Page 85 of Jetmir

He overwhelmed me. The meaning of his words as he pumped hard into me took me higher and higher. The intensity of each thrust brought me closer and closer to the surge I needed.

I didn’t say that I would be his forever, but I did scream his name.

“Oh… oh… Thoooorne.”

“Don’t come yet,” he ordered and my mouth parted, a silent scream on my lips. Forgetting about his earlier command, my hands left their position above my head and wrapped around his back. Holding on to him like my life depended on him, my nails dug into his flesh hard and my back arched.

I was so close. I wouldn’t be able to hold it. But I wanted to please him. I clenched my pussy, my insides tightening around his hard cock as he thrust relentlessly.

“Say you’re mine,” he gritted.

I panted, welcoming each thrust, the pleasure building, ready to break the dam.

“Please… please,” I begged, my blood on fire. “I need… Thorne… please…”

“Say. It.” He pumped relentlessly. “Say it, my angel.”

“Yours,” I screamed, needing him to take mercy on me.

His hand reached between our bodies and his fingers found my clit, pinching it hard.

A scream left my lips and the dam shattered under the force of the current into tiny little pieces as a wave of intense pleasure surged inside of me. He moved even faster, hitting even deeper and I cried out, white lights flashing behind my eyelids.

I watched him through my orgasm, his muscles seizing, his eyes burning, setting every inch of me on fire.

“Anya,” he hissed, spilling inside of me while his fingers dug into my flesh. He buried his head into the crook of my neck, breathing as hard as me in the silence of the night.

We remained like that, two bodies as one, two souls dancing in the clouds and relishing in the aftermath of the pleasure.

And in that exact moment, I just knew. There was no escaping him, no hiding from him. I was stupid for believing that I could escape him.

But before I could dwell on it, he made sweet love to me and I got lost in him. Again.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

JETMIR

Iscooped up my wife’s sated, limp body into my arms and cradled her close to my chest as I walked out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

Outside, rain had eased out almost at the same time as we came back from our own high, and I wondered if maybe whoever—if anyone—was watching up there was following our love story. If they were, I hoped they’d take pity on me and give my wife back despite all the mistakes I’d made.

My wife’s bedroom door was a few feet away, and I hoped—even prayed for the first time in my life—that she would want to be back in my bed.

“Your bedroom or mine?” I asked while internally cursing myself. Why was I even giving her an option? She belonged in my bed, my home, and my life. The thing was… I wanted her to choose my bed and me.

She stiffened and I knew the answer before she uttered it. “Mine.”

I came to a stop in front of her room, and I reluctantly let her slip out of my arms. She hadn’t even taken a step and I already missed her.

“Good night, Jetmir,” she murmured, not meeting my eyes as she reached for the door handle.

“Good night, wife.”

And she shut the door in my face.

My heart twisted with agony. I fought the urge to barge through that door and demand she slept in my room, or at least let me sleep in hers.

Instead I headed into my own bedroom before I did something stupid. I was still buck-ass naked, so I headed into my closet, grabbed a clean pair of gray sweatpants, and pulled them on while my mind swirled with so many thoughts.