Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 57857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
My thighs start to shake. I’m already so close to the edge. It feels so good. Lucy is skilled, but it’s not her expertise, it’s the fact that it’s Lucy. That she wanted to give me this. After holding everything from me from the very beginning. Something hard and hidden deep in my chest comes unmoored.
I wrap my hand around the back of her head and fuck her face, starting to lose control.
But no.
I want her satisfied, too. With great effort, I manage to pull out of her mouth. “Come, kitten,” I say roughly. I help her up and guide her onto the bed. “On your side,” I order, and she obeys. I tug her stacked knees around to angle her ass at the edge of the bed where I can enter her from standing.
One stroke of my finger verifies she’s dripping wet.
She always is. Even when she’s slapping my face and angry, her body always wants me.
Always welcomes me.
It knows its master even if she does not.
I ease in even though I’m ready to slam. She lifts one knee to give me better access. Looks at the place where our bodies connect with glassy eyes, pupils blown.
I hook my elbow under her top thigh to hold it up as I push in deeper. One slow withdrawal. Another deep push.
She reaches between her legs to rub her clit.
Blyat.
“Nyet,” I scold.
She withdraws her hand, looking up at me in confusion.
“Who owns your orgasms?” I’m feeling fucking proprietary at the moment. She gave herself to me, and I’m taking her. All of her. Every. Last. Bit.
I bring the pad of my thumb to the apex of her sex, applying gentle pressure as I continue to scythe in and out of her. “You sucked my cock so well, kitten. Should I let you come first?”
She shakes her head. “No,” she pants. “With you.”
With me.
Well, fuck.
That hard hidden thing that broke free in my chest crumbles even more. I fuck her harder. Faster. I bang the hell out of my beautiful, pregnant lawyer, watching as she turns as incoherent as I feel, her cheeks feverish, her hair tangling on the bedspread.
I lean in, pushing her top thigh toward her shoulder, applying more of my weight in each brutal thrust.
“You like it rough, kitten?”
“No,” she gasps. “Yes!”
She probably doesn’t even know her own name right now. I’m sure I don’t.
“You ready to come, kotyonok?”
“Yes,” she gasps quickly. “Yes, yes, yes. Please.”
Blyat. I’m ready, too.
I close my eyes and drag in ragged breaths. My movements grow jerky as I get closer, closer, and then pleasure explodes. I slam in deep and come hard, rubbing Lucy’s clit like it’s my lucky button.
She comes immediately, her muscles gripping around my cock, squeezing and pulsing. I stay deep inside until I’ve caught my breath. And then I still remain inside, staring down at my beautiful captive.
And that’s when I know with total certainty: I won’t be letting her go.
Lucy is mine, and the sooner she accepts that, the better for all of us.
Lucy
Cool soft sheets touch my bare skin. I wake up in total bliss. My body feels relaxed and wonderful. I smell something wonderful from the kitchen.
I sit up and look around. The sinking sun makes Lake Michigan glow a beautiful peachy pink. I must’ve fallen asleep after sex.
And that sex.
Whoa.
That was how Ravil was at Black Light. After I cried red because he choked a man for me. After he had to win me back. The time he got me pregnant.
I hadn’t forgotten, but that passionate side of him is normally so hidden, I’d started to wonder if I’d made it up. Or embellished. But no. That was the Ravil I’ve been masturbating to. Not the cool, manicured dominant who knows exactly what to say or do to make my body turn inside out. I appreciate that side, too. But seeing him unbuttoned, seeing a glimpse of the real Ravil—that’s the part that means something.
Our child was conceived in a fit of total passion.
Passion we both still feel for each other.
I get up, pull on a t-shirt and pair of yoga pants and test the door handle. It’s open. No giant Russian sitting guard outside the door, either.
On my bare feet, I pad toward the living room where I hear the boisterous sounds of men speaking in accented English. I guess they’ve given up the farce? Or maybe they’ll switch back to Russian when they see me.
I spy Ravil in the kitchen, pulling a tray of perogies from the oven with a hot pad, looking far more domestic than I could have imagined. His face blooms into a warm smile when he sees me. Gone is the inscrutable mask he normally wears. The handsome but cool facade. There’s genuine delight in his expression.
And damn, he looks adorable cooking.