Page 135 of Ruthless Creatures

She disconnects, leaving me wrestling with my conscience.

He never said I shouldn’t call him when he was away, but I don’t want to be that girl. That clingy, insecure, needy girl.

I don’t have much, but I do have my pride.

Except apparently I don’t, because it only takes ten seconds of internal debate after hanging up with Sloane that I’m calling him.

It rings. Rings again. On the third ring, I bolt upright in bed, my heart hammering.

Because I’m hearing the ringing over the line, and also an echo of it coming from somewhere inside my house.

I’m not even onto my feet before he crashes through my bedroom door and grabs me.

We fall onto the bed, kissing madly.

He’s as frantic as I am, devouring my mouth and squeezing me everywhere, his hands rough and greedy. I pull his hair and wrap my legs around his waist. He gives me his weight, pinning me to the mattress, groaning into my mouth.

I’m on fire. Euphoric. Intoxicated with relief, lust, and the sheer pleasure of him, his huge, hard body and warm, spicy smell. His taste. The little sounds he makes. His ravenous need for me, the way he so obviously can’t get enough.

I’m wearing a nightshirt. He rips it off.

My lace panties are torn in half and discarded.

He drags me to the edge of the bed, drops to his knees, shoves my legs open, and eats me like a starving man, making desperate noises low in his throat.

Sighing in relief, I sink my hands into his thick hair and rock my hips against his face.

He slaps my thigh. I moan my approval. He pinches the stinging flesh then slaps it again, harder. The rocking of my hips turns frenzied. Arching my back, I call out his name.

He abruptly rolls me onto my belly, flattens a hand over the middle of my back, and starts to spank my ass.

Spewing an unintelligible stream of Russian, he spanks me until my ass is burning, my pussy is throbbing, and I’m frantically grinding my hips against the bed.

When I’m at the edge of climax, he flips me to my back, pulls me up to a sitting position, yanks down the zipper on his jeans, fists his erection in his hand, and takes me by the throat.

He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to.

I wrap both my hands around his shaft and moisten my lips.

When his stiff cock slides into my mouth, he moans.

It’s a ragged, desperate sound, aching with emotion. He stands spread-legged at the edge of the bed and fucks my mouth, one hand bunched in my hair and the other gripping my neck.

“Ya tebya lyublyu. Ty nuzhnah mne. Ty moya.”

His words are a harsh rasp in the quiet room. I don’t know their exact meaning, but I understand.

I don’t need a translator to hear what his heart is saying.

Then he’s pulling out of my mouth and pushing me back against the mattress again, ripping off his shirt and tossing it away. He shucks off his shoes, tears off his jeans and briefs, and falls on top of me, panting.

“I can’t go easy.”

“I’d kill you if you tried.”

He crushes his mouth to mine and shoves deep inside me.

We groan together. Shudder together. Pause for a moment to enjoy it.