Chapter 35
THIRTY-FIVE
LUCAS
Alex breaks the kiss, his lips leaving mine with a quiet, aching sound. I gasp, dazed, chasing after the loss of him even as his breath ghosts over my mouth.
Then, low and rough, his voice brushes against me like smoke.
“I’ve never gone down on my knees for anyone before,” he murmurs, voice tight with something dangerous and reverent. “But it seems I can’t fucking help it when it comes to you.”
My breath hitches.
Before I can make sense of what he means, his mouth is moving, trailing heat down the column of my neck, then across my shoulder, over the plane of my back.
Slow, wet kisses that make my whole body light up.
Every nerve is on fire. I close my eyes, leaning into it, lost in the warmth of his mouth on my spine, the reverence in every press of his lips.
And then I feel it.
His grip firm on my waist, grounding and possessive.
And when I open my eyes again, Alex is no longer standing.
He’s on his knees.
On his freaking knees.
My heart stutters as I look over my shoulder and down at him in disbelief. His broad hands are anchored to my hips, fingers pressing deep into my skin like he’s holding himself back from something more.
“Keep your hands on the counter,” he says, voice rough and commanding. “Spread your legs a little for me and arch your back.”
His words strike something molten inside me, my spine reacting before I even think. But I still can’t tear my gaze away from him—down on his knees for me. My lips part, a breath leaving me in a shaky rush.
He growls softly, eyes flicking up, locking on mine.
“Don’t look at me, Lucas. Look at the fucking mirror. And do as I say.”
The authority in his tone doesn’t scare me.
It thrills me instead, making my cock even stiffer.
My throat bobs hard, a shaky exhale leaving my lips as I slowly turn my gaze back to the mirror.
My hands grip the counter’s edge, knuckles white.
I spread my legs and arch my back just slightly, just enough and I feel my face flame as the realization hits: my ass is right in front of his face.
Exposed and open.
And when his fingers slide over the curve of my ass, strong and steady like he’s sculpting me from clay, I nearly moan from just that touch alone.
Then, soft kisses.
Slow and reverent, trailing over each cheek, his breath sends sharp, involuntary shivers up my spine. I squeeze my eyes shut, chest heaving, nerves twisting with anticipation and the kind of raw vulnerability I’ve never allowed myself to feel before.
When he spreads my ass open, I gasp.
The air is thick between us, hot and electric, and I can feel his breath exactly where I know he’s looking. My whole body tenses with anticipation, and I bite my lower lip, holding back a noise that’s part whimper, part disbelief.
Then I feel it—his mouth against my hole.
A gentle kiss first. Then a soft breath against it that makes my knees threaten to give.
“You’re so pretty down here,” he rasps, voice low and rough like it’s dragged from someplace deep.
Oh fuck.
The first brush of his wet tongue as he licks my hole up and down makes me see stars, my eyes flutter shut as a sound escapes me, helpless and aching. It’s overwhelming how careful he is, how much he wants this, wants me. He isn’t rushing. He’s savoring.
Every movement is slow, practiced, yet tender. A circle, a drag, a gentle press that makes my spine arch and my chest heave. I feel myself melting under the weight of it, a needy mess against the counter, trembling under his worship.
“Alex—” His name spills from me like a secret I couldn’t keep. My voice ragged with need.
He groans behind me like I’ve given him permission for something sacred, his hands tighten at my spread cheeks, and his tongue thrusts deep inside me, making me whimper.
Then he keeps going.
Licking, teasing, tasting, poking, and thrusting.
Making a mess of me in every way.
I can feel myself shaking, my cock heavy and leaking, aching from the overwhelming heat and need. I don’t recognize my own voice when it comes out, it’s too wrecked, too desperate.
Alex… please,” I gasp, the words catching in my throat, trembling as they fall.
My voice is barely more than a whimper, my knees weak, legs shaking beneath me.
“Oh f–fuck…”
The ache inside me is unbearable—deep, hot, impossible to ignore.
My hand twitches, instinct pulling it from the counter, desperate to touch the throbbing ache of my cock, anything to ground me in the chaos of what I’m feeling. But before I can even wrap my fingers around myself, He growls, low and sharp, and it rumbles through me like thunder.
His mouth leaves my ass for a heartbeat.
“Don’t take your hands off that counter,” he snaps. Not harsh. But dominant. The command coils through me like lightning, and I jerk back into place, whimpering and nodding quickly, obedient and needy as I grab the counter again with a whine.
Then he’s back on me—no hesitation, no mercy.
He devours me like I’m the only thing he’s ever wanted, his tongue stroking and circling my hole, exploring places I never knew could feel this way.
I arch helplessly, my body trembling against the marble counter, my sounds incoherent, broken, desperate.
I’m panting, moaning, and begging when, finally, he takes pity on me and one of his hands slides between my thighs, making me open my legs wider.
Then I feel him wrap around me, that strong hand wrapping around my stiff, leaking cock, and then he strokes once. .
“Y-yes,” I cry out, the pleasure unbearable. “Please… don’t stop—don’t stop…”
He doesn’t.
His mouth and hand work in perfect, devastating rhythm, his strokes timed with the hungry push of his tongue— once, twice, three times, and on the fourth stroke and thrust of his tongue against my hole, my orgasm hits me so hard that it crashes through me like a bolt. White-hot and violent.
I feel my hole clench his tongue as thick spurts of cum leave my cock mercilessly, his name rips from my throat as I come hard and trembling so badly I nearly collapse forward onto the counter. My legs quake, my chest heaves, and I swear I can’t see straight.
I’m so lost in the haze of my release, so adrift in the crashing waves of it, that I don’t even notice when his tongue and hands leave me and when he rises to stand behind me.
But I feel it when his arms come around me.
Strong. Solid. Holding.
He pulls me up gently, guiding my trembling body until my back presses against his chest. My breath still comes in soft, staggering pants, and in the mirror in front of me, I barely recognize myself.
Flushed skin. Kiss-bitten lips. Eyes glassy with pleasure.
I look undone. Wrecked.
And yet, Alex is staring at me in the mirror like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
His eyes don’t roam with lust. They linger. In awe. In hunger. In something deeper, I don’t yet know how to name.
He leans down and presses a kiss to the side of my head, then my cheek, then the place where my neck meets my shoulder, each one soft, reverent, like a vow.
“You are so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, voice low and rough and almost reverent. The sound of it wraps around my ribs and squeezes, and my stomach swoops, warmth curling there like sunlight through storm clouds.
Then I feel him.
His cock, hard and heavy, presses against the curve of my ass.
My breath catches, and I instinctively press back into him, seeking more, needing more.
His eyes meet mine in the mirror.
Blue. Bright. Blazing.
“Alex…” I whisper, my voice breathy and low, thick with need. “Please. I want you.”
There’s a flicker in his eyes like the request physically hits him. A flash of fire, a quiet inhale. But he doesn’t say anything. Not yet.
Instead, his hands move, one rising again to wrap gently and possessively around my neck. And I lean into it. I welcome it. All of it.
I don’t care that my body’s still trembling from the orgasm he just tore out of me.
I don’t care that my legs are weak or that my skin is still buzzing.
I want him.
I want him so badly I can barely breathe, so badly it silences everything else—the fear, the memories, the weight of what happened hours ago. It’s like all of it is a faraway storm now, faded into the distance. Irrelevant.
Because right now, all I know is him.
The way he holds me like I’m both breakable and his.
I want him inside me.
I want to feel him push into me and take up every space that’s ever felt hollow.
I want him to ruin me, mark me, make me his.
I want to be owned by him.
Not out of force.
But because I’d give myself to him freely. Because I already have.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” He asks, voice low and husky with restraint, and want.
His hand is still around my throat, not tight…just there, anchoring me, grounding me as his eyes stay locked on mine in the mirror.
“Yes,” I whisper, my voice barely holding steady.
He doesn’t move right away. He just watches me. Studies me like he’s peeling back every layer, looking for something buried deep in my gaze. And I let him. I want him to see me. To see that, I’m sure. That I’m not scared. That I want him. I want every dark, terrifying, beautiful part of him.
Then something shifts in his face.
He smirks.
That cocky, devastating smirk of his that makes my stomach flutter and my thighs press together instinctively.
“I’ve been waiting for that look,” he says, voice thick.
I blink. “What look?”
But I don’t get the answer.
Because in the next second, he’s spinning me around to face him, and his mouth is on mine—hungry, claiming, endless. The kind of kiss that makes the world drop away. His hands grip my waist like he can’t stand a single inch of space between us.
When he breaks the kiss, his breath is hot against my lips.
“I hope you’re ready for me, krasivy,” he murmurs, a dark gleam in his eyes. “Because I’m going to ruin you.”