2. Cara #2
He grabs my wrists, pinning them to the door above my head. We’re both breathing hard now. His hands leave my wrists, sliding down to my jeans. He unbuttons them and pulls the zip down.
He reaches inside, his hand sliding past the cotton of my underwear, his long fingers finding my cunt. I gasp, my head snapping back against the door as his fingers stroke through my wetness, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves and pressing down firmly.
“Look at me,” he commands, his voice a dark rasp.
I open my eyes, my vision hazy with pleasure. He watches my face as his fingers slide deeper inside me, stretching me, testing how wet and ready I am. I twist against his hand, my hips bucking instinctively into his touch, seeking more of the friction that’s threatening to blow my mind.
“You’re so tight, Cara. So wet for me,” he growls, his fingers moving faster, sliding in and out of me, coating himself in my heat while his thumb grinds heavily against my clit.
“Dmitri... please,” I beg, my hands gripping his bare shoulders, my nails digging into his skin as a wave of intense pleasure starts to ripple through my lower belly.
“I'm going to take you to that bed,” he says, his voice a promise of absolute ruin, though he doesn't stop his fingers, driving them deep into me one more time until I cry out, my body twitching around his hand.
“And I’m going to spend the rest of the night proving to you that I'm exactly the mistake you were looking for.”
He pulls his hand free, wet and glistening, and before I can even process the loss, he scoops me up. My legs instinctively wrap around his waist, my bare center pressing against his trousers. He carries me toward the bedroom.
The silk sheets are cool against my back when he drops me onto the mattress, but he’s over me in a second. His eyes are dark and his smile is darker as he drags my jeans and underwear down my legs, tossing them away, leaving me completely bare beneath him.
He drops his trousers, and then he’s back, pressing his heavy, rigid length directly against my soaking wet thighs as he pins my arms beside my head.
“Tonight, there are no brothers,” he says, his voice dropping to a growl as he guides the hot, blunt head of his length against my opening, teasing the wet skin. “No freight. No cybersecurity. Just this.”
He leans down, his lips brushing mine, his hips twitching forward, just barely entering my tight heat, making me stretch, making me whine for the rest of him. “Say it, Cara. Tell me what you want.”
I reach up, my fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him down, my hips arching up to force him deeper inside.
“I want you to be the worst thing that ever happened to my common sense,” I whisper against his mouth, my legs wrapping tightly around his waist to pull him in. “Take it, Dmitri. Put it inside me.”
Dmitri’s smile is the last thing I see before he drives his hips forward, burying himself completely inside my tight, wet heat, filling me so deeply that the breath is shocked right out of my lungs.
“With pleasure,” he growls and begins to move.
I cry out into his mouth, the sound sharp and raw, and Dmitri catches it with his tongue, driving himself deeper until our hip bones collide with a blunt, bruising thud.
“Look at me,’ he commands against my lips, his voice a gravelly friction.
I open my eyes, my vision blurred with the sudden, overwhelming fullness of him.
He’s holding himself deep inside me, his muscles trembling under the strain of his own restraint.
The veins on his thick biceps are corded, his chest heaving against my breasts, the dark hair of his torso scratching against my sensitized nipples.
“You are so small around me,” he growls, his hips twitching just an inch, testing the terrifyingly tight grip I have on him. "So hot."
"Don't... don't you dare stop," I pant, my legs locking higher around his waist, my ankles crossing over the small of his broad back. “Fuck me harder, Dmitri.”
He lets out a low, rough sound—half laugh, half animal growl—and pulls back. He slides out until he’s almost clear of my wetness, making me whine at the sudden coldness of the air, and then he drives back in. Hard.
The head of his cock hits my cervix, sending a sharp, electric jolt straight to my toes. I arch off the bed, my head snapping back into the pillows as he establishes his rhythm, and it’s not the smooth, practiced motion of a man trying to be a good lover.
What he gives me is the piston-stroke of a man who has finally found the one thing he’s wanted to destroy all night, and it’s fucking glorious.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
I’m so close to shattering when the digital clock on the nightstand catches my eye.
2:14 AM.
Right now, Dmitri has all the leverage. He has me soft, malleable, and compliant under his weight. And that is a very dangerous way for a woman like me to be around a man like him.
If I let him finish like this—dominant, heavy, holding all the power—I’m just another asset he’s managed to secure. I need to change the code. I need to flip the server.
I press my hands against his chest. He blinks down at me, his eyes heavy with lust, a faint, smug curve at the corner of his mouth that tells me exactly what he thinks he’s accomplished. "Tired?" he murmurs, his thumb tracing my lower lip.
“Never,” I say, my voice suddenly losing its breathless edge.
Before he can register the shift in my tone, I shift my hips, slipping out from beneath his massive frame until I'm kneeling at the foot of the bed.
Dmitri rolls onto his back, propping himself up on his elbows.
His chest is gleaming with sweat, his dark hair messy, his massive length still fully erect and throbbing as it stands proudly against his lower stomach.
He watches me, his eyebrows drawing together in a faint, curious frown. “What are you doing, Cara?”
“Changing gears,” I say softly.
He’s massive. Up close, the sheer size of him is intimidating, a heavy, dark-veined ridge of heat that’s still leaking a slow drop of pre-cum from the crown. I reach out, my small fingers wrapping around the thick base of his shaft, feeling the heavy pulse of his blood against my palm.
Dmitri’s breath hitches. His abdomen cords, the muscles locking into hard, defined ridges as I squeeze him.
“Cara,” he says, and this time, there’s a sharp note of warning in his voice. A note of control slipping.
I ignore him, lean over, and lower my head until my breath warms the sensitive skin of his tip. I let the very edge of my tongue trace the slick groove beneath the head, listening to the sharp, ragged intake of air he lets out above me.
He wants to be the catastrophe.
With a chuckle, I wrap my fingers tighter around his root, anchoring him to the bed, and slowly open my mouth, positioning my lips directly over the swollen, throbbing head of his cock, letting him feel the wet, tight heat of my mouth before I take the first inch.
He’s about to be surprised.