Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Holly
I was mostly kidding when I asked what we should do during the storm, but there’s no doubt what my sexy, Russian husband wants to do.
And I’m all in.
I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him back. Our tongues move together eagerly and the hunger I feel is unlike anything I’ve experienced before. The desire goes beyond sex or arousal or orgasms—this is pure, unadulterated need. Like I would combust if I didn’t get to touch him immediately.
“I didn’t think you would ever kiss me again,” I whisper against his mouth. “I was starting to think you didn’t want me.”
“Didn’t want…” He pauses, eyes smoldering as he stares at me. “I have waited so long because I thought it was right. But now I know different. And I will not make this mistake again.” He scoops me into his arms and turns. “Where is bedroom?”
“Upstairs but—”
He doesn’t let me finish and practically jogs up the stairs with me still in his arms.
“The end of the hallway,” I say breathlessly, holding on tight.
He walks into the primary bedroom and dumps me on the four-poster bed that my grandparents slept in for years. There’s a new mattress and sheets, but this was their room and I can’t explain how right it feels to be here with Viktor.
“I’ve never made love here,” I whisper.
“No?” His eyes meet mine. “Is okay?”
“It’s very okay. I think my grandmother would have liked you.”
He pulls his T-shirt over his head and I do the same.
We don’t even pretend we’re not in a hurry, yanking off all our clothes in what feels like a heartbeat.
Then he crawls over me on the bed, holding himself up on his arms as he looks into my face.
Heat washes over me. Just looking at him looking at me—it’s equal parts sinful and sexy.
Not because we’re doing anything wrong but because of how badly I want him.
“Do you know how many things I want to do to you?” he whispers gruffly.
“Probably the same things I want.” I swallow, licking my lips.
“Mine.” He says the word succinctly as he reaches down to cup my breast.
My nipple hardens immediately and he rubs his thumb back and forth, eyes never leaving mine. His warm breath tickles my lips but he doesn’t kiss me. My head is spinning from how much I want him, and still, he doesn’t rush.
“Mine.” He says the word again, this time letting his hand drift south, cupping my mound.
I’m excited and breathless as I continue watching him watching me.
“Mine.” He says more firmly, squeezing a little harder. “You understand? Mine. All of you—mine.”
“Viktor.” I can’t say anything else.
“Say it,” he growls. The look in his eyes is animalistic and predatory and possessive, and the combination makes my legs shake and my stomach do a little flip.
“I…” How do I admit that I’m his? I don’t know what this means, where this is going beyond the obvious, or how I’m supposed to react.
My body and heart know exactly what they want.
It’s my brain that’s struggling—because once I say yes, there won’t be any going back. There won’t be any holding back.
And what will be left of me once I give him everything that matters?
Because that’s what he’s asking for. If possession is nine-tenths of the law, it’s all ten tenths of me.
“This…” He still hasn’t looked away. “Is not part of contract. Not an arrangement. This is us. You. Me. Together. You are my wife.”
“Viktor.” His name is all I can manage as his much larger body presses me into the mattress, his skin warm against mine.
“Say it,” he whispers again, nuzzling my nose with his.
His.
He wants me to tell him I’m his.
When he pushes his tongue into my mouth, a groan of satisfaction leaves my chest. The connection between us is unmistakable, even though it’s only been a few weeks. I’m falling hard and every touch pushes me deeper into an abyss I may never climb out of.
His kisses are mind-numbing and deliberate.
Like he knows exactly what he’s doing and how to light me on fire.
Everything burns hot between us. Then he pulls away and drops his head, scraping his scruffy beard across the curve of my neck.
The throbbing between my legs is incessant, reminding me how good it’s going to be.
All I have to do is give in—give him…me.
I don’t know if I can do it.
But I also don’t think I can say no.
“Maybe this will help convince you…” He starts to move down my body, trailing wet kisses in his wake.
His breath is hot against my already overheated skin and when he nuzzles my mound, I shudder involuntarily.
He glances up, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes, and then moves even further down.
Thick fingers slide between my legs, spreading me open, and whatever he says in Russian makes goosebumps break out on my skin.
“Pink,” he whispers. “So pretty.” There’s a little more Russian and then—oh fuck everything. His mouth on my slit feels better than almost anything. Ever. He closes his lips around my clit, coaxing a long, low moan out of me.
“Oh, God, Viktor…”
He flicks and flutters the tip of his tongue. On my clit. On my lower lip. Into my slick entrance. My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it and I’m pretty sure he can too. I’m a shivering, quivering mess, and somehow my fingers find their way into his hair.
I drag in a lungful of air but it leaves me again as he continues to tongue fuck me. Two fingers are pinching and kneading my clit, bringing me right to the brink. He’s picked up speed, using his free hand to keep me spread wide open.
My orgasm is barreling down, ready to overwhelm me at any moment. His lips are masterful, keeping me right where he wants me. Heat sweeps over my skin, and every nerve ending starts to tingle.
“Viktor!” His name is a squeal as I come undone, shaking and writhing against his mouth. His fingers. His heat. The climax rolls over me and then with a soft bite on my clit, it hits me again. I shiver from the intensity, my hips jerking as he slowly lifts his head.
The satisfaction I see there mirrors my own.
No one has ever satisfied me quite like this.
Like my husband does.
What the hell does that mean?
“Mine?” he asks simply. Softly. Patiently.
“Are you m-mine?” I counter, my voice shaky, unsteady. Filled with fear and trepidation because his answer will change everything.
“You cannot tell?” He climbs on top of me again, those beautiful emerald orbs laser-focused on mine. “You cannot feel?”
What I feel is his thick, hard erection poised at my entrance.
What I see is his handsome face looking at me with something that might be adoration. There’s lust in there but it’s so much more.
“I feel everything,” I admit.
“Then say it.”
Oh, God.
What am I doing?
“Yes.” I barely get the word out, but he hears it.
“Yes, what? You are mine?”
I manage a tiny nod and that glint of satisfaction is back.
His mouth covers mine and I taste myself on him.
It’s tangy and sweet and sexy. Our tongues dance with eagerness and desire, like we can’t get close enough.
Hands and fingers seem to be everywhere, touching and tugging and scratching as he slams into me, harder and deeper than anyone ever has.
Even harder than last time.
My eyes roll back, and my breath leaves me in a rush, but I clench around him to take every inch.
The stretch to accommodate him feels like he’s going to rip me open but he won’t—I already know that—and I crave every moment of it.
His movements are strong and sure despite how frantic I feel.
He already knows what I need and he’s giving it to me with every thrust.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs, tugging my lower lip with his teeth. “My wife.”
His accented English has never sounded as perfect as it does when he calls me his wife.
Our bodies slap together, a sharp staccato that makes the room go hazy.
There’s nothing else.
Just him and me.
Me and him—my husband.
He rocks into me, adjusting the angle of his hips, and my eyes roll again.
“This is the spot?” he asks in a throaty whisper.
“Y-yes.” I’m shaking so hard I’m afraid I might bounce us off the bed, but his steady strength keeps us—keeps me—grounded. On the bed and in the moment. With him.
“Viktor.” This time his voice is a sigh, as I thread a hand through his damp hair.
“I love…this.” I catch myself just in time.
Jesus, that was close. But he either didn’t notice or doesn’t care, because his hot mouth is on mine, taking greedy pulls from my tongue as his continues to grind into me.
Hard and fast. Soft and slow. Tender and rough.
It’s everything all at once, and my body reacts to his ministrations.
I don’t normally orgasm this quickly the second—technically, I guess the third—time. But there’s nothing normal about what Viktor does to me. There’s no fantasy that can live up to the reality of my husband.
“Come with me,” he murmurs, still nibbling on my lower lip. “Let me feel your pussy spasm around me as I get you off.”
I arch my hips, letting him bottom out, and pleasure starts building. There’s no stopping it now and I dig my nails into his shoulders as a soft scream escapes me.
“Viktor, more—please! Now!” Everything blurs into a hazy cloud of ecstasy. He drives into me, over and over, and my screams echo off the walls as he pounds away. His own grunt of pleasure is even louder and we tumble over the edge together.
“My beautiful wife,” he whispers, pressing kisses all over my face. My lips. My jaw.
I’m too blissed out to reply so I just lay there, shivering and shuddering with every aftershock.
Eventually, I let go of the death grip I have on his hair but he doesn’t stop kissing and touching me.
He moves my hair out of my face and smiles, the expression in his eyes different than any I’ve seen before.
“What?” I ask softly.
“You are—” He’s cut off as a voice calls out.
“Hello? Is someone here?”