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And he’s not done yet.
“Now,” he murmurs in a dark, steely snarl, “let me show you just how wrong you are.”
He reaches between us and frees himself from his pants. I have to stifle a gasp when he springs to life in my hand. He’s hard against my palm and so unbelievably big that I feel a twist of fear in my gut. Surely that’s not about to go inside of me…
Right?
My body is shaking. It could be from the chill on my nakedness, but I know better. This is a bone-deep shiver. Adrenaline is coursing through my veins and my vision is going hazy.
I wrap my hand around his cock and press him against me. He teases my opening and I can’t help but buck against him. He slips an inch in, then retreats again. He pauses there.
So close to nirvana.
So close to salvation.
So close to a very, very bad idea.
Should I be doing this? Ivan Pushkin is dangerous, or so I’m told. Nothing about this is smart. Anyone could walk in on us and I don’t want to be known as the easy girl who fucks billionaires in the dark corners of parties.
But I also don’t want to be the dead-inside girl who works nonstop and lives paycheck to paycheck. For just a few minutes, I don’t want to be the scared little kitten who is running from her past and doesn’t have a plan for her future.
I want to be the woman that Ivan thinks back on long after he’s married to whatever brainless bimbo he’s going to choose. I want to be the woman who surprised him and challenged him.
Tonight, I want to be the heroine of this story.
So I bite his neck and pull him the rest of the way into me.
Ivan thrusts in as I tighten my legs around his waist. We crash together in one smooth stroke and I arch my back as an involuntary gasp rips out of me.
“Oh, God,” I whimper.
He’s everywhere. With every thrust, the pressure inside of me grows and shifts. It’s like I’m being ripped apart at the seams, stretched beyond the normal limits of what a human should be able to handle—and my God, it feelsso freaking good.
“What is this?” I whisper. “Why is this… This is so good.”
It feels silly to be shocked by good sex. But in my experience, sex is more of a formality. Sure, it can occasionally be nice, but it isn’t earth-shattering. It doesn’t tear down everything you thought you knew and rebuild it.
Sex shouldn’t make you question the purpose of life.
Butthissex does.
Ivan shifts my hips, leaning me back to take me at a new angle. He hits something deep inside of me and I cry out.
“There it is,” he growls. He presses me against the wall and clamps the flat of his hand over my mouth. “Scream for me. Scream for me, baby, and let me swallow up every bit of it.”
He drives into me again and again. Whoever said men moaning isn’t hot didn’t know what the hell they were talking about, because every time a new breathless snarl passes Ivan’s lips, I get another notch closer to exploding.
He bends down and pulls my breast into his sinful mouth. His tongue flicks over my nipple until I’m practically bent backwards from how good every inch of him feels.
“Come for me,” he commands. “Let go.”
That’s all it takes—another orgasm tears through me. Ivan’s hand is still over my mouth. I bite down on his skin to stop from crying out.
“Fuck!” he spits, but he doesn’t pull his hand away; he just drives into me harder. Punishing me with more, more,moreof him.
Until I clamp around him, pulsing and shaking from head to toe. The never-ending orgasm.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he grits out.
