Not ignorant. Innocent.
I undress at the foot of the bed. My shirt first. Her eyes track the ink on my chest, the scars, the muscle earned by hurting people and surviving being hurt. My trousers. My boxer briefs. I let her look. Let her see what she has summoned. I am hardalready, heavy and thick, and her gaze widens, and that makes me harder.
“You’re staring, Baby Girl,” I murmur.
“That's not going to fit,” she whispers.
I smile. “We'll make it fit.”
The mattress dips when I crawl onto the bed. She tenses, her spine arching slightly off the mattress. She gasps when I grab her ankle.
“Shh.” I run my palm up her calf, the inside of her knee, her thigh. Her skin is furnace hot. “I told you I would ruin you. But first, I am going to make you feel so good you forget your own name. Can you be quiet for me, Riley? Can you stop talking long enough to let me own this pretty pussy?”
She nods, quick and jerky, eyes wide.
I brace above her, cage her with my body, and take her mouth. The kiss is deep, deliberate, a slow stroke of my tongue that demands she open for me. She does. A soft, broken sound vibrates from her throat into mine, and my cock throbs against her hip. I kiss her until her hands fist in my hair, until her breath turns ragged, until every smart remark and defensive wall she owns melts against my lips.
Only then do I drag my mouth lower.
I taste the frantic pulse in her neck, then close my lips around one tight nipple. I suck hard, drawing it deep, flicking my tongue until her back bows off the bed. Her fingers dig into my shoulders. I switch to the other breast, sucking, biting, soothing with slow laps while my hand slides between her thighs. She is soaked. I push two fingers inside her tight heat, curl them, and stroke that spot that makes her hips jerk.
I keep sucking her breasts while I fuck her with my fingers, relentless, steady, reading every hitch in her breath, every clamp of her cunt. Her thighs start to shake.
“Mikhail—” Her voice cracks.
“Come for me, Baby Girl. Let me feel it.”
She shatters. Her pussy clamps down around my fingers, pulsing, flooding my hand. I keep stroking her through it, keep my mouth on her breast until the last tremor fades and she is gasping, eyes glassy, lips parted on a silent cry.
I don’t give her time to recover.
I slide down her body, spread her legs wide, and cover her velvet lips with my mouth. The first flat drag of my tongue over her swollen clit rips a raw sound from her throat. I feast. I lick and suck and thrust my tongue inside her, then seal my lips around her clit and suck hard while I push my fingers back into her still-spasming heat. I work her without mercy, devouring every drop of her pleasure, growling against her slick flesh because she tastes like mine.
She comes again, harder, thighs clamped around my head, a choked scream tearing from her lips as she bites her own fist. I don’t stop until she shoves at my shoulders, oversensitive and sobbing.
I rise over her. Her face is wrecked. Tears leak from the corner of her eyes. Lips swollen from my kiss. For the first time since I met her, Riley Miller has no words. No armor. Only trust and raw need.
She is naked in every possible way.
I grip my cock and nudge the head against her entrance. She is drenched, scalding, fluttering. I catch her chin, force her eyes to mine.
“Eyes on me, Baby Girl. I want to watch the exact second you become mine.”
I push forward.
Tight. So fucking tight. Her barrier resists, and the primal part of me preens at the gift she is giving. She whimpers, nails gouging my shoulders. I stop, press my forehead to hers, exhale with her.
“Breathe,” I rasp. The word scrapes out of me, rough and stripped of every title I carry. “Breathe for me, Riley. Let me in.”
She exhales. I thrust through.
Her cry is sharp, then deepens into something that sounds like surrender. I seat myself to the hilt and hold still, jaw locked, every muscle trembling with the need to move. She pulses around me, impossibly hot, impossibly perfect, adjusting to the stretch of my cock. Her eyes stay locked on mine.
“Okay?” I manage.
She nods, exhales, and nods again.
I start to move. Slow, dragging strokes that grind against her clit with every roll of my hips. Her whimpers turn into moans. Her moans fracture into my name—over and over, Mikhail, Mikhail—until the sound of it brands itself onto my soul.
