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Holding her trembling form to his, he kissed and licked the drops of blood welling from the puncture wounds his canines had left, reveling in the taste of her.
She was beyond speech, panting and moaning, every muscle of her sweat-soaked body quivering. Still, she pressed back against him, her hands holding his arms tight as he hugged her even closer.
“Sleep, omega,sleep,” he murmured to her, kissing her warm ear. In moments, she’d slipped away, the lassitude of slumber rendering her form languid and yielding.
And as his still half-erect cock finally slipped from the jealous clutch of her sex, sleep claimed him too.
CHAPTER22
Stacy
Once again, the sensations replayed in her mind, what he’d done to her.
She’d never come so much—or sohard—and each orgasm had sent her shooting off into space. Each time she’d come back down to earth, a little more out of control, a little less able to resist whatever Dmitri had in store for her. It was as if that unrelenting pleasure was a sustained assault on her free will, on her ability to determine her own future.
It was cruel—and she had absolutely zero defense against it.
Why would you want to “defend” against something that felt that fucking good? Are you dim?
What was she going to do with herself? She was beating herself up about her weakness in the face of her erstwhile captor playing her body like a virtuoso, when what she should have really been concerned about was the fact that some of those orgasms were so intense, she really wondered if she was going to simply expire under the weight of such incredibly, mind-blowing pleasure.
And that cock? God damn, agent!
He was just… huge, stretching her until it hurt. But she hadn’t cared, not in the moment, anyway. It simply felt too good.
Something else was happening that she’d never experienced before either.
A mutual connection with a man who accepted her, without question.
She still didn’t believe in nonsense like ESP, but what else was she going to label what appeared to be arealconnection to his mind? It was beyond the physical, beyond the known conscious.
(Stasia)
The voice shook her awake, and she nearly rolled right off the couch in her groggy disorientation. Her hair was an absolute rat’s nest plastered to the left side of her face. Her neck hurt, and she’d drooled in her slumber, a slick of it wetting the corner of her mouth.
Sexy.
Dmitri stood over her, dressed only in his jeans, a white shirt clutched in one of his hands. The muscle packed upon muscle, intricate veins of his ripped and uber-defined body, distracted her for more than a moment before she pressed the heels of her hands to her face, rubbing her eyes.
Finally, she peered up at him. “How do youdothat? How do you know that name?”
He shook his head. “That’s not important n—”
“Don’t.Don’t fucking brush this off. Don’t ignore me. I have to know.”
“I don’t really know the full circumstances, but I know that it’s your real name.”
“N-no, it’snot. My name is… Stacy.”
He scowled at her then, setting down the shirt he’d been about to put on. “I think it’s time, don’t you? It’s time to stop the bullshit. What’syourreal story?”
For a long moment, she weighed what was wise to disclose. “You already know.”
“Maybe. Try me anyway.” He sat down next to her, placing a hand on her bare thigh.
Surprisingly, she didn’t brush it off. Instead, she laid her palm atop his knuckles, marveling at how small her fingers looked compared to his.
“My nameisn’treally Stacy. My given name was… Nastasia Irulan. I was adopted—very young. I don’t have much memory of my family. We lived somewhere in central Russia. That’s about all I know about them. To this day.”
