Chapter 28
Jordan
Stunned by the sudden cessation of pleasure, I whimper, my hands digging into the headboard viciously enough to leave marks. I glare down to find his bright, bottomless, and wickedly amused gaze fixed on mine.
I can’t exist without him.
The stupid thought fills my head with fuzz.
He licks his lips and raises an eyebrow, as if daring me to complain. “Is that how you want it?”
My whole body trembles as I abandon any semblance of pride. “Yes. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop. Ever.”
In the moment, I can’t even fathom a future where I don’t have this man as an option, as exasperating as I consider him most of the time.
The “please” works like magic.
He grins—genuine and so unlike the scowl he wears in public—and resumes with twice the intensity.
This time, he doesn’t just use his mouth.
His hands skate up my sides, his fingers spreading over my ribs to cup my breasts, his thumbs circling my nipples with the rhythm of his tongue.
Too many sensations flood me at once, and I can’t control the noises spilling out of me. Every movement of his tongue, every squeeze, every flick builds me higher and higher, until I’m so strung out I think I might die from bliss and anticipation.
He wants me to break. He wants to be the one who unmakes me.
The challenge becomes mutual. How long can I last before I explode in his hands and lose the power he offered me?
I try to hold on, I really do, but he knows my body better than I do, and he’s merciless.
He brings me right to the edge over and over again, pulling back just when I’m about to fall before repeating the process.
When he’s not touching my breasts, they ache. My body quivers, begging for more, for that final push.
I think I might cry, or laugh, or both, but I can’t do anything except ride the waves of this torment.
It’s a marathon of stimulation, a study in delayed gratification.
With one final suck of my clit and pinch of my nipple, he finally hurtles me into the abyss. I come so hard, I’m pretty sure the world cracks open.
My back arches, my vision whites out, and I scream his name as my muscles sag and I collapse on top of him.
For a moment, all I want is to have him wrap his arms around me and cradle me close. Protected and warm.
But that’s not what I’m going to get.
“You said to eat you.” His dark, rumbling voice vibrates through every trembling inch of me, cutting through my blurry brain. “You didn’t say I had to do it on my back.”
I barely have a second to process the cocky twist of his mouth before he’s in motion.
Sculpted arms snake around my waist, hoisting me up and down in one smooth, inescapable maneuver.
The way he handles my body like he already knows its blueprint, every ligament and hollow and scar mapped to his private coordinates, never fails to shock my system.
My head spins as the ceiling slides past.
Then my shoulders thunk onto the mattress between his thighs.
In his unrelenting grip, my hips anchor at his jaw, my knees braced on either side of his head. I’m stretched out, pinned, and exposed, offered up on some ancient altar where he’s the priest.
Ready to accept the sacrifice.
And I’m ready too.
His mouth descends on me again, rougher, deeper, obliterating any illusion of control I thought I had when I climbed on his face.
From this angle, every movement of his tongue feels amplified, sharp, and almost savage. Each flick and swirl drags a ragged gasp from deep in my chest, building a pressure that causes my toes to curl and my vision to pulse at the edges.
I writhe, trying to shove away. His hands lock around my thighs, ironclad and immovable, refusing to let me retreat even a millimeter.
I nearly sob from the overwhelming sensations. I want to scream, claw at the sheets, maybe even weep, but my hands are useless, fisted in the duvet or pressed against his knees, the world funneled to the single, relentless point where his mouth devours me.
No. Not devours.
Worships.
He eats me like a starving man, with reverence and a strangely gentle violence that strips away every layer until only raw, shivering desire remains.
My entire body quakes as my breath comes in mad, fractured gasps.
He’s showing me how to surrender and claim at the same time.
My nails dig desperate crescents into his skin as the euphoria surges up and up and up. I’m close—so close—when suddenly he stops.
Again.
All sensation vanishes, and I’m left hovering once more.
“Wait,” he commands.
“Nooo…” My teeth clench. I swear, I will murder him if he even thinks of—
Kirill hoists me up once more and flips me over. For a moment, I’m a weightless, helpless doll in the hands of a wild animal.
Then, with infuriating patience, he arranges me until his mouth is under me again.
Except this time, when I glance down, I find his cock right in front of my face, thick and hard and straining against his pants.
His voice comes from between my legs, his minty breath teasing me.
“I thought you might want to have some fun rearranging my chaotic energies.”
My mind is dust, my thoughts racing in frantic circles.
This man listens. Remembers my silly little words. Even in the middle of sex.
The surprise ignites a fresh wave of heat, which floods my cheeks and pools low in my belly. He’s not just giving me control.
He’s daring me to take it.
If that’s not positive karmic energy, I don’t know what is.
A primal urge seizes me.
I reach for his waistband with trembling hands, fumble the button open at an odd angle, then drag the fabric down far enough to free him.
As my fist cloaks his cock, Kirill releases a raw, needy groan that electrifies every nerve ending in my body. My own low, feral moan answers his as I stroke him. Under my attention, he grows even stiffer, but he never stops working me with his mouth and tongue.
When I lower my lips and take him into my mouth, the sensation nearly shorts out my brain.
He’s so fucking hard.
His hips jerk up, his hands tightening on my thighs until I’m sure fingertip-shaped bruises will paint my skin by morning.
I bob my head, my tongue swirling, and every time I hollow my cheeks around him, he bucks. His growls vibrate straight through my core.
He continues driving me higher, refusing to let me pull away even when the pleasure threatens to shatter me.
Everything I do to him, he returns with triple the intensity, until I’m dizzy and mindless, caught between giving and receiving, both of us locked in a vicious, wondrous cycle. I want to tease him, to torment him as he’s tormented me, but I can’t.
My own arousal overrides every impulse except for need. I suck him harder, deeper, desperate for the taste and the power, and allow my eyes to roll back in my head as he does the same.
I’m spiraling, the euphoria mounting with every pass of his tongue, every guttural groan that escapes his throat.
I fight to hold on, to drive him to come before me, but he knows my body too well.
He senses the moment I start to unravel and clamps down with both hands, grinding my hips against his face and choking me on the intensity.
I orgasm so violently that I think I might black out from the overload. I’m so lost in the bliss that I swallow more of him than I mean to, nearly choking myself and making Kirill gasp against my thigh.
He pushes me up, moving me once more with that effortless control until I’m straddling his hips again. The blunt head of his cock presses against me without entering.
Not yet.
He regards me with dark intent. “What do you want now?”
I’m still reeling from my orgasm, my mind scattered into bright fragments of sensation. I wiggle my hips, beyond speech.
“Do you want my cock in your pussy?” Considering his usual economy of language, his crude words shock me.
Heat floods my face in a mix of embarrassment and arousal. His eyes narrow at my reaction, and I stare him down, refusing to blink first.
In one motion, I sink onto him, taking him in to the hilt. I gasp at the stretch and delicious fullness. His jaw tenses, the tendons standing out in sharp relief. He grabs my hips, but this time, he doesn’t set the pace.
He lets me. I grind against him, rolling my hips in slow, punishing circles, forcing him to feel every twitch of my muscles as I ride him.
Kirill’s finally the one at my mercy, and I revel in the intoxicating power. The satisfaction is better than my best meditation session, headier than watching my follower count hit over five hundred last year.
Hovering over him, forcing him to submit to my will, my energy, is…exhilarating. Dizzying.
I know he could flip us over, pin me to the bed, and seize what he wanted in an instant.
I only have control because he lets me—because he trusts me—and that knowledge makes me reckless. I want to push him to the absolute brink.
I speed up, slamming down onto him with increasing fervor, every thrust shooting shockwaves of bliss through my body.
His hands clench my hips hard enough to bruise as he stares up at me with those wild predator eyes, daring me to break him first.
I ride him ruthlessly, the bed creaking under us, sweat slicking my hair to my forehead. With every bounce, I feel myself getting closer to yet another climax, an almost unbearable tension winding tighter and tighter inside me.
His growl cuts through the haze. “What else do you want? How can I make it better?”
The words tumble out before I can reconsider. “I want you hard and fast.”
The request is barely out of my mouth before Kirill responds with surprising speed.
All softness disappears, the play-acting of surrender stripped away.
In one brutal, fluid motion, he flips me onto my side, his body curling around mine like a living snare.
One second I’m gasping in surprise, the next he thrusts inside me again, driving deep.
His hand clamps down on my hip while the other one slips beneath me, cupping my breast.