Then I realized he meant to deprive me yet again. “No, stop!” Crazed for him, I struggled to free myself the rest of the way—while he watched me with golden eyes.
Always watching me.
As he slowly f**ked his fist, a shining bead welled from the crown. My eyes followed it as it slid down to the edge of his hand, and I wanted to cry. I strained harder, panic making my hands clumsy. “Please stop!” I was ravenous for him. Wild with hunger. I bit down on my lip, trying to stave it off.
He didn’t stop, just continued torturing me with what I couldn’t have. To be this close to him, yet kept apart? It was killing me.
“Please wait for me!” I wasn’t merely stupid with lust, I was sick with it, fevered. “I need you!”
Then he spoke. “What you feel right now . . . I always feel. Since I first saw you.”
The way I felt right now?
How had he survived it for so long?
But we didn’t have to feel that way anymore. I clawed at the ties, freed my hands! Never gazing away from him, from his twisting fist and rippling muscles, I began to tear at the knots around my knees. “Please, wait . . .”
And then I was free.
Brows drawn tight, he groaned in anticipation, in . . . pain.
I could ease it. Devour him. Drain him. Ignoring the twinges in my muscles, I scrambled up.
A split second later I was on my knees before him, my nails embedded in his pecs, his length sucked deep into my throat.
His roar shook the room like thunder. As he continued yelling to the ceiling, I bathed his c**k with my tongue, worshipping it. Impaled my throat with that broad head. Moaned with every hint of cum.
I raked my nails down his torso, then used one hand to clench his ass, the other to heft his heavy testicles.
He buried his fingers in my hair. In a voice so rough I barely recognized it, he murmured Russian to me.
Ordering me to keep milking him with my hungry little mouth.
Informing me that he would gladly do murder to possess me.
Declaring that my body belonged to him alone.
His unguarded words were about to send me over the edge when he grated, “You will wait for me . . . wait for my seed on your tongue.”
His dusky sac tightened in my palm as his body prepared for release. I didn’t think the meaty girth of his c**k could get any thicker between my lips. Then it did. That swelling of se**n was right below the crown.
“Look at me, milaya.”
I peered up to find him frozen, his face a mask of agony, his body captured in perfect strain. As I tongued him, our gazes locked. For what felt like eternity, we were held suspended.
Then to the sound of his anguished bellow, heat jetted against the back of my throat.
He began thrusting furiously. I gripped his ass with both my hands to feel his muscles flexing as he worked to spend every last drop inside me.
“You”—thrust—“are”—thrust—“mine.”
With his cum on my tongue—my permission—I dipped my fingers to my clit and gave one sensuous slippery stroke.
Orgasm. Exploding. Clenching bliss. Fingers drawing it out, wringing more spasms. Fuck. Fuck! Tears streamed down my face as I swallowed him, drinking till he was emptied and shuddering, rubbing my pu**y until I was too sensitive for more. . . .
Still gently sucking on him, I rested my cheek against his thigh. With infinite tenderness, he caressed my face. Now I was sated.
When his softening c**k slipped out of my mouth, a drop of se**n dribbled down my chin. He swiped it with his thumb. With an expression like awe on his face, he gave it back to my waiting tongue.
As I gazed up at him and sucked his thumb, his eyes darkened with possession.
Deep. Brutal. Never-ending.
He regarded me like I was a trapped thing, already his to enjoy.
Never-ending. Never-ending. Never-ending.
Dear God, what had I done?
Chapter 21
As reality began to set in, I stood on unsteady legs.
I needed to get away from this man, who had more control over my emotions and desires than I’d ever had. This man who had altered me forever, showing me things I could never unsee.
Could never unfeel.
I hadn’t decided to become a slave; he’d made me one.
I’d almost had sex with him. Almost slipped the ring on my finger. Yet I didn’t know him. I didn’t know about his past, his family, or even what he liked to do in his free time.
I didn’t know if we were compatible outside of sex.
“No, no, Natalie.” He reached for me. “Don’t wake up yet.”
Some shadowy part of me didn’t want to wake. I squeezed my forehead, torn. I was dizzy from the heat, from the life-altering pleasure.
When he grasped my hand and began leading me toward the small pool, I allowed it. He wrapped his arms around me, then dropped us in.
I shivered at the temperature, but I needed it, hadn’t realized how overheated I was. He set me on my feet in the waist-high water, then leaned down to press his lips to mine.
I pushed against his chest, but he held me close, savoring my mouth with his, coaxing with his tongue to make me forget myself. . . .
Lost in bliss all over again, I was dimly aware that he was cleaning me, learning me. A big palm caressed between my legs. Another kneaded one of my br**sts. Unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world.
Right when I was becoming chilled again, he carried me out. Before I could even formulate a protest, he was toweling me off. I wanted to tell him to stop, to leave me alone. To just let me process everything he’d done to me.