Page 87 of Scarlet Thorns

“I need you,” I whisper, pushing back against him. “Please, I need you inside me.”

Behind me, I hear the sound of his belt buckle, his zipper sliding down. When I feel the hot length of him pressing against my entrance, I push back eagerly.

“So impatient,” he chuckles darkly. “But I like that about you.”

He enters me in one powerful thrust that makes me see stars. The stretch is mindnumbing, filling me until I can barely think. I freeze, clutching the sheets as I get used to the sheer size of him.

“You feel incredible,” he breathes against my ear. “Like you were made for me.”

Something about those words resonates deep in my chest, familiar in a way I can’t explain. But then he starts to move, and my mind turns to mush again.

His pace is relentless, each thrust driving me closer to another peak. One hand grips my hip while the other tangles in my hair, pulling my head back as he claims me thoroughly.

Hot breath tickles my ear before words in Russian pour out, low and commanding.

“Ty moya,” he growls, punctuating each syllable with a powerful thrust. “Tolko moya.”

I don’t understand the words, but their effect is instantaneous. My body responds to the raw possession in his tone, clenching around him as heat floods through me.

“What does… that mean?” I gasp, barely able to form the question as he drives deeper.

His teeth graze my earlobe. “Ya khochu tebya vsyu,” he continues, ignoring my question. The foreign sounds roll off his tongue like dark honey, each word dripping with intent that makes my skin prickle with goosebumps.

More Russian phrases follow, each one rougher than the last. The meaning is lost on me, but the effect is undeniable— each word feels like a physical caress, heightening every sensation.

“Ty takaya krasivaya, kogda ty pod mnoy,” he murmurs, his voice strained with effort as his pace increases.

Something about hearing him lose control in his native tongue pushes me closer to the edge. It’s deep, intimate— like he’s revealing a part of himself he keeps hidden from the world.

“Osip,” I whimper, my body trembling on the precipice of release. The angle hits something perfect inside me with every stroke, building pressure that threatens to shatter me completely. When his hand slides around to work my clit again, I know I won’t last much longer.

“Come, beautiful girl,” he commands. “Come all over my cock.”

The combination of his voice, his touch, and the relentless rhythm of his body pushes me over the edge. My second orgasm is even more intense than the first, rippling through me in waves that leave me sobbing his name.

He follows me over, his release hot and pulsing inside me as he buries his face in my neck with a groan that sounds almost pained.

We stay like that for long moments, both breathing hard as we come down from the high. When he finally pulls out of me, my thighs give way, and I sag onto the bed.

“That was…” I trail off, not sure how to finish the sentence.

“A mistake,” he says quietly, but there’s no regret in his voice.

I turn to face him, drinking in the sight of his powerful body marked with ink and scars. “Was it?”

His gray eyes meet mine, and I see something there that makes my heart skip. “Ask me tomorrow.”

But even as he says it, his hands are already reaching for me again, and I know this is far from over.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Osip

I glare out through the windscreen at the morning traffic, the engine of my BMW purring beneath me like a caged predator.

Blyad.

My mind won’t shut the fuck up— keeps replaying every second of last night. The way Ilona looked at me with those ocean eyes when I had her pressed against the doorframe. How she felt beneath my hands, around me, so perfect it was like finding a missing piece of myself I didn’t know was gone.