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I slide my hands back to his pants and undo the button. The zipper slides down tooth by tooth, tantalizingly slow. Then I press my palms against the warm heat beneath his boxers. He groans at the friction.
“Then take me,” I murmur.
The move from the shower to the bed is seamless. Kirill hooks his arms under my thighs and brings me against him. I’m so lost in kissing him that I don’t even realize we’ve left the bathroom until he drops me, still soaking wet, on the bed.
He pulls his wet shirt off in one movement and kicks his pants down. I reach out and grab his hips, pulling him to me as he crawls between my legs.
Maybe I should feel self-conscious or nervous. But everything about this feels right. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.
Kirill places his hands on either side of me, his strong arms flexing as he steadies his body above mine. His pupils have eaten away the green so that he looks animal, almost feral. And I want him rabid for me the way I’m rabid for him. I wrap my hand around his length and give him a rough stroke.
He arches his head back, and I stretch up to dig my teeth into his neck. “Christ, Rayne. I thought you were a good girl.”
I lick over the bite marks and stroke him again. He’s pulsing into my hand now, seeking my touch.
“Did you really?” I ask.
He looks down at me, his lips pulled into a smirk. “No. But you try to hide this part of yourself.”
“Which part?”
Suddenly, Kirill grabs my hands and pins them above my head. I’m helpless, stretched beneath him as he presses his impressive length to my opening. He teases against my slit, and I buck up to take him in.
But Kirill shifts away and shakes his head. He leans down until his lips are against the shell of my ear.
“The part that craves the darkness.”
I open my mouth to… I’m not sure what, actually. Argue? Agree? But before I can, Kirill slams his hips against me and I’m filled with him. Too filled to speak or think or do anything but take it.
I try to wrap my arms around him, but he keeps them pinned to the bed as he drags entirely out of me and then slams in again.
“Kirill,” I gasp. “Kirill. I can’t—You’re so—It’s so—”
My words are lost to the lethal friction. To the way his body plows into me, hitting the deepest, darkest parts of me again and again.
“I want to touch you,” I beg. “Please.”
Kirill shakes his head. “No.” Then he lets go of my hands. “But you can touch yourself. Show me the way you do it when you think of me.”
I don’t hesitate. I slide my hand between my thighs where we’re already connected and I circle my fingers there.
When I look up, Kirill is staring down between our bodies. He’s watching me—watching us—and growing more breathless every second.
I reach up and hook my other hand under his chin. The second his eyes lock on mine, every sensation heightens. Every thrust, every tremor feels forbidden.
And he’s right: I crave this. I need it.
“Come inside me,” I whisper. “Fill me.”
Kirill’s brow furrows. “Rayne.”
His thrusts grow more purposeful, and I’m on the very edge. I pull my hand away and let it fall against the mattress above my head again. “Kirill, please. Hurry. I can’t—I need to. But I want to—”
“Wait until I fucking tell you to.”
Then he slams into me, and I feel him tighten. It’s exactly what I need.
My body bends with pleasure, arching off the bed as our collective orgasm explodes inside of me.
