me sent a flutter through my inner muscles that he felt and hummed in response to.

“You want that?”

“Please,” I gasped, tugging at him ineffectively. “I want your mouth on my cunny again.”

Dmitri straightened, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction, and slid his fingers from my channel. I made a noise of disappointment, but he didn’t give me long to reflect.

His hands gripped my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh as he suddenly sat up, pulling me with him. Before I could question, he flipped me onto my hands and knees, the furs soft beneath my palms.