Page 17 of The Russian's Innocent Prey

“Bossy,” she gasped, but I felt her reach between her legs.

“You love it.”

“I do,” she admitted breathlessly. “I love it. I love—oh, fuck—”

Within minutes, she was shaking, her moans getting higher and more desperate.

“That’s it,” I encouraged. “I can feel how close you are. Come for me. Let me feel it.”

“I’m going to—oh, God, I’m—” She came with a broken cry, and I felt every flutter and pulse of her orgasm.

I pulled her up against my chest, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other hand on her breast. “So fucking perfect,” I groaned as I emptied myself inside her.

We collapsed onto the mattress together, both of us sensitive and spent.

“Holy shit,” she breathed after a moment. “That was—”

“Incredible,” I finished.

She turned in my arms to face me. “I’m not done with you yet.”

“You’re insatiable.”

“Only for you,” she murmured, her hand sliding down my body. “I want to taste you.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” she insisted, already moving down my body. “I’ve thought about this too.”

When her mouth closed around me, I groaned. “Fuck, your mouth—”

She took me deeper, her tongue doing things that made my vision blur.

“Just like that,” I gasped. “God, just like that.”

She looked up at me while she sucked me, and the sight was the most erotic thing I’d ever seen.

“I’m going to come,” I warned her. “You should—”

She just took me deeper, and I came with her name on my lips, my hands gentle in her hair.

She crawled back up and kissed me. “See? Not so bad.”

“Not so bad? That was fucking incredible.”

“Good.” She settled against my chest with a satisfied smile. “Because I plan on doing it again. Many times.”

“You’re going to ruin me.”

“Good,” she said again, softer this time. “We can be ruined together.”

Eventually, exhaustion caught up with us. We lay in the wreckage of what we’d been before, her head on my chest and my fingers tracing idle patterns on her bare shoulder.

The scars on my hands caught the light from the hallway, but for the first time in twenty-seven years, they felt like just another part of me instead of a constant reminder of everything I’d lost.

“Stay,” I said into the darkness, the word torn from somewhere deep in my chest.

She lifted her head to look at me, and in her eyes I saw the reflection of my own desperate hope, my own fear of what the morning might bring.