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I suck on his tongue until I feel him moan. Only then do I ease up enough to nibble and tease around his mouth. Pasha presses me harder against the wall and wastes no time in peeling off my soaked dress, careful around my baby bump but possessive and firm everywhere else he touches.
“You think you’re the only one who’s been marked?” he growls against my neck as he rips down my panties. The second I kick them off, his hand cups my pussy in a way that feels like claiming. “You think you haven’t done the same to me?”
My head is swimming with pleasure. Just his touch on the surface, just that press of his hand against my heat, has my lashes fluttering closed and my lips parting in soft gasps. “Wh… what? What are you talking about?”
“I had a meeting today.” Pasha kisses a fiery path down to the tops of my swollen breasts. My bra is barely containing them at this point; I’m gonna need to replace it with a maternity version soon. “Had to deal with this desperate cougar who keeps trying to get in my pants.”
The hand between my legs slowly starts tracing my outer lips. Against my better, more logical judgment, my hips start rolling and soon I’m grinding myself against his palm.
“She kept throwing herself at me,” he continues. “Again and again and again. And all I could think about was you.”
He works my bra open and tosses it aside, replacing it with his mouth on my nipple. Ohmygod, it feels even more sensitive there now than it did a few days ago. Every warm, deep tug sends ripples of intense pleasure skittering down to my clit.
“Not exactly a turn-on,” I pant. “Talking—fantasizing—about some other woman…while you’re… you’re…”
Pasha switches breasts; his hand delves two fingers inside my wet slit. And yet I still find myself feebly trying to push at his shoulders. We need to talk about this… We need to… unh, fuck…
He captures my wrists in his one hand and cages them to the shower wall above my head. With a mournful sigh, he lets my nipple fall from his mouth and rises up to press his forehead against mine. He sighs in a way that makes me pause.
Is he… is he as breathless as I am?
Am I underestimating how much I affect him?
“You’re not hearing me, Daphne.” Pasha slows his fingers inside me until they’re pressed against that sweet spot I need him to rub—but he won’t move. Only the heel of his palm works my clit in slow, intentional agony. The cruelest tease. “I’m not fantasizing about another woman. I’m telling you that I could have any woman I want, and I want you. They’re all nothing to me. Ashes. Dust. Meaningless. Useless. There’s only you. Not some desperate heiress or giggling, insipid socialite. You.”
He captures my shuddering moan within another possessive kiss. When he lets my wrists go, he eases his fingers from me and I almost beg him to go back to what he was doing.
But then he’s gripping my ass and lifting me in his arms. My legs spread around him, draped over each arm.
“Look at me, Daphne.”
I don’t even realize I’ve closed my eyes until he says that. When I do, all I see are his. Huge. Burning so bright, I feel like I’m staring into twin black suns.
Then, with one groaning thrust, he’s inside me.
This isn’t my first time taking him. But I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to the way he stretches me around his thick shaft. How he makes me feel every single inch in depths I never knew existed before him.
“This,” he snarls once he’s fully seated inside me. “This is what I want. You. Only you. Always you.”
When he moves, I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer for another kiss. I can’t move on my own—not with the way he’s impaled me like this—and some deep, primal part of me sings with distinct pleasure just at the thought.
His.
His to enjoy. To savor, to angle just how he wants so we’re both feeding each other our moans and gasps and grunts.
His to crave.
His to protect.
It doesn’t take long to push me over the edge. Pasha holds me there, squeezed against the wall and balls-deep inside me, not giving me anywhere to buck or writhe my release out like my body wants to. But being this helpless only intensifies every spasm, every limb-tingling surge of pleasure, until even Pasha is gritting his teeth so he doesn’t tumble with me.
It’s not until the spasms subside that I realize I’m biting his shoulder.
“Sor—”
He cuts off my apology by ripping my face up so he can claim another kiss. Tongue sliding along tongue, making sure I ride out every aftershock on him.
When he lets me go, he snarls, “Don’t you ever fucking apologize for what you to do me. For what you make me do to you. If I hear ‘Sorry’ on your lips again from now until the end of time, well… I’ll have no choice but to fuck that ‘Sorry’ right out of you.”
