Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 66833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
My pulse jacks up, a familiar fire rushing over my skin. Invisible wall or not, he wants me. There’s no doubt about that. Not with the dark heat in his eyes and the coiled tension in his powerful body.
The moment we’re in the bedroom, he’s going to pounce.
A pulsing ache starts between my thighs at the thought, and I find my steps speeding up. And then we’re there, inside the bedroom, and his hands are on me, tearing at my clothes, at his clothes.
With ruthless efficiency, he strips us both naked, then picks me up and carries me to the massive bed in the center of the room, the heat of his body warming me in the cool air. As he walks, I catch a glimpse of movement and realize the wall to my right is a full-wall mirror.
Startled, I glance around.
The opposite wall is mirrored as well, as is the ceiling.
We’re everywhere, our reflections like a live porn stream.
It’s disconcerting. And hot.
Alexei is huge compared to me, all hard, flexing muscle and raw male strength. His inked skin is a dark, intricate tapestry against my paleness. In the mirrors, the coiling dragons on his chest and arms seem to multiply, surrounding me, branding me as property of my demonic lover.
I look small, disturbingly fragile in his embrace, yet I don’t feel unsafe, not even when my eyes return to his and I see the feral hunger on his face.
Our sex may be rough at times, but he will never truly hurt me… not like my father hurt my mother.
I feel it with bone-deep certainty.
He deposits me onto the bed, and before I can do anything, he spreads my knees apart and buries his head between my legs, ravenously lapping at my folds. I gasp, arching up as the warm, wet strokes of his tongue electrify my nerve endings, skyrocketing the tension building inside me.
Panting, I fist the sheets, my gaze glued to the erotic tableau in the ceiling mirror as the orgasm rushes at me like a high-speed train, the sensations cresting suddenly and violently, making me convulse with pleasure.
“Again,” he says hoarsely, not lifting his head, and I feel the thick, prodding pressure of his finger pushing into me. No, two fingers. The stretch is almost too much, but also somehow not enough. I squirm, crying out as an aftershock makes me clench around the invasive digits, and then his tongue returns, wet and soft, dragging over my pulsing clit as his fingers curl inside me, rubbing against my G spot with unerring precision.
I combust again, the second orgasm so sudden and intense it paints my vision white and wrenches another cry from my throat. The sharp throb of pleasure doesn’t end; his fingers stay inside me, pressing and rubbing, pushing me toward the edge again, not letting me catch my breath. I squeeze my eyes shut as he pushes in a third finger, and the stretching sensation intensifies, edging into pain. But it feels good too, especially with his hot, wet tongue lapping at my clit, the soft, slick stroking contrasting with the rough invasion of his fingers.
I come again. Maybe. Or maybe it’s the never-ending aftershocks that make my toes curl and my breath exit on a gasp.
And then I gasp again, clenching hard against a new sensation.
A finger of his other hand is probing at my back entrance, using the wetness from my orgasms and his saliva to push into my ass, slowly but inexorably, advancing a millimeter at a time.
My heartbeat quadruples, scorching heat rushing over me, making me feel dizzy. The sensation is so strange, so foreign and… and wrong that my eyes pop open and I arch off the bed again, gripping his hair instead of the sheets. The dark locks feel thick and silky between my fingers as I tug on them, trying to pull his head away.
“Alexei…” My voice is breathless and a little panicked. “What… are you doing?”
He lifts his head to look at me, but he doesn’t remove his fingers—not the three in my pussy and not the one that’s slowly penetrating my ass. His lips are wet and shiny, his coal-black eyes gleaming with possessive hunger.
“Don’t worry, Alinyonok…” His voice is a low, dark croon. “I’ll make it good for you, I promise.”
And if I don’t want you to?
I’m tempted to ask, but I don’t know if I want to know the answer. Would he stop if I told him to? And… would I want him to stop if I said so? Because maybe, just maybe, a tiny, deeply unfeminist part of me likes the imbalance in our relationship, the one that gives him all the power, all the agency… all the responsibility.
No, that’s crazy. And yet, I don’t ask the question. I don’t speak at all—partially because I can’t. As Alexei lowers his head and resumes licking my folds, I’m overwhelmed by the sensations, bombarded with a mix of intense pleasure and growing discomfort, the burning stretch in that part of me where entry feels so wrong. It’s just his finger, but it’s still too much, too invasive, a strange, too-full feeling that makes me squirm and gasp, clenching tightly against the steadily advancing pressure.