Page 17 of The Captive

“Just like a stallion, eh?” My captor’s voice was a dark chuckle, rough with amusement and something deeper—something hungry.

I barely had time to process his words before I felt his breath, hot and damp, against the sensitive skin of my arse. Then—oh God!—his tongue.

He licked me from behind, a long, slow stroke that started at my clitoris and dragged upward, over my entrance, all the way to the tight ring of muscle between my cheeks. I gasped, my back arching, my fingers curling into the furs.

The Cossack’s Claim. That’s what I would call this position, were I to add an addendum to the Harlot’s Guide. The woman on her hands and knees, the man behind her, his mouth worshipping her from cunny to arse, claiming every inch of her.

The filthiness of it sent a jolt of shameful pleasure through me. No one had ever—ever!—touched me like this. His tongue swirled around my entrance, then dragged upward again, teasing the sensitive skin of my arse. I whimpered, my hips instinctively pressing back against his face, my body begging for more.

My wolf chuckled, the vibration making me shudder. “Greedy little rabbit,” he murmured, his breath hot against my skin. “You like that, da? You like my tongue on your sweet arse?”

I couldn’t form words. My cunny was throbbing, slick with need, my body aching to be filled despite my recent orgasm. I rocked back against him again, a wordless plea.

He teased me mercilessly. His tongue circled my entrance, dipped inside me just enough to make me gasp, then dragged upward again, flicking against the tight pucker of my arse. His fingers joined the assault, stroking through my folds, finding my clitoris, rubbing it in slow, deliberate circles.

“Dmitri, please,” I begged, my voice breaking. “I need you⁠—”

“I know what you need,” he growled, his voice dark with promise.

Then he straightened, his hands gripping my hips, his cock pressing against my entrance. I held my breath, my body trembling with anticipation.

And then—finally!—he slid into me.

I cried out as Dmitri’s cock filled me, stretching me, owning me. He was thicker than I’d imagined, longer, the head of his cock pressing deep inside me, hitting places no man had ever reached. The sensation was overwhelming—pleasure bordering on pain, the stretch burning sweetly as my body gave way, accepting him, needing him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice rough, then spat out something in Russian I couldn’t understand before gasping, “You’re so tight, Augusta.”

His praise made me spiral higher as he pushed into me, making me feel as if I were the most incredible bedmate he’d fucked.

My captor bottomed out, his hips flush against my arse, and I whimpered, my body clenching around him. The angle was exquisite, his cock dragging against that rough spot inside me, the one that made my vision blur.

Then he began to move.

His first thrust sent me soaring. My cunny spasmed around him, my pleasure crashing over me with a force that stole my breath. I cried out, my body convulsing, my fingers clawing at the furs as wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through me.

“Dmitri!” His name tore from my lips, desperate and needy.

He groaned, his hands tightening on my hips. “That’s it, little rabbit. Milk my cock.”

His thrusts grew harder, faster, each one dragging out my orgasm, prolonging the pleasure until I thought I might shatter. His free hand slid around my waist, gripping my breast possessively, his fingers kneading the soft flesh, his thumb rolling over my nipple.

Just as he’d done atop his horse yesterday—dear God, had it been only yesterday?

“Mine,” Dmitri growled, his voice a dark promise. “You’re mine, Augusta.”

The words sent another jolt of pleasure through me.

I wasn’t just his captive; I was his.

My cunny clenched around him, my body responding to his claim, to the way he owned me. I rocked back against him, meeting his thrusts, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Yours,” I gasped. “Oh God, Dmitri, I’m yours⁠—”

His fingers tightened on my nipple, pinching just hard enough to make me cry out. The sharp pain mixed with the pleasure, sending me spiraling higher. My body convulsed around him, my orgasm still crashing through me as he fucked me, hard and deep.

“Bozhe moi, Augusta,” he groaned, his voice rough with need. “You feel so good—so tight, so wet⁠—”

His thrusts turned erratic, his breath coming in short, sharp pants. I could feel him swelling inside me, his cock pulsing as he neared his own release.