Falling deeper under his spell, I said, “I’m your wife.”
He gnashed his teeth. “Again!”
“I’m your wife!” He made me say it over and over, till I was murmuring it on my own, mesmerizing myself.
At my ear, he confessed: “It was always going to be you. Or it never would have been.”
A sudden scream burst from my lungs. I orgasmed, not just from sensation—but from emotion. My fingers clutched at him, nails digging in.
“I feel you . . . feel you coming for me!”
I writhed beneath him, pleasure coursing through every inch of me. In those shattering moments, I was his.
Connected to him as I’d never been to another.
I’d barely drifted back to reality when he commanded, “Cross your arms over your chest.”
I didn’t ask, only obeyed.
He grabbed my wrists and trapped me with my own arms. I couldn’t move if I wanted to. This was bondage—without leather or chains. Just a man taking his pleasure.
Once I was positioned as he desired, Dmitri Sevastyan started . . . to fuck.
He rammed his massive body between my thighs, using his grip on me for leverage. Pistoning his cock inside me from hilt to tip, he pounded my pussy.
I’d never felt anything so deep, as if he were taking my virginity. “What’re you doing to me?”
He seemed to cling to the last of his control. “Fucking—my—wife.”
“Ahhh!” I came with a scream. He slammed me harder. I came again.
He was railing my mind blank, long-dicking me into oblivion. Only one thought remained: I’m his.
Over the sounds of his skin slapping mine, he bit out, “Uhn! About to give you my cum! Fucking worth it—”
His body froze. A guttural yell broke from his chest.
Our gazes locked. His was anguished. I don’t think he breathed.
Then he began to ejaculate.
With his first searing jet, he heaved in air. Hips jerking uncontrollably, cock pulsating, he gave a frenzied roar: “VICTORIA!”
He plunged furiously, his yells matching each new flood of semen. His release pumped on and on . . . until my body had drained his.
A last groan passed his lips. A shudder down to his bones.
Lost, he rasped, “Mine.” Then he collapsed atop me.
We lay for some time, catching our breath. My heart raced; his pounded in answer.
“Hurting you?” he asked.
“Uh-uh.” Hurt? I floated. “That was more than just sex.” My tone was awed.
He rose on straightened arms. Lids heavy, he looked as drugged as I felt. “Still here.”
My chest squeezed when a tear tracked from one of his eyes. “Baby?”
“You.” His throat was working, as if he was getting control of his emotions. “You don’t know what you’ve done.”
I felt alarm. “What?”
“Everything.”
I was trying to sort out my confusion when his lips curved fully, showing off even white teeth against tanned skin. His first real smile with me.
I sucked in a breath. His eyes turned molten gold, and he looked . . . jubilant. As if we’d pulled off the greatest coup ever.
Deeper under his spell. “Better?”
“Best. A world away from the past.” His cock pulsed inside me, already beginning to harden. His jubilant look changed, darkening. “Which means I have a lot to make up for, wife. . . .”
CHAPTER 24
Rain pattering against the windows woke me. Disoriented, I gradually remembered where I was.
“Dmitri?” No sign of him. The bedside clock read quarter to four in the morning.
He’d taken me numerous times, until I’d passed out with him spooning me, still inside me.
Feeling a tendril of unease, I rose and donned a robe. When I didn’t find him anywhere on the second floor, I hurried downstairs.
From the kitchen, I spied a shadowy figure across the windswept field. Lightning flashed, illuminating the scene.
Dmitri?
He was half-dressed, standing at the cliffside. What the hell was he doing out in a storm? I rushed toward a pair of french doors.
I’d never asked him about the scar on his arm. Had he been suicidal? Was he still?
Heart in my throat, I tore open a door and raced headlong into the rain, shielding my eyes.
The idea of losing him . . .
The winds howled and waves crashed. The ground vibrated beneath my feet with each impact. Thunder boomed.
He stood too close to the edge; sea spray flung by the waves lashed his ankles. He wore only jeans, his chest bare. He tilted his head back, letting the rain beat against his face, and opened his arms wide.
I blinked against the pelting drops, disbelieving my eyes.
He was . . . smiling.
“Dmitri!”
He lowered his head and turned to me, offering his hand.
Though I was nervous about the drop-off, I took it. Over the wind, I cried, “You don’t need to be out here.”
“It is a good storm, love.”
I put my palm on his warm chest. “You’re not cold, but you’re shaking. Why are you shaking?”
“I don’t know how to describe . . .” His accent was thick. “I feel . . . I feel . . . so much. And it is all new to me.” Were tears tracking down his face, or were those drops of rain? “I keep thinking about the word disintegrate. To cause to fall apart. I was integrated for more than thirty-two years, and now I am something else.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
He gnashed his teeth. “Again!”
“I’m your wife!” He made me say it over and over, till I was murmuring it on my own, mesmerizing myself.
At my ear, he confessed: “It was always going to be you. Or it never would have been.”
A sudden scream burst from my lungs. I orgasmed, not just from sensation—but from emotion. My fingers clutched at him, nails digging in.
“I feel you . . . feel you coming for me!”
I writhed beneath him, pleasure coursing through every inch of me. In those shattering moments, I was his.
Connected to him as I’d never been to another.
I’d barely drifted back to reality when he commanded, “Cross your arms over your chest.”
I didn’t ask, only obeyed.
He grabbed my wrists and trapped me with my own arms. I couldn’t move if I wanted to. This was bondage—without leather or chains. Just a man taking his pleasure.
Once I was positioned as he desired, Dmitri Sevastyan started . . . to fuck.
He rammed his massive body between my thighs, using his grip on me for leverage. Pistoning his cock inside me from hilt to tip, he pounded my pussy.
I’d never felt anything so deep, as if he were taking my virginity. “What’re you doing to me?”
He seemed to cling to the last of his control. “Fucking—my—wife.”
“Ahhh!” I came with a scream. He slammed me harder. I came again.
He was railing my mind blank, long-dicking me into oblivion. Only one thought remained: I’m his.
Over the sounds of his skin slapping mine, he bit out, “Uhn! About to give you my cum! Fucking worth it—”
His body froze. A guttural yell broke from his chest.
Our gazes locked. His was anguished. I don’t think he breathed.
Then he began to ejaculate.
With his first searing jet, he heaved in air. Hips jerking uncontrollably, cock pulsating, he gave a frenzied roar: “VICTORIA!”
He plunged furiously, his yells matching each new flood of semen. His release pumped on and on . . . until my body had drained his.
A last groan passed his lips. A shudder down to his bones.
Lost, he rasped, “Mine.” Then he collapsed atop me.
We lay for some time, catching our breath. My heart raced; his pounded in answer.
“Hurting you?” he asked.
“Uh-uh.” Hurt? I floated. “That was more than just sex.” My tone was awed.
He rose on straightened arms. Lids heavy, he looked as drugged as I felt. “Still here.”
My chest squeezed when a tear tracked from one of his eyes. “Baby?”
“You.” His throat was working, as if he was getting control of his emotions. “You don’t know what you’ve done.”
I felt alarm. “What?”
“Everything.”
I was trying to sort out my confusion when his lips curved fully, showing off even white teeth against tanned skin. His first real smile with me.
I sucked in a breath. His eyes turned molten gold, and he looked . . . jubilant. As if we’d pulled off the greatest coup ever.
Deeper under his spell. “Better?”
“Best. A world away from the past.” His cock pulsed inside me, already beginning to harden. His jubilant look changed, darkening. “Which means I have a lot to make up for, wife. . . .”
CHAPTER 24
Rain pattering against the windows woke me. Disoriented, I gradually remembered where I was.
“Dmitri?” No sign of him. The bedside clock read quarter to four in the morning.
He’d taken me numerous times, until I’d passed out with him spooning me, still inside me.
Feeling a tendril of unease, I rose and donned a robe. When I didn’t find him anywhere on the second floor, I hurried downstairs.
From the kitchen, I spied a shadowy figure across the windswept field. Lightning flashed, illuminating the scene.
Dmitri?
He was half-dressed, standing at the cliffside. What the hell was he doing out in a storm? I rushed toward a pair of french doors.
I’d never asked him about the scar on his arm. Had he been suicidal? Was he still?
Heart in my throat, I tore open a door and raced headlong into the rain, shielding my eyes.
The idea of losing him . . .
The winds howled and waves crashed. The ground vibrated beneath my feet with each impact. Thunder boomed.
He stood too close to the edge; sea spray flung by the waves lashed his ankles. He wore only jeans, his chest bare. He tilted his head back, letting the rain beat against his face, and opened his arms wide.
I blinked against the pelting drops, disbelieving my eyes.
He was . . . smiling.
“Dmitri!”
He lowered his head and turned to me, offering his hand.
Though I was nervous about the drop-off, I took it. Over the wind, I cried, “You don’t need to be out here.”
“It is a good storm, love.”
I put my palm on his warm chest. “You’re not cold, but you’re shaking. Why are you shaking?”
“I don’t know how to describe . . .” His accent was thick. “I feel . . . I feel . . . so much. And it is all new to me.” Were tears tracking down his face, or were those drops of rain? “I keep thinking about the word disintegrate. To cause to fall apart. I was integrated for more than thirty-two years, and now I am something else.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
