“What are you talking about?”
“You told me on the plane that women look at you and know they’ll get f**ked hard. I’m not seeing it.” Burn!
I could all but hear him grinding his teeth as I continued to finger myself. “Natalie, you are not to come by your own hand.”
“Was that in a rule book or something? I missed our relationship orientation. Come on, play along, Sevastyan. Ask me if I’m wet. No? Then I’ll have to show you.” I raised my knees to my chest, then slipped my panties to my calves. When I rested my legs on the bed, I spread my bent knees, giving Sevastyan a clear view of my soaked curls, which I continued to lazily pet.
He hissed in a breath. “Cease what you’re doing now.”
“Or you’ll punish me? If a dominant like you doesn’t want to see such disobedience—you should stop watching.”
“I’ll never stop watching you. This started with me watching you.”
“That’s right. This is the second time you’ve leered at me masturbating.” Stroke.
“That’s not what I meant. Damn it, woman, you do not want me to lose control.”
“Oh, but I do!” Looked like it was time to bring my A game. Did I have the nerve to do this? What choice did I have? I was playing for keeps. “What if I did . . . this?” I went to my hands and knees before the camera, so he could see everything. I spread my knees, panties tight around my ankles.
“God almighty.”
His reaction and this bare vulnerability—this exhibition—made my mind spin and my body heat, as if my arousal had just downshifted to rocket forward. Apparently I was an exhibitionist—my blood coursed from the thrill.
No longer was this a game; I was desperate to come.
When I bucked to my fingers, he made a choked sound, then bit off some French command to the driver. Probably to go faster, because a series of angry horn honks followed. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
I was lost to pleasure, flicking, flicking. . . .
“Then put your finger inside for me,” he said in broken Russian. “Be my good girl, and f**k yourself with it.”
With a cry, I snaked my forefinger along my clit toward my opening, curling it between my lips; his heavy breaths on the speaker filled the room, arousing me even more.
When I penetrated myself and began to pump, he rasped, “I’ll show you hard.” The call disconnected.
Only a few seconds after, I heard him downstairs, his boots pounding up the steps to this floor. And for the first time I realized . . .
I should be afraid.
Chapter 32
I drew my fingers away, turning over on the bed. I’d just raised myself up on my elbows when he reached the threshold, seeming to take up all the space in the doorway.
I gasped at his appearance. His unsmiling lips. His clenched fists. His eyes glazed with sexual hunger.
When his straining erection jerked in his pants and a spot of pr**cum dampened the material, I couldn’t stop a moan.
He looked . . . undone. Much as he had that first time he’d watched me in the bathtub.
Like he wanted to eat me up, bit by bit.
He strode toward the bed with a predator’s gait, big hands unbuckling his belt—as menacing a gesture as I’d ever seen.
I steeled myself as he reached for me.
He snatched at my hips, flipping me over on my stomach, then shoved his pants to his thighs. Like an animal, he impaled me with one brutish thrust, mounting me.
His c**k had to fight against my clamping walls because I was already coming, his rough invasion triggering my release. “Oh, my God!”
“Is this what you needed from me?” He seized my shoulders, yanking me back right as his hips shoved forward, sending his c**k deeper than it’d ever been.
My cry was drowned out by his triumphant roar as he began to f**k.
His animalistic intensity called to my own, demanding another orgasm, stoking all my heat from before and then some. A new, unknown friction began to simmer deep inside me, until I was clawing the backs of his thighs, spurring him for more, more.
This position forced all my senses into overload. The sound of our slapping skin. The sharp sway of my br**sts. The way his sac swung up to smack my wet clit with each buck of his hips.
He grated, “Is this”—thrust—“hard enough”—brutal thrust—“for you?”—savage thrust.
My teeth clattered on that last one, my arms giving out. I lay facedown on the bed, ass up, helpless to do anything more than receive his merciless f**king.
The idea of him using my limp body like this, a plaything for his lusts, hurtled me closer to the edge, my climax boiling up inside of me.
I panted his name repeatedly, half-afraid of the strength of my coming release. The pressure escalated and escalated. . . . Again I wondered, where would it end?
“This was what you wanted? A hard f**k?” he bit out, pummeling his c**k inside me. “Then show me how you like it! Come again, pet . . . come all over my stiff cock.”
He ordered; I obeyed.
My pu**y convulsed around his girth, spasms racking my muscles. When the rapture hit and my mind registered the force of it, I emptied my lungs on a wild scream.
Screaming. Screaming. Until his roars joined mine and his heat flooded me, his hips whipping against my ass for his final draining thrusts.
Dizziness. Remembering to breathe. Happily picking up the pieces.
He collapsed over me, murmuring my name as he nuzzled my hair. His lips brushed my nape, his breaths fanning perspiration there.