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I peel my eyes open and watch him finger me. Then he lowers his mouth to my clit, his eyes on me as he shatters the loose grip I have on my control.
I cry out as wave after wave of pleasure rolls through me.
“Don’t look away,” Yakov orders. He tilts his head to the side, dark eyes studying me as I fall apart. “Look at me when I make you come.”
I’ve never been more vulnerable or turned on in my life.
And Yakov knows it.
I’ve barely come down when he throws my legs over his shoulders and positions his cock at my pussy. With one thrust, he plunges into me. I’m ready for him—well, I thought I was—but the way he stretches me still steals my breath.
I gasp and he wraps his hands around my legs, somehow pushing even deeper into me, which makes me gasp again, which pushes him deeper into me, which makes me—you get the picture.
“Fucking hell.” He tilts his head back, his throat bobbing in the blue light from the TV. “Do you feel that? You were made to fit me.”
His stomach flexes and I can’t stop myself from touching him. My fingers are cold against the hard ridges of his abs.
He fucks me faster and faster. My gasps dissolve into something even less coherent. I toss my arms over my head, reaching for the edge of the couch just to have something to hold onto.
Yakov drops his hand between my legs and starts circling his thumb around my clit until I’m delirious. My entire world has narrowed to where his body touches mine.
“Yakov, I—ohfuckinghellnotagain.” I was about to tell him he was going to make me come. But I don’t need to. The clench of my body around his is pretty easy to interpret.
He slows his thrusting as my orgasm finally has mercy and lets me breathe again. His calloused hands stroke up and down my shins where they rest on his shoulders. Then he pushes my legs away. They flop uselessly to the couch and he bends over me.
“Do I fuck you like someone who doesn't care about you, Luna?” he growls, the words a deep rumble in my ear.
I weakly shake my head. “No. That was?—”
“Maybe I should. Maybe I should fuck you like you're a faceless, nameless, meaningless one-night stand.”
Is that what I am? What we are?
No. Somewhere deep inside, I feel it.
There’s more here.
I wrap my legs around his lower back, pulling him closer. The tip of him splits me and I moan.
“Fuck me like a one-night stand if you want,” I rasp. “You don’t have to like me. Just… want me. Touch me. That’s enough.”
I’m lying. It won’t be enough until I have all of him.
He slips further into me, his teeth clenched. “It isn’t enough, Luna. I don’t want that. Don’t you see that?”
I shake my head. If he doesn’t want me, I don’t want to know. I want the pretty lies. I want the fantasy. Whatever it is that means Yakov keeps touching me and I can stay here in his arms, that’s what I want.
“What I want is to fuck you like you're the last fuck I'll ever have.” Yakov slams himself home in me again. “That's what fucking terrifies me.”
He kisses me while he fills me, claiming me with his tongue and his cock until I’m writhing under him again.
“Yakov…” I moan, my legs tightening behind his back.
He goes rigid. His hand fists in my hair and he spills into me with a savage grunt.
I’m wrecked in every way imaginable. My eyes are fluttering closed before Yakov even slides out of me.
When I feel his arms scoop behind my back and under my knees, I whimper something, though hell if I know what I’m even trying to say. Yakov shushes me, and I drift to sleep with the gentle swaying of his steps.
