I hooked my legs around his hips, heels digging into the small of his back, urging him deeper.
My hands slid down to grip his waist, fingers splaying over taut muscle as I pulled him into me again and again.
I wanted him—needed him—like oxygen after years underwater.
Every thrust dragged a new sound from me: whimpers, gasps, pleas I didn’t even recognize as my own.
He kissed me like he was trying to consume me—teeth grazing my lower lip, tongue sweeping in to claim every corner of my mouth.
The aggression in his kiss matched the relentless drive of his hips.
I could taste salt—sweat, tears, the faint metallic edge of desperation.
Without warning he rolled us. The world tilted; suddenly I was on top, straddling him, his length still buried to the hilt.
He fell back against the pillows with a low groan, hands settling on my thighs like he was afraid I’d disappear if he let go.
“Come on me, Maliya,” he rasped, voice gravel and command wrapped in velvet. “Ride me. Let me watch you take what you need.”
I braced my palms on his chest—feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath scarred skin—and lifted myself slowly.
The drag of him leaving me made me whimper; the slow slide back down made me moan.
He filled me so perfectly, stretching me, pressing against every sensitive place inside.
I started slow—rolling my hips in languid circles, savoring the way he throbbed inside me.
But slow didn’t last.
I planted my hands firmer on his pecs and began to move—really move.
Up and down. Hard. Fast.
My ass slapped against his thighs with every descent.
Pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in my belly, a hot, liquid ache that demanded release.
His eyes—dark, stormy, glittering with lust and something fiercer—locked on mine. “Eyes on me, baby,” he growled when my head tipped back. “Look at me while you fuck yourself on my cock.”
I obeyed.
Our gazes clashed, held. I rode him harder, faster, chasing that glittering edge.
His hands slid up to cup my breasts—thumbs brushing over pebbled nipples, squeezing, kneading, sending sparks down my spine.
He thrust up to meet me now, meeting every downward stroke with a sharp snap of his hips.
I felt it building—unstoppable, overwhelming.
My rhythm faltered; my thighs trembled. “Dmitri—I’m—I’m close—”
“Come,” he ordered, voice rough with his own impending release. “Come all over me. Let me feel you.”
One more grind—deep, grinding circles—and I shattered.
My orgasm ripped through me like wildfire.
I cried out his name, body convulsing, inner walls clamping down hard around him.