Page 29 of Scarlet Vows (Yegorov Bratva #3)

Chapter Twenty-Three

ALINA

I press my mouth to his once more, tracing the line of them with the tip of my tongue. His groan is the dessert I ache for, but he resists a moment longer.

Then something changes. His body surges into me, and he takes control, kissing me back, deep and hard and giving me exactly what I crave.

There are a million reasons why I did this.

It may be the last chance I have to kiss him before Demyan decides to rush back.

I want him to think of me before he does something stupid.

I need to test my guilt.

See what it is I want after all.

Scratch an itch.

Start my own inner war.

The list goes on and on.

But there’s only one answer. One truth.

I want him desperately. To the point that common sense is trampled down to nothing, that the urge overwhelms.

The kiss explodes inside me, and every single cell lights up as I kiss him back, eager for more. Our tongues dance, and he presses hard against me, hard being the operative word. He’s big, erect, and still growing. Blood pools in my pussy, making me throb and ache and grind up against him.

I’m sick of being lonely. I’m sick of guilt and pain and sadness. The only thing I want to feel is pleasure, and this man can give it to me.

Ilya’s hands slide down my back to my ass, and he trails kisses to my throat, his lips closing on my madly throbbing pulse. One of his hands comes all the way back up to coil in my hair, and then he stops, pulling me back, raising his head.

His brown eyes are full of flaming desire, and his cock twitches as it strains against his trousers against me. He drops his gaze to my mouth for the longest time, then he once more meets my gaze.

He looks so intense that I quiver.

“Are you sure, malyshka ?” He searches my face, looking for something. “Are you sure you want this?”

Always the fucking gentleman. Always putting me first. It’s such a turn-on that I can barely think. My heart pounds even harder, and I try to form words.

I nod.

And try to kiss him to show him I mean yes, but he stops me.

“Use your words, Alina.”

I swallow hard. “Yes, I want this.” But it’s more than that. “I need this.”

I need this to allow myself to move on. It’s the last barrier.

And I have to trust that if it fails, if it bombs, then we can recover as friends. If it works, we can decide how to move on, keep that part of what makes us click, and continue.

I have to trust.

Ilya isn’t going to abandon me if I realize that this is a mistake, that I’m nowhere near ready. He’ll be there. He’s always been there. He’s my rock, the person I turn to time and time again. We’ve changed, yes, but not in our fundamental cores.

I can’t help what’s happened in my life, and neither can he. But it is what it is, and the only thing keeping me on this side of everything isn’t him. It isn’t Max or Max’s ghost. Max would be cheering me on to move on with the right man after his demise. I do know that.

No, the only thing in the way is me.

Me.

Maybe this is just going to be sex. I don’t know the future, but I know Ilya.

And he’ll never hurt me or turn his back.

I need to allow me to move forward.

But to tell him all that… I can’t begin to find the right words. What I can do is show him.

So I wrap my arms around his neck, pull him to me, and kiss him, hard and deep and with everything I have. I want this. I want him.

“Oh, Jesus,” he whispers against my mouth in Russian.

He walks us into the wall, kissing me, his mouth demanding, delicious, a hot, wet place of pleasure. He lifts me up, hand under my ass, and I hook my ankles around him. He carries me to his room, the door hitting the wall and making Albert bark from the bed.

“Down, Albert,” he says, pulling his mouth away.

The dog growls like an old man, but his paws thump on the ground, and then he’s either gone or in the dog bed.

“I didn’t know he followed me,” I say.

Ilya laughs as he gently places me on the bed. “He always follows you.”

The laughter fades as he pulls off his jacket, his tie, and then his shirt, the cuff links clicking on the wooden floor. He pulls off his belt and shoves off his pants, coming down over me, kissing his way from my lips down my body, over my covered breasts, to my hips, stomach, and then… Oh god.

I grab at the covers as he flips my dress up, pulls my panties off, and spreads my legs.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Alina.”

“Please…”

That’s all it takes before he’s there between my legs, his tongue licking up my inner thighs to my outer lips. He sucks on each one, then he licks up my slit to my clit. I cry out as a throb of pure pleasure hits me.

Then he settles in deeper, parting me and sliding two fingers into my pussy, and he starts to thrust while licking and sucking at my clit. His fingers stretch me a little, and that tongue… Oh, that tongue should be illegal.

The curl of his fingers strokes my G-spot. Every stroke makes me gasp and sigh, and I grab his hair as I raise my hips, eager for more, needing it harder, deeper, rougher.

He bites me, not hard, but enough to make me cry out his name and shudder. He suddenly shifts the tempo, his thrusts rougher, faster, deeper, his chin pushing at me as he works my clit, sucking on it and tonguing it like he’s playing the fiddle.

And I’m lost.

Waves of need hit me along with pleasure. And it’s good, great, but it’s not quite there. Even though I try to make him go even harder and faster, he doesn’t. He keeps the pace he has, which drives me insane, keeping me on the cusp of something huge.

It’s good, so good, but I can feel that bigger, wilder thing just out of reach, the orgasm that teases at me with twinges and tingles that race through me.

Then, when I think I’m going to go mad, when I’m almost sobbing, begging, cursing him, he thrusts harder, rubbing that spot with more vigor. He bites and sucks my clit, holding it between his lips as his tongue strums it.

I crash over the edge into orgasmic bliss.

I’m drowning in the sweet, overwhelming pleasure as my entire body spasms and throbs and clenches. It’s everywhere. And it’s so good until it turns sharply into too much, and I try to pull away.

But he won’t let me.

He doesn’t change a thing, just keeps going, holding me there, until I’m suddenly, inexplicably peaking again. When I come this time, it’s like a bomb going off, the intensity making me lose my mind and give myself over to him as my entire being explodes.

Slowly, it ebbs. I’m wet, so wet, and he lifts his face, his heavy, hard cock brushing me as he crushes his mouth to mine.

Ilya’s face is wet, too. I came so hard that I squirted, something I’ve only ever done a handful of times with Max.

The kiss is deep, soft, heartfelt. It shakes me down to my toes and stirs my juices all over again. He tastes like me, like him, like vodka and sweetness, like the mousse he had two servings of.

Ilya ends the kiss and starts to get up. “Albert has vacated the room.”

There’s a question hidden behind his light words. I sit up and pull my dress off, along with my bra, and he smiles.

I reach for him and wrap my hand around the hot, silk-covered steel of him, and he jerks in my hand. He’s so big that it’s hard to hold him, and I experimentally pull at him, trying to get a feel for what he likes.

A drop of pre-cum clings to his tip, and I run my thumb through it, making him groan as he bends his head. He kneels and lifts one of my breasts to his lips to suckle on the nipple.

I push him off and start to go down, wanting him in my mouth, wanting him on his back. But if he’s going to kneel, I’ll do it like this.

He doesn’t let me, though. “This is about you, Alina.”

“But—”

“You.” Then he takes my other breast and kisses that too. “Tell me what you want.”

I frown. I want him. I want… sex. I want to come again. I want him to come. I want him in my pussy. I think I want him stretching out my ass, something Max and I did a few times, and I liked it.

But I settle on the simplest answer. “I want you. In me. I want us both to come. But… I want you , Ilya. You.”

A small smile dances over his features, and he pulls me down on him, kissing me hard, his mouth exploring mine until I can’t breathe.

Then he flips us so I’m on my back, and he rises over me, pulling my legs apart. “Hold them.”

I do.

It’s an incredibly vulnerable and intimate position. He kneels and looks at my exposed pussy, his eyes at half mast, his face dark with passion and need, and he slowly jacks himself.

At first, I’m embarrassed, but there’s something so carnal about this that I start to heat. My pussy aches and swells with need.

“Yesss… you’re so fucking wet, so fucking open for my cock. I can see you pulsing, inviting me in. That pretty clit is red and sticking up, fully engorged, just begging to be stimulated.”

His words are a jumble of English and Russian, his voice rough.

“Begging,” he says, “to be filled and fucked.”

“Put your money where your mouth is, Ilya. ”

He laughs and comes down over me, guiding his cock to my entrance. “Don’t you mean dick?”

The cavalier attitude is a front.

He holds his cock and guides himself to my entrance, running the tip over me, making me moan. Then he slowly pushes into me, inch by inch, taking his time, stretching me, letting me get used to him.

Sweat pops out on his forehead from the effort, and his shoulders are damp where I hold them.

My head spins at this slow, hot invasion.

He’s not being slow and careful because he thinks he’s huge.

He’s being slow and careful because he knows I haven’t been with a man since Max.

My sex toys aren’t designed to stretch; they’re to stimulate and vibrate.

Even with dildos, it took me a long time.

It all took me a long time. I didn’t want to sully anything.

But this… Oh, this is worth it. My body craves the fullness and the heat of him. He’s thick, and I feel him everywhere. I’m slick enough to offer him an easy entrance.