Page 121 of Ruthless Rustanovs

HE’D tried. For so many months, he’d tried.

Countless agonizing weekends of refusing to watch her watch him.

Ignoring the pounding erection between his thighs as he brutalized the punching bag.

Torturing himself until his muscles ached.

Only allowing himself five minutes with her mouth—sometimes even that felt like too much.

More often than not, he had to pull out before the timer on his watch vibrated. Knowing if he didn’t stop now, he’d release into the back of her throat.

He didn’t drink anymore, because he didn’t want to lose control. He barely looked at her, because he didn’t want to lose control. He made her strip every time he saw her. Sit there with another man’s wish on her chest to remind himself.

She’s just a fucking whore. She would’ve gone with anyone who took her out of that Greek basement.

Punch! Punch! He called her every name he could think of in English, Russian, and Buryat.

He’d done everything he could to kill his addiction to her.

Including the most brutal form of aversion training.

Taking just a little, then denying himself the rest.

But none of it had been enough.

“It’s not a grease spot.”

A moment as understanding finally dawned over him. Her words. Her body language. Why she was acting so cagey. His eyes had slipped down before he could stop them. Seen her naked pussy, glistening in the room’s soft light.

And then his mind completely blanked.

He was inside her before he could even think not to be. Not to take himself out of his fighting shorts. Not to grab her hips. Not to sink his pulsing length into her tight, soaking wet space.

A base relief overtook him when her sex clutched around him. Familiar and hot. Drawing him in like she’d been missing this, too.

Before he knew it, he was pulling her roughly into his primal thrusts, owning her body in the way he’d been denying himself for months.

And for a long time, he was lost. The past and the present colliding as he pounded into her, remembering everything.

Her pleasured cries. How good her pussy felt on his dick, so welcoming and hot.

A clutch of fire that only burned for him.

He couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop…his hands viced her hips even tighter. Living the memories as the old compulsion over took him. Need her! Need her!

She was the only thing. The only thing that made his life better. The only thing that worked. The drug that had completely enslaved him. And he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop…

“Don’t stop, Bair! Don’t stop! I’m going to—oh!”

She came, screaming the name only she called him. And that did something to him.

A sharp ache gathered at the base of his spine, and he lost the battle, hips jackknifing forward as he released inside her on a stream of Russian words.

Need her! Need her! Need her! He came so long and hard, her pussy soon became sloppy with his cum. And even then he couldn’t stop fucking her. Not even when the slickness coating both their sexes made it hard to stay in. Even then his hips kept rutting, helpless against this drug of a woman.

The only drug that had ever made him feel whole.

The whole world suddenly went white as a second orgasm flooded his system, draining the Darkness out of him, like no amount of exercise ever could.

At least the Darkness went away for a little while…

As soon as he came down out of her light, it came back with an enraged howl. Cursing him, shaming him…he pulled out of her on a backward stumble, feeling pathetic as fuck. Because of what he’d just done. Because of her.

Nothing. Nothing in this entire world made him feel as weak as she did.

Which made it all that much worse when the siren straightened and turned to face him with the milky cloud of his load now spread over her golden brown sex and thighs. The sight of her affected him. Just like it always did.

His manhood swelled, almost painful between his legs.

“Go to the bedroom,” he choked out harshly, unable to regulate his tone. “And do not come out until I tell you to.”

“Bair—”

“GO!!!!” he roared. “GO!”

She went. But not fast enough. It was already too late. He knew that even before the door slammed.

Seven months of addiction work—gone just like that. She was back in his system. And no amount of raging against her was going to get her out.