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I grip his hair in my fist and ride his gorgeous mouth.
When he sits up, he’s grinning. “I knew you’d never be able to wait.”
He’s so right. I can’t believe I made it this long, actually.
“Careful,” I warn him. “I’m the one who was just satisfied. I could walk out of here and leave you high and dry.”
He draws back, looking offended. “You consider yourself satisfied?”
No way. Not even close. Never.
I shrug. “It was a good orgasm.”
His eyes narrow as he stands up.
For a second, I think I might have pushed him too far. Maybe he really is going to walk away and leave me here. It would be so like Timofey to take the power back and torture me.
Then he grabs my hand and yanks me off the bed.
I slap against his solid chest, off-balance and helpless in his arms. He holds me for a second, his lips hovering over mine. I let my eyes flutter closed and my mouth part. His breath is warm against my skin.
“I can do a hell of a lot better than ‘good,’ Piper.”
Then the world tips.
He whips me around and positions me on the couch opposite the bed. My hands grip the back of the couch, and I’m looking into the twelve-inch strip of mirror that runs the entire length of the wall. I’ve never paid much attention to it before, but my eyes are locked on it now.
I can see Timofey standing behind me, his heated gaze raking over the curve of my jutting hips. He grabs my leg and positions my knee on the cushioned bench. Then he does the same with the other, splaying me open in front of him.
I turn my head to look back at him, but he presses on my jaw and forces me to look straight ahead. Directly in his eyes.
He presses himself to my entrance and thrusts, filling me from behind in one slick motion.
I arch against him, taking him even deeper.
“What do you think?” he asks, stroking a finger down the curve of my spine. “Are you satisfied?”
There’s no time for games now. Not when my body is craving his touch.
I shake my head. “Never.”
“Good girl.”
I’m rewarded for my honesty with another slow, sensual stroke. Timofey fills me with purpose. Every brush of skin is important and worth savoring.
He spreads his hands over my hips and groans. “This is going to be mine. All of it. All of you.”
I meet his eyes in the mirror. “I already am yours.”
Immediately, I realize how silly it was to try to wait for our wedding. What is a minister going to make official about our relationship? What can any piece of paper say about the two of us that hasn’t already been said?
Timofey must feel the same way, because his eyes glaze over with a primal kind of lust. He claims me, marking me as his until I’m crying out.
Then, just as suddenly, Timofey sits down on the couch next to me and pulls me into his lap. His hands ghost over my peaked nipples and caress the soft skin of my belly. He bites my jaw and sheaths himself inside of me again.
“You’re it for me, Timofey,” I gasp, riding him. “You’re everything—my lust, my love, my don.”
He growls and increases our pace, driving into me until I’m shaking around him. My body clenches down hard, pulsating with a bone-deep pleasure I’ve rarely known.
