Page 64

"Alexei, move."

"Not yet." I drag my thumb across her lower lip, and her mouth opens for it instinctively. I push my thumb past her lips, and she sucks it, and the sensation runs straight down my spine to where I'm buried inside her. "You wanted to distract me. Is this distracting enough?"

She bites my thumb, and her inner walls clench around my cock. "Move."

I pull almost all the way out and drive back in, and the sound she makes is pornographic. I set a pace that's hard and deep and relentless, gripping her hips with both hands while the table rocks beneath us and papers slide to the floor.

"Good," I tell her, watching her breasts bounce with every thrust. "You take me so well."

Her hand reaches for her clit, and I catch her wrist and pin it to the table above her head. "That's mine. You come when I let you."

"You're such a bastard."

I slow my thrusts to a grinding roll that presses deep and holds. "Say it again."

"You're a bastard."

"That's not what I mean." I roll my hips, and her breath stutters. "Tell me how it feels."

She turns her face away, and I catch her jaw and turn it back. Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are wet, and the fury in them has softened into something that looks like hunger.

"It feels like Moscow," she whispers.

"Again."

"It feels like I never left."

I fold her knees up toward her chest and change the angle, and the new position opens her wider and lets me sink deeper. She grips the edge of the table with both hands, her knuckles white, and moans against my mouth.

"You feel incredible." I thrust harder, and the table legs scrape against the floor. "You feel like you were made for me to fuck."

"I wasn't made for you."

"You were." I drive into her, and her voice breaks. "Every time I pull out, your body drags me back in. You're gripping me like you don't want me to leave."

She clenches around me on purpose, and the sensation nearly ends me. "Vera."

"I learned from a man who remembered what I liked after hearing it once." Her voice is ragged against my ear. "Remember that?"

I pull out and flip her onto her stomach, and she gasps as her palms hit the scattered reports. I push back into her from behind, and the angle is deeper and rougher, and her back arches as she takes every inch.

"Like this?" I grip her hair and pull her head back. "Is this what you learned?"

"Yes." The word comes out broken. "Exactly like this."

I fuck her hard enough to shove the table forward, one hand in her hair and the other gripping her hip, and she pushes back into every thrust with a desperation that matches mine. The library fills with the sound of skin and breathing and the wet, obscene rhythm of our bodies.

"You're close again," I say against her ear.

She nods, and her arms tremble beneath her.

"Beg."

"Go to hell."

I slow to a stop, and she makes a sound of pure frustration. "Beg, or I'll finish without you."

Her fist comes down on the table. "You wouldn't."