Page 55

She swallows, her breath hitching. A tiny nod.

“Use your words, Elara.”

“Yes,” she whispers.

“Yes, who?”

Her eyes darken. “Yes, Alexander.”

“Better.” I lean in, bracing my hands on the cool marble on either side of her hips. “Now. I want to hear you say it. Beg me to fuck my wife.”

A flush creeps up her chest, staining the skin exposed by her cream-colored dress. “Alexander…”

I wait. Silence stretches between us, thick and heavy. I see the war in her—her pride, her need. I love watching her break.

“Please,” she finally breathes.

“Please, what?”

“Please… I want you.”

I shake my head slowly. “Not good enough. I want the words. I want you to beg me for my cock. For me to claim what’s legally mine.” My fingers find the hem of her dress, creeping higher. I trace the delicate lace edge of her underwear. “You’re wearing the dress you bought this morning to please me. Now speak the words to please me.”

Her head falls back against the mirror with a soft thud. She’s trembling. “Please, Alexander. Please fuck me. I need you to… I need you to fuck your wife.”

The raw need in her voice hits me like a jolt of electricity. “Good girl.”

I don’t undress her. I push the soft fabric of her dress up to her waist, exposing the pale lace panties. They’re soaked, a dark patch visible even in the dim light. A possessive groan rips from my throat. I hook my fingers in the delicate sides and tear them down her legs. The sound of tearing lace is obscene and perfect.

Her gasp is swallowed by my mouth as I kiss her, hard and demanding. My hands are everywhere, rough and claiming. I unzip my trousers, freeing myself, already painfully hard. I’m not gentle. I press the blunt head of my cock against her entrance, using my weight to hold her open on the cold counter.

She’s so wet, so ready. But I don’t push in. Not yet.

I drag the tip through her slick heat, up and down, painting her with it. Her hips buck, trying to find friction, trying to take me in. I pin her hips down with a firm hand on her stomach.

“No. You don’t move until I say you can move. This is mine. You are mine. I take what I want, when I want it. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” she whimpers, her body straining against my hold.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Alexander! I’m yours. Please, just… please.”

The begging is a melody now. I love it.

Finally, with one sharp, controlled thrust, I’m inside her. She’s tight, clenching around me instantly, a wet, hot vise. The force of it pushes her further back on the counter. I don’t give her time to adjust. I set a brutal, punishing pace from the start, each thrust slamming her against the mirror.

The world shrinks to this room, to the sound of our bodies meeting, to her sharp cries and my ragged commands. “Take it,” I grunt, my hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave marks. “Take every inch. This is what you begged for.”

“Yes! God, yes!” Her nails dig into my forearms, her head rolling back. Her dress is bunched around her waist, her beautiful legs wrapped around me, heels digging into the small of my back. She’s a vision of corrupted elegance, and she’s all mine.

I can feel her tightening, her breath coming in short, sharp pants. She’s close.

“Not yet,” I snarl, slowing my pace to a maddening grind. “You don’t come until I tell you to.”

A sob of frustration escapes her. “Alexander, I can’t…”

“You can. And you will. You will hold it for me. Do you understand?”