“Do you really believe this changes nothing?” he murmured against my skin.
“It doesn’t,” I managed.
“Say it again.”
“It changes nothing.”
But my hands were already tearing at his shirt. He laughed, low and rough, and captured my wrists in one hand, pinning them briefly above my head.
“You don’t get to command and contradict yourself,” he said.
I twisted, breaking free, shoving him back this time. He stumbled half a step, clearly surprised. I grabbed his tie and pulled him down to me.
“Don’t pretend you’re in control,” I breathed.
Something wild flickered in his eyes, and that did it. He backed me toward the couch, kissing me hard enough to stealmy breath. My hands slid under his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin, the tension in his muscles, and we collided with the edge of the sofa. I pushed him down this time, and he didn’t resist. Not once. For a second, I stood over him, breathing hard, dress slightly askew, hair falling loose, and he looked up at me like I was something sacred and sinful all at once. That look alone nearly undid me.
“You started this,” I said.
“You kissed me back just the same,” he countered while I climbed onto his lap.
“That’s not starting.” His hands slid up my thighs, his large palms running over the smooth, sensitive skin that ached for him.
“Yes,” he said quietly, “it was.”
My dress didn’t survive much longer, and neither did his shirt. With one swift motion, I removed his shirt from his body, revealing his naked, muscular torso, which was dominated by hard lines and sheer power. He almost tore the dress off me, as if it didn’t even matter that I was wearing couture. Knowing him, it probably didn’t. We didn’t move toward the bedroom, and we definitely didn’t slow down.
He slid my panties to one side, his fingers finding my weeping cunt urgently and without a second’s delay, he was sliding them inside me while his thumb rubbed my clit with a precision only he had ever matched. I arched my back, holding onto him with everything I had because nothing else made sense in the moment.
“Yes, yes, please, oh my god,” I shouted, not even caring if anyone heard me.
“Please what, Elisse?” he whispered, continuing with his administration.
“Please make me come like that,” I replied shamelessly, arching my back to feel him even deeper inside.
“Say my name while you beg,” he said, trailing kisses all over my exposed neck.
“Please fuck me, Fyodor, make me come again and again and shout your name as you do it,” I begged, propriety and shame flying out the window.
“Good girl,” he replied, his touch only growing more fervent.
Within seconds, I was arching my back and coming all over his hand while he did not slow down, only making me come a second time in the exact same way. I did not know it was even possible for me to come this quickly twice within minutes, but Fyodor could make anything possible. I slumped against him, already feeling spent, but the ache inside me persisted. I still wanted him.
“Look at me.”
I did. His forehead rested against mine.
“You are here because you want to be,” he said.
I could have denied it. Should have. Instead, I kissed him again. Harder. And that was my answer.
“Say it,” he said, his voice rough.
“I am here because I want to be,” I whispered, wanting to feel all of him. Every single inch.
“Good girl,” he said, kissing my eyes softly as I closed them against his lips.
Before I realized what was happening, he tore my panties in two, removing them from my body. I gasped at the sudden motion, my gaze widening. He took off his trousers as well, his hard cock springing before me. Before he could do anything else, I quickly bent down, my mouth salivating at the very sight of him.
