Page 7 of His Demands

I stop breathing altogether.

I can see him struggling, like he’s doing everything in his power to hold back from letting his inner demons loose.

Finally he takes a deep breath, straightens his posture as he licks his lips.

Then he takes another step forward.

We’re both inside my apartment now.

Slowly, the door closes behind him.

I lose track of time and space, abandoning my senses as I let his heated gaze swallow me whole.

“Take that off.” His voice is heavy and surly.

I obey his command. My resistance is at an all-time low.

With trembling fingers, I peel the robe off my shoulders and let it land on the floor.

He takes his sweet time measuring me from head to toe, like his eyes are memorizing every curve in sight.

My cheeks flush with warmth.

And a shadow of a smile tests his lips.

“Turn around,” he says.

Fuck. I’m putty in his hands.

I do as he says, holding my breath as he comes closer.

Closer, still.

I feel his breath burning into the back of my neck.

“What are you doing?” I foolishly ask, but my nipples perk up with excitement.

“You’re done talking,” he replies, and I almost whimper under his scorching authority.

He’s the dominant type. I had no idea I wanted to be so submissive, but here I am aroused by his very words.

My heart’s racing as I hear him open his pants.

Seconds later, he takes me in his arms, and I tremble like a leaf in his hands. He kisses the side of my neck, one hand grabbing my breast and squeezing it, tighter and tighter, while the other finds its way down to my clit, still tender from earlier.

“Oh…” I moan, tilting my head back. I inhale deeply, drunk on his cologne, while his fingers work my slick pussy into a whole new kind of frenzy.

My fantasy just became a reality, and I cannot stop whatever is about to happen.

Nor do I want to.

Ivan’s breath is ragged as he pinches my nipple until it stings, his warm hardness against my slick pussy. I groan and squirm, yearning for him to be inside of me. But he’s holding back, torturing me in only the way Ivan could.

“Tell me what you want,” he says, his voice so low I can feel it in my bones.

“I want you.” My voice so husky I can barely talk.

“Show me.”

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