Mikhail climbs over me, his presence instantly swallowing the light in the room. He grabs my hips from behind, his large, scarred fingers digging into the soft flesh of my waist with a force that makes me gasp. He pulls me back until my rear is pressed flush against his thighs, his hard, thick cock rubbing against my cleft.
"You're shaking, Princess," he whispers in my ear, his hot breath making me shiver. "You're wet," he growls.
He reaches around my waist, his large hand sliding down my flat stomach, past my bush, to find my wetness. He slides two fingersinside me, his thumb grinding against my clit with a ruthless, heavy pressure. I let out a whimper, my head thudding slightly against the headboard as he stretches me, his fingers moving in a hard, rhythmic rhythm.
"Mikhail... please," I sob, my hips twitching against his hand.
"Not yet," he murmurs.
He pulls his fingers out, slick and shining, and rubs the wetness over my clit, making me writhe. He leans down, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of my neck, biting down just hard enough to make me cry out. He sucks on the mark, his hand coming down to give my cheek a sharp, stinging slap.
The smack makes me gasp, my back arching, my bound-up tension finally breaking. It’s rough, it’s intense, but as his hands move over my skin, there’s a different kind of heat beneath the violence today. It feels like he’s trying to hold onto me, like he’s trying to squeeze the fear out of my bones.
He positions himself at my entrance. He’s massive, hot, and thick, the head of him stretching me before he’s even inside. He grabs my jaw from behind, tilting my head back so I’m forced to look at him over my shoulder.
"Tell me you're mine, Irina," he growls.
"I'm yours," I gasp, my fingers clawing at the wooden headboard. "Mikhail, please. I'm yours."
He drives himself inside me in one deep, powerful thrust.
I let out a broken scream, my body lifting off the mattress as he fills me to the hilt. The fullness of him is dizzying, a sharp, beautiful ache that makes my whole body tremble. He stays there for a second, buried deep, his chest heaving against my back, his breath ragged in my ear.
"Mine," he rasps, his hands coming down to grip my thighs, forcing them wider.
He starts to move. It’s a relentless, heavy pounding from behind, his hips slamming against my rear with a force that rattles the headboard against the wall. I’m sobbing into the pillows, my hands straining against the wood as he drives himself into me over and over. Every thrust is deep, hitting my G-spot with a clinical, intense precision that makes my vision blur.
"You feel so good, wife," he pants, his teeth biting my shoulder. "So tight. So wet."
"Mikhail... harder... please, harder," I beg, my stubbornness entirely gone, replaced by a desperate need to be consumed by him.
He thrusts into me with a brutal, snapping rhythm, the sound of skin hitting skin loud in the quiet room. I can feel the sweat dripping from his chest onto my back, his body a punishing weight that keeps me locked to the bed. It’s rough, it’s dominant, but beneath the aggression, there is a deep, aching tenderness.He’s holding me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go, his fingers leaving marks on my skin that feel like promises.
I’m close. I’m so close I can barely breathe, my muscles tightening around him, my head moving from side to side on the sheet.
"Look at me," he commands, his voice a rough growl.
I turn my head, my eyes wide and dark as I look at him over my shoulder. He’s sweating, his face a mask of intense desire, his blue eyes locking onto mine with a fierce, absolute possession.
"Come for me, Irina," he rasps.
The tension snaps. My climax hits me like a wave of fire, my body convulsing around him, my throat raw from screaming his name. Mikhail lets out a loud, guttural growl, his body tensing as he thrusts into me one last, deep time, spilling his heat inside me in a long, powerful rush that leaves us both shaking.
He collapses over my back, his chest heaving, his heart hammering a frantic, satisfied rhythm against my shoulder blades. He doesn't pull out. He stays there, wrapped around me, his hands sliding down to interlock with my fingers on the headboard.
Mikhail eventually pulls out with a soft, wet sigh and rolls onto his back, pulling me with him. I rest my head on his chest, myhand coming down to trace the serpents on his skin, my fingers silent and comfortable.
He reaches down, his fingers gently tracing the silver scar on my hip. He doesn't say anything, but the gesture is softer than any words.
"He's a dead man," Mikhail says quietly, his voice a low vibration against my cheek.
I look up at him. "Who?"
"Boris," Mikhail says, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. "If he thinks he can still use you to control me, then he is more foolish than either of us thought. "
I lean my head back against his chest, the warmth of his skin a shield against the cold reality of the war we’re in. For seven years, I’ve been fighting this battle alone in the dark. As I feel his arms lock around my waist, pulling me close, I realize that the monster in my bed is the only one who can actually help me win.
Two hours later, the bedroom is dark, the late-afternoon shadows stretching across the rug.
