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With that, I reach back and take hold of his huge cock, a soft moan escaping me as I wrap my fingers around him, savoring his thickness.
I place him at my entrance, his head spreading my lips. He exhales sharply and pulls back. “Oh, no, not yet,” Ivan says. “I want you to bend over.”
He doesn’t tell me twice. He shows me, instead. Pressing one hand down my back, he pushes me into a bend, my legs spread before him. I can barely stand, but his fingers dig into my flesh as he spreads me open and gets down on his knees behind me.
His tongue reaches me first.
I’m done for.
He licks my pussy, tasting and probing, suckling my clit until I lose my senses altogether. I feel one hand letting go, fingers testing my entrance.
“You taste like fucking heaven, Julie. It’s a dangerous weapon, what you’ve got here,” Ivan growls, then proceeds to savagely finger-fuck me until I whimper in his hold. “Touch yourself for me.”
“Ivan.”
“Do it. Touch yourself like I just touched you.”
He’s got three fingers inside me and his other hand joins in on the action, thumb teasing my swollen nub while I cup my breasts and squeeze and pinch. My nipples sting, all the blood rushing out of my head as Ivan brings me closer and closer to that razor sharp edge.
“Come for me,” he says.
It’s like an automated instinct. I come for him. I come so hard, as he licks my pussy and feverishly rubs my clit, squeezing every last drop as I fall apart. “Oh God!” I gasp when he hoists me off the ground and carries me onto the sofa.
“I’m not done yet,” he says.
I’m a rag doll. He can do whatever he wants with me. My body is still immobile in the aftermath of this devastating orgasm when he dives face first back between my legs.
"Ivan," I whisper, the name rolling off my tongue like a secret I've been keeping for too long.
“I like the way my name sounds on your lips” he says, then takes me in his mouth again.
The air thickens, charged with an electric current of forbidden desire. His strong hands trace the contours of my body, exploring every inch with a reverence that's both surprising and intensely arousing. His touch is a paradox—gentle yet commanding—never-ending waves of pleasure crashing over me.
"Ivan," I say again, louder this time. The walls of my apartment fade away, replaced by an intimate cocoon where only he and I exist. His presence is overwhelming, consuming, guiding me toward a crescendo of ecstasy.
As yet another climax builds, my body tenses, every nerve ending singing with anticipation. "Ivan," I cry out, the name a talisman that unleashes the final wave of pleasure. It crashes over me, a tsunami of sensation that leaves me breathless and spent.
He shoves three fingers inside me, a deep, animal grunt escaping his lips as he watches me unravel, the pleasure gripping me like a fist. “Fucking hell,” he whispers, unable to take his eyes off me as I writhe in the purest form of existence.
I don’t how long it takes for me to see again. But by the time I register the movement, Ivan is already zipping his pants back up and headed for the door.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
It’s all he says, and I’ve got nothing. Only my jumbled thoughts.
He might be insufferable, but in the realm of fantasy, he was fair game. I didn’t think anything would ever happen between us in the real world. But it did.
He's off-limits, a line I can't cross. But I crossed it.
I might just sink into this couch and die. The embarrassment, the horror, the absolute mortification of it all! What the hell is going to happen tomorrow? How in God’s green earth am I going to walk into the office in the morning?
For a wild second I consider fleeing the country, changing my name, maybe joining a remote convent where phones are banned. But that's the panic talking. I'm Julie Goodacre, not some damsel in distress who runs at the first sign of trouble.
Chapter 3
Ivan
The soft glow of the city lights casts a warm hue through the windows of my Upper West Side brownstone. As I bask in the midnight moonlight, I decide to numb my mind.
