ELENA
Maksim palms the back of my neck and pushes me forward, not harsh, but firm enough that I move. I catch myself with my hands on the table, breath catching. The next second, he yanks my chair out, drags me up, and turns me so I’m facing the table’s edge.
“Take your knees,” he orders.
Fire darts through my chest. I drop to the floor despite every warning shrieking in my head.
The parquet is cold under my knees. He stands in front of me, unbuckling his belt with slow, certain movements, metal clinking in the hush.
I keep my eyes on the buttons of his shirt until his hand cups my jaw, tilting my face up.
“I said watch.”
I look. His expression is carved granite, only the heat in his gaze giving him away. I reach and undo his belt, the textured leather sliding through the buckle. His zipper sighs open. I free him, heavy and hot, already hard in my hand. I lick my lips once, then take him into my mouth.
He tastes of skin and smoke. I hollow my cheeks, suck slow, letting him feel every inch of tongue.
He threads his fingers through my hair, guiding, controlling the depth.
I breathe through my nose, taking him deeper until the blunt head presses my throat.
He groans, low, tension winding inside him.
I swallow and pull back, then push forward again, faster, wetter.
Saliva spills down my chin. I drag my nails up his thigh and feel the muscle jump.
He swears in Russian under his breath, the sound vibrating through me.
“Deeper,” he commands.
I obey, taking him to the hilt, the stretch burning.
My eyes water, tears mixing with spit. He holds me there, hips barely moving, forcing me to hold his gaze while my throat adjusts.
Then he pulls out and thrusts back in, controlling the rhythm.
I focus on breathing, on the jagged inhale he can’t suppress when I suck harder.
My hands slide around to grip his ass, nails digging into the firm muscle as I urge him faster.
He likes the fight. He tightens his grip on my hair, using it. “You look ruined like this,” he says, “kneeling for me.”
I glare up at him even as my mouth works him deeper. He smiles, sharp, and pushes me off with a nudge of his thumb. Spit glistens on his cock, trailing from my lips. He wipes the pad of his thumb across my mouth and shoves it back between my lips.
“Suck.”
I suck his thumb, eyes locked on his. He watches, breathing thickening. When he pulls his hand away, he cradles my jaw.
“Up.”
My legs protest as I stand. He spins me, palms flattening on my hips, then bends me over the table.
Papers scatter, flutter skyward, drift to the floor.
He kicks my ankles apart, using his knee to push them wider, the table edge pressing into my stomach.
He drags my dress up, bunching it around my waist, baring me from behind.
Chill licks over my thighs. His hand cups me, finds me soaked.
“You’re dripping,” he murmurs.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from answering. He swats me once, sting biting across the curve of my ass. I hiss. He does it again, harder, and heat blooms in the welt.
“Stay still.”
His fingers run over the seam of my panties, then hook in the lace and rip them down, tearing them in half.
The ruined fabric hangs from his fist before he tosses it aside.
He strokes my slick folds, fingers parting me, rubbing slow circles around my clit.
My head drops forward. His other hand grabs the back of my neck, pushing me down.
“Does it kill you that you’re wet for me?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
He laughs, dark and dangerous. “Too bad.” Two fingers slide inside me, knuckles deep.
I gasp. He curls them, hitting that gut-wrenching spot, pumping while his thumb grinds my clit.
The table rattles with every thrust. My toes curl, nails digging into the wood.
He keeps me on the edge until my thighs shake, and right when I’m about to break he pulls out and steps away.
Pain flares in the absence. I curse him, raw.
“Do it again,” I snarl.
“I plan to.”
His hands clamp around my hips. He slams in without warning, burying himself to the base. I cry out, the thrust brutal, pushing me forward on the table. He doesn’t pause. He sets a vicious rhythm, hammering into me, each stroke slapping skin against skin, loud and primal.
My body opens and re-opens around him, heat licking through my veins. He leans over me, his chest pressed between my shoulder blades, breath hot against my neck.
“Who do you belong to?” he growls.
“No one,” I gasp, even though everything inside me is bowing.
He grips my hair, yanks my head back so I look at us in the reflection of the window glass.
My face is flushed, eyes wild. His teeth skate up the side of my throat.
He bites down, sharp, sucking to leave bruises.
I moan, pulse raging. He grinds deeper, hitting that spot again and again until my vision goes hazy.
“Say it,” he insists.
“Fuck you.”
He slaps my ass again, the crack loud enough to echo. “Say my name.”
“Maksim!” It rips from me on the next thrust, a bark of pleasure and fury tangled together.
He hisses, satisfied. His hand drops to my clit, thumb circling brutally while his cock pistons in and out.
The sensation overloads me. I push back against him, meeting every thrust with equal force, wanting all of it, every savage inch.
He groans, the sound low and raw, and drives harder.
“Don’t come until I tell you,” he commands.
My muscles tremble from the strain. I clench around him, desperate and thwarted.
He keeps me there, riding just shy of the edge, the tension stretching needle-sharp.
Sweat slips down my spine. I bite my lip to hold back.
He moves his thumb lower, pressing directly on the same spot his cock pounds inside. Stars explode at the edge of my sight.
“Now,” he says finally.
The word detonates whatever restraint I had. The orgasm tears through me, violent and delicious, ripping a scream from my throat. “Maksim!” My inner muscles clamp down around him, spasming. He curses, guttural, keeps thrusting, milking every contraction until I nearly collapse.
He doesn’t stop. He grips my hips and hauls me upright, still embedded inside me, then pivots so he can walk me backward.
My thighs wobble, dress bunched at my waist, his body sealing to mine from behind.
He drags me across the room, shoves the door to the private hall open with his shoulder, and marches us through the corridor without bothering to cover me.
Anyone could see. He doesn’t care. Neither do I.
He pushes my back against the wall halfway down the hall, lifts one of my thighs, hooking it over his arm, and plunges into me again.
I claw at his shoulders, dig my nails into his biceps.
We fuck against the wall, hard and fast, his mouth devouring mine, biting my bottom lip.
I grind down on him, riding high, chasing another peak.
He groans and pounds harder. My foot slips on the polished floor. He lifts me entirely, hands under my thighs, carrying me, still thrusting, down the hall. My back slams into another wall, and then he shoulder-checks the bedroom door open.
We crash into his suite. He kicks the door shut, strides to the bed, and throws me onto it belly-down.
I bounce once, breath knocked out. He drags me to the edge by my hips, flips me onto my back, and climbs over me, his cock slick with both of us.
He pushes my knees to my chest and slams in again.
The mattress muffles my cry. He pounds me into the thick duvet, eyes blazing.
“You’re going to suck me again after I fuck you,” he says, voice hoarse. “And you’re not leaving until you do.”
“Make me,” I gasp and wrap my legs around his waist, locking him deeper.
He snarls and bites down on my collarbone, the pain sharp and electric.
He braces on his forearms, driving harder, hips pistoning.
The headboard thuds against the wall. Each thrust scrapes across the spot inside me that’s still raw from the first orgasm, turning it to molten pleasure again.
I claw his back, leaving angry lines. He hisses and slams faster.
“Touch yourself.”
I reach between us with a shaking hand and rub my clit, tiny frantic circles that sync with his thrusts. The pleasure coils again, high and tight. He watches my fingers move, eyes dark.
“That’s it,” he whispers. “Fall apart.”
“I hate you,” I gasp.
He smirks. “You beg me.” He grabs my wrist, pins it above my head, and rubs my clit with his own fingers, rough and merciless.
I arch off the bed, panting. The second orgasm hits harder, tearing through me with a scream.
“Yes!” My body spasms, clenching around him.
He slams in, rutting through the aftershocks. His breath breaks into jagged snarls.
His rhythm falters. “Look at me,” he says.
I do. His eyes lock on mine, and he comes with a deep groan, body quaking. He keeps thrusting shallowly through the pulses, milking every drop, before finally stilling. His face is flushed, sweat dripping down his brow. He kisses me once, bruising and quick, then pulls out.
I’m limp, chest heaving, skin buzzing. He grips my jaw. “Mouth.”
I obey, opening. He slides his fingers in, coated with my slick, and I suck them clean, glaring up at him while I do it. He watches, satisfied. Then he grabs my shoulders and flips me onto my stomach again.
“Doggy,” he says. “Hands on the headboard.”
I crawl forward, palms braced on the carved wood, ass raised.
He kneels behind me and clamps my hips, kneading the bruised flesh, then slams back inside.
I moan, deep and hoarse. The angle shifts, his cock hitting deeper, dragging obscene sounds from my throat.
He sets a punishing pace, hands sliding up my ribcage, thumbs scraping my spine.
He drags one hand into my hair, twisting it into a makeshift leash, forcing my head back while he pounds into me.
“You feel this?” he growls.
“Everywhere,” I pant.
“Good.” He yanks my head up, teeth scraping my ear. “If you ever run, I’ll find you by the way your body remembers me.”
I snarl, even as my body clenches around him.
He reaches around, rubbing my clit again.
My knees shake. The overstimulation is a knife’s edge, pain and bliss tangled.
I sob once, the sensation too much. He doesn’t relent.
He fucks me through it, growling, muscles straining, sweat dripping down his chest onto my back.
My third orgasm tears through me in jagged waves, a choked cry strangled in my throat.
“Maksim!” I scream again, hating and needing the name.
He follows with a raw shout, “Elena,” hips slamming deep one last time as he comes. He collapses over me, chest pressed to my back, both of us shaking. He slides out, teeth nipping the back of my neck, then stands.
My arms buckle. I collapse forward onto the mattress, face pressed to the sheets, breathing ragged. Sweat slicks every inch of me. He collapses beside me, hauling me against his chest whether I fight or not. His heartbeat thunders against my ear.
I think I’ve finally got a grip on breathing when an alarm splits the air.