Page 47 of Stolen Empire

"I want to see you come on me. I want to watch you lose it."

The friction builds fast, coiling quickly.

I can feel him everywhere—inside, around, under my skin.

My moans turn to broken whimpers.

He slams into me once, twice, then slows, grinding against me until I gasp, "Yes, Dimitri…"

"That’s it," he whispers, voice wrecked.

"Pray to me. Tell me what you want."

"I'm going to—" The climax tears through me before I can breathe, my body clenching around him as white heat floods every nerve.

He thrusts through every confusion and spasm, chasing his own release, muttering curses in Russian that blur into my skin.

He buries himself deep and holds me there, groaning my name as he comes, his pulse pounding against mine.

I feel the throb of his dick, the slick heat jetting into me as my body clamps down on his shaft.

Every nerve ending is alive with pleasure.

I feel each spasm roll through him, the heavy burst of release hitting me.

His breath catches, a hoarse sound that breaks into an intimidating growl as he thrusts again, driving himself as far as he can go.

The heat floods between us, spreading through me, my body clenching tight around him.

He keeps moving in small, unsteady rolls of his hips, drawing out every drop until his muscles finally give.

We stay locked together, both shaking, until his forehead rests against my shoulder and his breath slows, his hands still gripping me as if letting go would undo everything.

My legs feel boneless.

My mind is blank, even when his mouth covers mine again and claims another scorching kiss.

I return it with just as much heat and desire, and then he pulls away.

The instant his dick leaves me, I feel the ache of missing him, followed by the warmth of his cum seeping down my thigh.

He stays beside me, brushing a strand of hair from my face.

"My bed is open if you would like more of that," he says casually, as though we didn't just tear each other apart.

"But you are free to sleep in the guest bed if you prefer."

I stare up at him, unable to form words.

It's like he sucked the will to flee right out of me.

He backs away, shoving his still-hard, soaked dick back into his pants and zipping up.

I stand there feeling embarrassed and caught off guard by how incredible that was.

But he fixes his shirt with a smug smirk and a look of satisfaction.

I tremble, picking up the boxers and T-shirt, and my panties, which might as well be thrown away.