Chapter 17
TERESA
“God, you taste good.”
Vlad’s kiss, his touch, quickly undo me.
His mouth, rough with stubble, devours mine. He’s pure hunger. My hands fist his t-shirt, the cotton taut over his chest, as I press myself closer.
His fingers dig into my hips, possessive, pulling me tight against the hard ridge of his cock straining through his jeans. My pussy clenches, heat pooling low, every nerve sparking from his touch.
“Fuck,” he growls against my mouth, voice thick with want. “You have no idea what you do to me.” He breaks the kiss, eyes dark and molten, scanning me like I’m prey he’s already claimed.
I nod, pulse hammering, unable to say a word. He just smirks, a dangerous edge that makes my thighs squeeze together.
He backs me toward the gym’s mirrored wall, the cold glass biting my bare shoulders.
His hands slide under the fabric of my tank, calluses scraping my skin as he yanks it over my head, tossing it aside.
My sports bra follows, and he groans as he palms my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples until they’re hard, aching points.
“These tits,” he growls, “are fucking perfect.” His mouth descends, sucking one nipple hard, teeth grazing just enough to make me gasp, my pussy throbbing with need.
He drops to his knees, tugging my leggings and panties down in one swift motion.
My heart races as he spreads my thighs, his breath hot against my slick folds.
“Look at this gorgeous pussy,” he says, voice rough, reverent.
His tongue flicks out, teasing my clit, slow and deliberate, before he dives in, lapping with a hunger that makes my head spin.
I moan, fingers knotting in his hair, hips bucking as he sucks and licks relentlessly, reading every shudder.
He slides two fingers inside, curling them against the spot that makes my vision blur, pumping in time with his tongue until I’m trembling, so close I can’t breathe.
When I come, it’s a tidal wave, my pussy pulsing around his fingers as I scream his name, legs nearly giving out.
He rises, lips wet with my arousal, and kisses me, deep and filthy, letting me taste myself. His hands grip my ass, lifting me against the mirror, the cold glass a shock against my back.
“I’m not done, kotenok,” he says, eyes blazing. “I’m gonna fuck you until you forget everything but me.”
I wrap my legs around his waist, desperate. He shoves his jeans down, cock springing free—thick, veined, so hard it makes my mouth water. He lines himself up, teasing my entrance with the tip.
“You want this? Say it.”
“Fuck, yes, I want it,” I gasp, nails digging into his shoulders.
He thrusts in, slowly at first, stretching my pussy until I’m full, gasping at the burn.
His muscles flex under my hands, ink curling over his bicep, sweat gleaming on his chest as he moves.
From this angle, he’s a goddamn sight, with his broad shoulders rolling, abs tightening with each deep thrust, his thickness vanishing into my wet heat over and over.
He leans in and kisses me hard, tongue claiming mine as one hand kneads a breast, pinching my nipple until I moan into his mouth.
“Yes, Vlad,” I moan. “Just like that. Just like that.”
“This pussy’s mine,” he growls, his voice a dark, possessive rumble that sends shivers down my spine.
My legs tighten around his waist, pulling him deeper, the friction of his rock-hard cock dragging against my walls sparking fire through every nerve.
He shifts, angling just right, my clit throbbing.
“Look at you,” he rasps, eyes locked on mine, dark and hungry. “Taking me like you were made for it.”
I whimper, nails digging into his shoulders, the intensity of his gaze and the relentless rhythm pushing me closer to the edge. His hand slides down, thumb finding my clit, rubbing tight, fast circles that make me clench even harder around him.
“Come for me, kotenok,” he commands, teeth grazing my earlobe. “Let me feel you.”
The pressure builds white-hot, and I shatter, my walls spasming around his cock as I scream, the orgasm tearing through me like a storm.
My vision blurs, body trembling, but he doesn’t stop, thrusting through my climax, drawing it out until I’m gasping and boneless against the mirror.
He groans, low and primal, his cock twitching inside me, but he holds back, his control iron tight.
“God, you’re perfect,” he murmurs, lips brushing my forehead, a surprising softness in his voice.
He pulls out slowly, my body aching at the loss, and sets me down, steadying me as my legs wobble.
“We’re not done.” His eyes glint with promise, and before I can catch my breath, he scoops me up and carries me out of the gym, my naked body pressed against his sweat-slick chest.
The penthouse blurs past—moonlit windows, oak staircase—until we’re in his bedroom, a cavern of dark wood and crisp white linens.
He lays me on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he looms over me, still hard, cock gleaming with my arousal.
“On your knees,” he orders, voice low and commanding, but the warmth in his gaze makes my heart stutter.
I gladly obey, rolling onto my stomach, ass up, heart racing as he kneels behind me. His hands grip my hips, rough palms sliding over my skin. He leans down, lips trailing kisses along my spine, each one soft and deliberate, making my breath hitch.
“You’re mine.”
He spreads my thighs, his cock teasing my entrance before thrusting in, deep and hard, filling me completely. I moan, fisting the sheets, the angle hitting new depths, my pussy stretching around him.
“Fuck, Vlad,” I gasp, pushing back, needing more. He sets a punishing pace as his hand cracks against my ass, a sharp sting that makes me yelp and turns me on even more.
“You like that, don’t you?” he asks, spanking me again, heat spreading through me, amplifying every sensation. “My dirty girl, taking my cock so fucking well.”
I nod, breathless, lost in the rhythm, in the power he holds over me. But then he slows, his thrusts becoming almost tender as his hand slides around, fingers finding my clit again, stroking gently.
“I want you to come again,” he murmurs, lips at my ear, voice soft, pleading. “For me, Teresa.”
The shift undoes me, his dominance blending with care, and I come hard, my pussy pulsing around him, crying out as pleasure crashes through me. He groans, riding my orgasm, then pulls out, flipping me onto my back.
“Not yet,” he says, a wicked smirk curving his lips.
He grabs my hips and pulls me astride him. I sink onto his thickness, gasping as he fills me, my hands braced on his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart. His hands grip my hips, guiding me. His eyes are soft, vulnerable, like he’s giving me more than his body.
“Ride me, kotenok. Show me how much you want this.”
I move slowly at first, savoring the stretch, then faster, grinding myself against him, chasing that spark. His hands roam my breasts, my waist, like he’s memorizing me. He sits up, pulling me close and kissing me deeply, tongues tangling as we move together.
I feel him everywhere, not just in my body but in a way I can’t name.
“Vlad,” I whisper. He cups my face, thumb tracing my lip, his gaze so tender it hurts.
“I’ve got you.” He says it like it’s a promise.
His hand slips between us, rubbing me where I need him, and I come again, trembling, clinging to him as he follows, shuddering as he drains into me.
He thrusts up deep, groaning my name as he comes, his arms locking around me, holding me like I’m his anchor.
We collapse, tangled up together, his lips brushing my temple, his hands stroking my back.
“God, you’re amazing.”
He says it so quietly I almost miss it, and my heart aches, torn between fear and this fierce, growing love.
I’ve never felt this before, never had someone see me, claim me, love me like this.
But the hit list, the danger, the secrets…
they’re still out there, and I don’t know if I can trust this feeling, even as I melt into his arms, desperately wanting it to be real.
Morning sunlight stripes the sheets. The space next to me is empty—so much for waking up in a cozy afterglow. I tug on Vlad’s t-shirt and wander out, finding him parked by the floor-to-ceiling windows, arms crossed, staring out at the East River.
“Sleep okay?” he asks without turning.
His voice is polite but holds zero warmth. He’s cold. Again. Why does he always do this after we’re together?
“Yeah. You?” I’m fishing for last night’s vibe, but it’s nowhere in sight.
He just hums, taking a slow sip of coffee. The silence stretches long enough that I cave and pour my own cup. I lean on the island, waiting for eye contact that doesn’t come. “Rough night of spreadsheets?”
“Business doesn’t sleep,” he says, still studying the skyline. Not snappy, just switched off.
I focus on not sloshing coffee over his fancy marble counters. He finally glances over, gives me a quick once-over, then drops the day’s marching orders. “Dmitri will drive you. Schedule’s in your inbox.”
Translation: work mode engaged, feelings on mute. I swallow disappointment and remind myself of the deal—bodyguard king, damsel under glass. Some days you get the soft-spoken protector, other days the bloodless CEO.
“Got it,” I say, forcing a smile.
He nods then turns back to his city.
I polish off the coffee, tell myself to just roll with it, and think of the bigger picture. I’m alive, Volkov’s furious, and my brother is most definitely plotting something. So, if Vlad needs to brood and keep the walls up for a while, fine.
I pad back to my bedroom, dig out a blazer, and breathe. The man is a weather system—last night’s heat, this morning’s cold front. My job is to prepare for whatever season shows up and keep moving.