Page 42 of Kept in the Dark (Hitmen of Ulysses #2)

Dimitri

That makes her mine entirely, whether she likes it or not.

I have pictured this exact moment, when I would finally take my woman, many times.

In the darkness of the top cabin as it rocked gently on calm waters under the stars, I imagined how it would feel to have her under me.

In the quiet, soft moments of morning when I woke with her in my arms, I imagined how it would feel to turn her onto her back and settle in between her legs.

In the happy moments when I managed to make her laugh, I imagined her on her knees before me, with ruined makeup and a willing mouth.

But I was not imaginative enough to picture the line forming between her scorching golden eyes as her brows come together in pleasured focus, or her lips rounding into an O on a silent cry.

Nothing I imagined could have compared to this.

I am glad she did not turn on the light—I do not want her to see me so close and so bare, to remind her I am hard and scarred and ugly, not beautiful and soft like her.

But I also hate the darkness of this room for how it deprives me of the finer details.

I can feel better than I can see her flushed, heated body, covered in a thin sheen of sweat from what I did to her with my fingers.

But the scent of her, the sounds she makes against my lips, the feel of her…

God, the feel of her. Fuck, she’s gripping me so hard .

I intended to fuck her slowly, staying up on my knees, too far for her to reach, but it is too much.

I fall onto my hands, framing her lovely face, curling around her until she is everywhere.

Her heat is scalding. Her staccato breaths spur me on, ghosting across the sweaty skin of my neck.

Her hands clutch my sides. Her legs curl around me.

And her pussy drips with need. She craves me, wants my cock more than she knows how to express. It satisfies something deep and jealous inside me. I wish I had more time or self-control to touch and kiss every inch of her.

Next time.

One hand digs into the mattress for balance, and the other curls around the back of her head, weaving between the rough yet silken strands of hair.

She is in a cage of my arms and legs and body, pinned by my grip in her hair, but her skin is hot with lust, and the noises that escape her lips encourage, even as they convey overwhelm.

I greedily claim those noises, taking them into my mouth, swiping my tongue along her lips and teeth. Her taste is so unique—strange, and addictive. I press forward, swallowing her mewl of surprise at the invasion.

The width of her hips provides the perfect, smooth cradle for mine, a pillow for my body that absorbs the force of each thrust. I start slowly—controlled and deliberate—giving her the chance to get used to me.

But her sweet moans of pleasure are too much, and after a while, I am driving myself crazy with the achingly slow pace.

The burning heaviness in my balls and shaky tightness in my legs and abs are distracting.

Holding back like this is torture when all I want is to clench, to pound, to release my strength into her open, willing softness.

She squirms underneath me, tilting her hips up for me to urge me on.

And even though the apex of each thrust has my cock nudging her insides in a way that rips a small cry from her chest, still this little vixen’s golden eyes shine in the low light as she meets mine and hoarsely requests, “Please… please, more.”

Faster, she could have said, or harder. But no, my woman— my med— wants more. She wants all of me.

With a growl, I adjust our positions, grabbing her upper calf and jerking it away from my hip so I can slide my arm underneath. I pull it up, fitting my forearm into the space behind her knee, and she gasps as the angle changes and I sink even deeper.

“No, no, no, no, no,” she chants, whining on an exhale, moaning and tossing her head side to side against the sensations. Her brows come together, and her face screws up with the pleasure-pain.

My grip in her hair tightens, halting the movements that tug on her scalp. “Yes, Nicole. You can take it. You will take all of me.”

Fuck. Fuck.

That final inch. That last part of my cock that never seems to fit except in certain, less intimate positions. Inside her. It is a tight fucking fit, like a too-small glove, but we are locked in.

“Fuck, Dimitri,” she gasps. “You’re so... so deep!”

“Tell me to stop,” I order as her voice pinches with pain that bleeds into her tone. I know I told her she already had her last chance to say no, but I grit my teeth and manage to still myself, hovering over her.

She just inhales shakily through her teeth.

“Say it,” I growl. If she does not say something, I am going to unleash on her; that final thread holding me back is just about to snap.

“No, don’t! Just… No one’s ever… It’s amazing.”

I know now—it is the confirmation I needed.

No one has been this deep inside my woman before.

And that makes her mine entirely, whether she likes it or not.

Any fucker that might have come before—and there will be none after—could not take her like this, fill her this way, give her what she really craved.

The jealousy feels oddly like triumph, and I want to roar my victory .

“Yes,” I croon into her ear, feeling her shiver against my hot breath. “Good. Such a good girl, taking me so deep. I knew you could.”

“So big,” she whispers, her words like broken music notes of overstimulation. “Ohmygodohmygod.”

The primal satisfaction is addling me. My desire burns, and my blood pounds so hard that I can do nothing but increase my speed, finding the rhythm I need.

Her whimpers become moans once more, but she denies me her golden gaze, squeezing her lids shut.

I will allow it—just this once—because she is pleasing me greatly, her greedy cunt taking me all the way on our first time.

It is only when the pressure disappears that I realize she has been digging her nails into me. Her hand moves from just under my ribcage on my right side and starts working in between our bodies, down towards where we are joined, through the hole created by the crease in her lifted leg.

“No,” I growl. I release her knee, feeling it fall without my arm propped against it, to grab her wrist. “I take care of what is mine. I will do it.”

She tugs, but I refuse to let go until I know she will not try it again. “I… I just need…”

“Oh, my Nicole,” I rumble, gratified by the desperation, the frenzy in her voice. “Tell me what you need.”

“M-my clit. Touch it. Please. It feels… it’s so much. I need to come.”

She is unable to keep her leg where I had it on her own, so I sacrifice that final inch of my cock being buried in her sweet pussy in order to take care of it.

I release her hair so I do not pull it too hard, and angle my body back far enough to slip my fingertips against her slick, tight nub.

Her whole body seizes as I make that gentle contact.

She lets out a long, stuttered moan on an exhale.

I work my cock in and out, nearly losing myself to the exquisite, wet heat and push-pull of delicate skin. When she came all over my hand earlier, I learned what pressure and speed she liked, so I try to maintain an unbroken rhythm for her—and it does not take long.

Her stomach clenches, her legs and arms tensing as she tosses her head as far back as it can go against the pillows. Her release shakes her, shaking me, pulsing against my fingertips, and making her grip my cock even harder.

Fuck. She is spasming tight, then loosening with an unpredictable, uncontrollable pattern. I will not last. The tingling sensation is starting at the base of my spine, and I want to be as deep inside of her as I can be when I come.

With a growl that is part relief and part urgent demand, I stretch her leg back up and slam into her all the way.

Still in the throes of her own orgasm, she cries out, but her voice is hoarse and spent.

Then she lifts her hips for me, relaxes back against the pillow—her body’s signal of permission to me to take what I want.

So, I do. I pound into her hard. I take, and I take, and when she finally returns to consciousness and meets my eyes with a satisfied, sex-drunk stare, that is it for me—all I can take.

Muscles bunch along either side of my spine, reacting to the familiar building sensation of my own release.

My balls tighten against my body, and my cock jumps inside her.

When it comes, it is quick. Pinpricks of colored light sparkle within the blackness of the inside of my eyelids, and I shake violently, seizing up as the pleasure crests and overtakes my limbs.

I lose myself and let loose, filling her with every drop I have.

The release is weighty, dragging me down after soaring so high.

I fight to fill my lungs completely, pleased that we are exchanging air—to have her inside of me as I am inside of her.

After a moment, the pleasure wanes, and the grip of my fingers loosens, and I am much lighter than before.

I shake my head to clear the muffled ringing in my ears and swallow the thickness in the back of my throat.

When I begin to let her leg down, she winces, and I press an apologetic kiss to her lips as I withdraw.

Then I roll to the side to give her some room to breathe.

I weigh a lot—muscle is heavy—and as much as I like the feel of her underneath me, I can see it is hard for her to take in a whole breath.

She looks up at me, lips parting as her hazy eyes beg me to kiss her again.

I swipe aside a sweaty lock of hair plastered to her forehead and trail just the very tips of my fingers down her jaw, tracing the line.

She smiles faintly, stretching her neck to give me better access.

Needy, greedy girl. So pliant and responsive.

“Hi,” she whispers.

“Hello.”

The sound of her answering laugh is throaty, and I inhale deeply to fill my lungs with it. “That was…” she blows out, pursing her lips and letting her eyes roll back. “I think I owe you dinner. Maybe my firstborn. Jesus.”

My lips twitch at the languid satisfaction in her voice. Pride spears me through the chest, knowing I am the reason for it. “Your gratitude is unnecessary. You were perfect.”

Something shifts in her expression, and I fight with the conflicting urges to move away so I can turn on the light to see better and to keep her in my arms like this.

“I think I need a shower. Want to join me?” she asks.

Her face is open, hopeful, almost innocent as she huffs a laugh. “You did all the work.”

“Being with you was not work, Nicole.”

I cup her cheek, and her eyes round, staring up at me with misty eagerness. She rolls her lips inward against each other, I think because they are trembling, and hides her face from me against my chest again. “Maybe we just lie here like this for a little bit. The shower can wait.”

“The shower can wait,” I agree, hugging her closer.

She stretches her neck, and I meet her halfway.

The press of our lips is sweet and soft—a gratitude for what has occurred and a promise of things to come.