Chapter 23
Laszlo
Her cunt grips me so hard I nearly lose the thin thread of control I have left.
“Fuck,” I breathe, staring down at her.
She is spread under me on our bed, hair dark across the white cotton, mouth parted, green eyes wide and fixed on my face as if she is trying to take this in and survive it at the same time.
Mine.
The thought hits with enough force to make me vicious.
I slide my hand from her throat to her jaw and kiss her, hard and deep, swallowing the small sound she makes as I pull back and drive into her in one sharp thrust.
She cries out against my mouth.
My whole body goes tight. Christ. She’s hot and wet, and so fucking tight I can feel every pulse of her around my cock. I set a brutal pace at once because if I go slow now, I’ll come and disgrace myself in my own fucking bedroom.
I thrust again, and again, each snap of my hips punching that breathless sound from her that is already becoming my favourite thing in the world.
Her legs wrap around me, dragging me deeper, and I give it to her, fucking her the way I have wanted to since the first second she opened that sharp mouth at me.
Catching her chin when her eyes try to close. “You look at me.”
She does.
I keep my hand on her face and drive into her harder, watching the exact second pleasure starts to override everything else. Her pussy clamps down again, greedy now, taking me deeper with every thrust.
“That’s it, moya zhena,” I mutter. “Take your husband’s cock.”
Her breath catches at that. “Laszlo—”
I thrust deeper, and her nails dig into my back. The scrape only makes me rougher. I drop my mouth to her throat and bite down, not enough to break skin, enough to mark. She moans under me, open and hungry, and I know then that I’m done for. Completely.
I lift my head and look at her. Her lips are red and swollen from kissing me. Her breasts move with every hard thrust. My handprint is already darkening on her hip. My wife. In my bed. Wrapped around me like she was made for this.
It does something ugly and possessive to me.
I slide one hand between us and find her clit, rubbing tight circles until her whole body jerks.
“Fuck,” she cries.
“Yes,” I tell her, voice harsh. “Say it.”
“My husband,” she gasps, and the words hit me like a shot straight through the chest.
I smile, mean and pleased, and keep my hand on her, keep the pressure where she needs it while I drive into her and watch her come apart for me one inch at a time. “Again.”
“My husband,” she says, louder this time, voice breaking around it.
“That’s right.”
She clenches hard around me, shaking under me, and I know she’s close. I can feel it in the way her body tightens, in the way her breath turns ragged, in the way her hands stop trying to hold on and start trying to survive it.
“Come for me,” I tell her. “Now.”
It tears through her fast and hard. Her back bows, her mouth opens on a cry, and I watch every second of it with a vicious kind of satisfaction that makes me feel less like a man and more like exactly what I warned her I was. She grips me so tightly through it that my control finally snaps.
“Fuck.” I bury my face in her throat, thrust deep, and let go.
For a few seconds, everything narrows. Heat. Breath. Skin. The pulse of her under me and around me. The feel of her hands in my hair and the violent relief of emptying inside my wife for the first time.
I stay exactly where I am, buried inside her, breathing hard against her skin.
My heart is battering my ribs. Hers is no better.
I lift my head slowly and look at her.
Galina’s eyes are half-lidded, lips parted, cheeks flushed, throat marked by my mouth. She looks wrecked. Used. Sated. Claimed.
My wife.
The word lands harder now.
I brush the hair back from her face with steady fingers and kiss her once, slower this time. No violence in it. Just possession and something else I’m not naming yet.
I ease out of her and climb off the bed, going to the bathroom to run a cloth under the warm water.
When I come back, she hasn’t moved much. She is still sprawled across the sheets, green eyes heavy, dark hair fanned out, breasts rising and falling with each breath. I stand there for a second longer than necessary and take the sight in because I am never getting this first time back.
I sit on the bed and clean her carefully. She winces a little, and my jaw tightens. “Too rough?”
Her mouth curves faintly as she shakes her head.
I drag the cloth gently over the inside of her thigh, cleaning her of the mess I made.
That settles something ugly in me and stirs something else right behind it. When she’s clean, I take the cloth back to the bathroom and rinse it out before returning to her, climbing onto the bed and pulling her tight against me, covering us.
“Galina,” I murmur, kissing the top of her head.
“What?” she says when I don’t say anything else.
“Nothing. I just wanted to say your name. Say what’s mine. Sleep now, moya zhena. I’ll have food ready when you wake up.”
She nods sleepily, and within seconds, she is breathing heavier. I lie completely still until my eyes close, and for the first time in too long, I sleep.