Page 144 of Marrying the Savage

Then he starts moving. The first thrust knocks the breath from me. The second makes my breasts bounce between us. By the third, I’m clinging to him, legs locked around his hips, back pressed against the wall while he fucks me standing up, holding me as if I weigh nothing. His hands grip my ass, lifting me into each deep thrust, and every stroke drives his cock so far inside me I feel it everywhere.

There’s no room to think. No room for anger, shame, Elena, escape, anything.

Only Damir.

His mouth on my throat. His breath harsh against my ear. His cock stretching me, filling me, fucking me with a rhythm that grows rougher each time I moan.

My tits bounce with every thrust, and he lowers his head to catch one nipple in his mouth, sucking hard as he drives into me. The sensation makes me cry out, too loud, but I can’t care. His tongue circles my nipple, teeth grazing, while his hips keep moving, hard and deep, pinning me to the wall.

“You are loud tonight,” he says against my breast.

“Whose fault is that?”

He thrusts harder.

Mine, apparently.

I gasp, nails scraping down his back. His mouth leaves my breast, and he kisses me, rough and open, swallowing the helpless sounds spilling out of me. His hand shifts between us, thumb finding my clit again, and my whole body jolts.

“Damir.”

“There,” he says. “Come for me.”

“I can’t already⁠—”

“You can.”

His thumb rubs my clit in tight circles while his cock drives into me, thick and relentless. I can feel myself getting wetter around him, feel the slick slide of his thrusts, hear the obscene sounds our bodies make together. It should embarrass me.

It does. It also makes me hotter.

I bury my face against his neck, biting down on his shoulder to muffle my cry.

He groans. “Again,” he orders.

So I bite him again.

He fucks me harder for it.

The pleasure spirals, my thighs trembling around his waist, my breasts pressed against his chest, my clit pulsing under his thumb. I’m trapped between the wall and his body, completely held, completely filled, and the feeling of having nowhere to go except into the pleasure breaks something open in me.

“I’m going to⁠—”

“I know.”

“Stop saying that.”

“No.”

Then he angles his hips and hits something deep inside me that makes the room disappear.

I come hard. My body locks around him, cunt clenching around his cock in tight, wet pulses as the orgasm tears through me. I cry out against his neck, fingers gripping his shoulders, legs shaking around his waist while he keeps fucking me through it, dragging the pleasure out until I’m trembling and breathless and completely useless in his arms.

He lasts only a few strokes longer.

His rhythm breaks. His hands tighten on my ass, and he thrusts deep, burying himself inside me as he comes with a rough sound against my throat. I feel him pulse inside me, hot and deep, and the sensation sends one last shudder through my body.

For several seconds, neither of us moves. We’re both breathing hard. His forehead rests near my shoulder. My back is still against the wall. My dress is open, my tits bare, my legs wrapped weakly around him, his cock still inside me. The room smells like sex, leather, smoke, and heat.