Page 34 of The Wrong Monster

“I know. That’s what I want.”

For a long moment, neither of us looks away.

Then his mouth is on mine, and all I can feel is the thrill of his hot tongue pressing between my lips, his hand pinning both wrists above my head, his body dragging up mine to pin me down harder.

I moan into the kiss, arching up to find more friction. My core is pulsing, pleading, and thank God his tongue is in my mouth. I’m afraid of what I’ll ask for, what I’ll beg for if I’m allowed to talk.

The hot length of his erection presses into my thigh. I wriggle against him, getting a wrist free; not because I’m stronger, but because he lets it happen.

Vasily grunts again, quieter this time, his forehead dropping to mine as I stroke him slowly.

There’s no space between us. My hand is jammed so tightly that all I can do is squeeze and shift, let out a whiny breath as he finds my breast with his free hand and messily yanks down the cup of my bra beneath my t-shirt.

When he tweaks my nipple my whole body trembles.

“You tried to knee me,” he grumbles, rocking his hips into my palm. “What, exactly, was your plan? Do you want this or not?”

“I do,” I breathe, purposely ignoring how desperate that sounds. “Take your pants off.”

Vasily’s chuckle is dark and low, but he actually listens and backs off, standing at the edge of the bed to strip.

The pants first, just like I asked, then his shirt. His chest is lean, muscular, smooth ridges of abs leading to those tantalizing cuts at his hips. Boxer briefs leave very, very little to the imagination, and the memory of how he filled me comes crashing back with a vengeance.

Just as I sit up on my elbows, he makes that annoying tsk tsk and climbs back onto the bed, his large hands gripping my hips and flipping me over.

All the breath goes out of me.

“What—” I barely manage before I feel both his hands on my ass cheeks, squeezing and massaging.

Instinctively, I lift my hips and try to tempt him. Rock them slowly, miss the feel of his fingers playing with my nipples.

“Vasily. Please, can we…”

“Can we what?” he asks, the laughter still in his voice as he holds my hips once more and presses his erection against my ass. “You’ve lost your privileges for the evening, Matty. This isn’t a partnership tonight.” When he leans closer, his cock presses tightly down to my core.

“Can you agree to that? Do I need to sign a contract?”

“N—no,” I stutter, fuzzy-brained and internally screaming for the fabric between us to disappear.

“No?”

“I mean, no, I don’t need a signature, you can do anything to me⁠—”

The admission floods my cheeks with heat, and I hate that I mean it.

That I’d let him have his way with me right here, right now, in a locked room where I’m a captive.

It shouldn’t be this hot.

His fingers reach around and deftly undo the button on my jeans, then the zipper. He yanks them down my hips before pressing a hand hard to my lower back, sending me belly-down onto the mattress.

“Good girl.”

Oh, no.

Wet heat floods my pussy. Thank God he grabbed at my black underwear, even if thongs leave little to the imagination.

A softness sweeps across my butt. His cock, free now and controlled by his fist, I realize as I look over my shoulder. He runs it down between my ass cheeks and barely prods my entrance, still covered in a barely there scrap of black cotton.