Elena
I’m so furious I can’t see straight. I grab the front of his shirt and drag him into a kiss so punishing, I taste iron. He groans into my mouth and grips my waist, pulling me in hard enough to bruise. When his tongue sweeps across mine, my entire body pulses with hate and need.
My hair gets fisted in his hand, his mouth demanding and rough as he drags me back onto the desk.
He tears my sweater off, fingers hooking behind my bra and ripping it free.
I gasp at the sudden cold, at the way his eyes devour every exposed inch like I belong to him.
My nipples tighten under his gaze, and I hate myself for the reaction.
He doesn’t wait to admire. He bends, seals his mouth over my left breast, and licks slowly once, savoring the shiver that runs through me.
Then he bites down. Sharp. Hard. My back arches, an involuntary offering.
He smirks against my skin and draws my nipple between his teeth again, sucking until I moan.
The wet pull is wicked, overwhelming. I dig my nails into his shoulders and rake down, drawing welts that make him hiss.
His hand slides down my body, under my jeans.
Fingers find my clit, caress once, brutally slow.
Then he pushes inside my underwear, drags two fingers over my folds, and slides into me—deep, sure, confident.
My head falls back. He curls those fingers until sparks shoot through my spine.
He doesn’t rush. He strokes me leisurely, pressing against the right spot while his thumb circles my clit.
Every stroke is punishment and reward. He watches my face like a study, waiting for every reaction he wants.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs.
“Go to hell.” My voice breaks around the words. He smirks, leans in, and licks a path up my neck. My hips rock against his hand despite my fury. The orgasm builds fast, greedily. I feel it cresting, flooding my veins with hot pressure. He slows his thumb, then stops entirely, fingers still buried.
I twitch, half-crazed. “Don’t you dare.”
His thumb resumes moving, faster, tighter circles.
He leans down and kisses me again, and I fall off the edge.
The orgasm detonates, ripping through me so hard my toes curl in my boots.
He keeps working me through it, kissing me the entire time, swallowing every broken sound.
My nails carve furrows into his skin. He groans in approval when my body clamps down around his fingers.
He doesn’t remove them until I’m limp and breathless.
He finally lets go, steps back, and undoes his belt with sharp movements. I yank my jeans and underwear down with savage motions. The fabric hits the floor, my boots the only thing left on. Naked anger. Naked everything.
He pushes me back onto the desk with a hand on my shoulder, the force bruising.
Papers scatter. He drags me down so my ass is at the edge, feet flat on the floor.
He shoves my thighs apart, steps between them, and notches the head of his cock against me.
He pauses for a heartbeat, eyes trapping mine. The heat there is a promise.
Then he drives in a single thrust, bottoming out.
He groans as my body stretches around him.
I gasp, back arching, fingers splaying on the polished wood.
He holds there, blinking like he’s fighting to keep control.
His hands clamp onto my hips, digging in.
Every vein on his neck stands out. He flexes inside me once, making me shudder.
He starts moving, long, rolling thrusts, each one deeper than the last. He braces one hand beside my head, the other sliding to my throat, thumb at my pulse. His grip is firm, commanding without choking. He watches my eyes. “Feel that?”
I bare my teeth. “All I feel is arrogance.”
He laughs softly, darkly, and thrusts harder. “Tell yourself that while you cling to me like this.”
I want to deny it. I can’t. My body clenches around him, hungry, greedy.
He changes angle, one foot sliding wider, so he can stroke along a place that makes every nerve spark.
He pounds there, relentless, hips slamming into mine, wood creaking under the force.
I squeeze my thighs around him, locking him in closer, returning the pace with equal brutality.
Sweat beads on his brow. He grunts softly when I tighten around him.
Approval flickers in his eyes, heat and pride mixed.
I wrap a leg around his waist and flip our positions in a burst of reckless strength.
He isn’t expecting it. His back hits the desk, papers flying.
I vault atop him, straddling him, poised over his cock, palms planting on his chest. I slam down hard, take him to the base, grind my hips.
His head tips back, a raw groan torn from his throat.
I ride him mercilessly, rolling my hips, clenching around him, and he catches my waist, digging fingers in hard enough to bruise. “Push harder,” he snarls. I oblige, bouncing faster, slamming down until the desk rattles.
My breasts sway in his face. He catches one nipple with his mouth, biting lightly, sucking until my breath stutters.
He alternates between them, sucking, licking, praising with his hands.
Satisfaction fills his eyes as he watches me use him, my hair a wild halo, my mouth open on a gasp.
He lets me grab his wrists and pin them over his head, trusting me to control the rhythm for a few breaths.
I take advantage. I roll my hips slowly, dragging circles that grind his cock against me from the inside.
His eyes glaze. “That’s it,” he mutters. “Show me how you take what you want.”
“I want you ruined,” I say, panting. “Bleeding for me.”
He flips us again with infuriating strength, pinning me back to the desk without losing rhythm.
“Earn it.” He slams into me, faster now.
I’m dizzy from the onslaught. His teeth nip my chin, then he buries his face in my neck, inhaling deeply, like he wants to drown in my scent. “You smell like defiance.”
He licks a slow line from shoulder to jaw, then bites, making me moan.
He kneels abruptly, sliding out of me with a slick pop.
Before I can argue he grabs my thighs, drags me to the edge again, and covers me with his mouth.
This time, he’s ruthless. He sucks on my clit with wet, rhythmic pressure, flicks it with his tongue, devours me.
My toes curl inside my boots. I arch off the desk and fist his hair, dragging him closer.
He moans when I grind against his face, body shaking with need.
He reaches up and squeezes my breasts, thumbs and forefingers pinching my nipples in time with his tongue’s strokes.
The dual sensation is too much. I come with a sharp cry, hips jerking, thighs clamping. He keeps eating me, licking up every drop, tongue thrusting inside me. Ecstasy keens through me.
He stands, licking his lips. “Delicious.” He pulls me upright and spins me to face the window.
The city lights glow in the distance. He pushes me against the glass until my palms flatten and my nipples press cold against it.
He kicks my ankles apart and steps behind me.
Without warning, he enters again, cock steel-hard.
I gasp at the sudden stretch, at the cool glass on my skin. He braces one hand on the window beside mine, the other winding into my hair. He pulls my head back, forcing me to meet his eyes in the reflection. “I want you to watch,” he says quietly.
I couldn’t stop watching if I tried.
His thrusts build and the glass rattles.
He pounds into me with feral intensity, hips slamming into my ass.
His hand grips my hair, using it to control the angle.
My breasts smear against the window with every movement.
His rhythm is brutal, unforgiving. Pleasure ricochets through me, unstoppable.
I whimper despite myself. His eyes lock on the reflection of my face and he smiles slowly, clearly satisfied by what he’s seen.
He yanks me back from the glass and walks me toward the leather chair near the shelves.
He sits and pulls me down onto his lap, straddling him.
He grabs my hips and lifts, lowering me onto him again.
I gasp as his cock slides back in. He keeps me there, his mouth kissing along my throat.
His hands guide my hips in tight circles that grind me against his pelvis.
I ride him, bouncing up and down, gripping the chair back for leverage.
He snakes one hand between us, presses his thumb to my clit, rubbing in sync with my movements.
The friction steals my breath. He whispers filth in Russian, approval pouring through his tone, praising how I feel, how I move, how completely I fit him.
The words stroke my ego even as they inflame my fury.
I ride him faster, chasing another climax.
The chair creaks. Sweat slicks our bodies.
He bites my earlobe, licks it, sucks it.
“Come on my cock again,” he murmurs. “Let me feel it.” My body obeys before my mind consents.
Another orgasm crashes through me, ripping a hoarse shout from my throat.
He groans, burying his face in my neck, clinging to me as I shudder.
I collapse against him, breathing hard. He doesn’t stop. He lifts me off his lap mid-aftershock, turns, and presses me down over the desk again, this time with my chest flat and my arms outstretched. He steps behind me, lines up, and pushes in once more.
He’s relentless.
He fucks me with raw determination, chasing his own release now. Each thrust is a hammer blow. His hands grip my waist, fingers bruising. He pounds until he grits out a curse, body stiffening. “Gonna come,” he growls. “Hold still.”
I clench around him, milking his length, pushing back to take everything.
His climax hits like a storm. He snarls, slams deep, and stays there, shuddering, spilling inside.
He rests his forehead between my shoulder blades, breathing hard, the heat of him scorching my skin.
We don’t move. The room smells like sex, leather, and war.
He pulls out slowly, then drags his hand over his jaw, eyes still dark.
I push off the desk, shaky but defiant. I grab my ripped sweater, yank it on, and stuff my breasts into it.
My jeans go up with a jerk. I don’t look at him.
I feel his eyes on me as I dress, as I straighten my hair with trembling fingers.
My legs ache. My throat is raw. He looks infuriatingly composed, though his shirt is ruined, his tie hanging uselessly, his hair a wreck. His gaze follows every movement I make, claiming me in silence.
I step toward the door. He catches my wrist. I stiffen. “This changes nothing,” I hiss, yanking free. My voice shakes with fury and leftover desire.
He fastens his shirt as best he can, buttons missing, chest still partly exposed. He rolls his sleeves up, revealing the strength in his forearms, a promise of more fights. “This is a long game, Elena,” he murmurs, and his voice is deep and full of darkness. “Let’s see who folds first.”
I slam the door on the world.