It must meansomethingif he’s making a point to say so.
A million different thoughts race through my brain, dimming in strength the farther south his lips travel. He nuzzles into my breasts while nudging my pussy with his cock. I’m so wet that he glides right through my folds and pierces me in a swift motion.
And just like that, everything else fades into the background.
He tilts me back and drags his fingers over my throat, heat radiating from his palm. Each thrust makes me melt. Every touch cracks my defenses. I’m left vulnerable to his mercy while tingling with anticipation of the miniature explosion that I know will soon happen.
Whether I want it or not.
And I don’t want it. Not quite like this. I can’t give in.
Because if I give in, then I might never leave. If I give in, I might not be able to quit.
And if I can’t quit, then he’ll never take my word seriously.
“No thinking,” he commands huskily. His fingers press into my throat. Not hard. Just light enough to be a threat. “Look at me.”
Don’t do it. Don’t obey him.
I can’t help it. My eyes snap to his. I whimper as he bows over me and doubles his rhythm, sending me into an unending wave of pleasure. It doesn’t matter what happens between us. It doesn’t matter if we’re fighting or totally in love.
I’m utterly helpless to his touch.
I don’t want to be.
I hook my arms under my knees and arch into him.
But I have no control over that anymore.
Tension builds in my core with each thrust. My chest locks up. My thighs snap open. The world blurs around me as my eyes disappear into my skull.
A siren cuts through the air, a warning wail that shocks me back into my body.
And that’s when I realize it’s not a siren—it’s me.
My scream tapers off as my body convulses. Pavel thrusts twice more before emptying himself inside me. He catches himself on his elbows, kissing me repeatedly into silence as I fall prey to my body.
Every time.
I’m helpless every time.
And there’s nothing I can do about it.
Chapter Twelve
Pavel
“Stay there. I’ll get a towel.”
Liya whimpers softly as I slide lazily from the bed. I’m not sure if my legs will carry me, but I force them to work, intent on making good on my promise. I’m going to clean her up. I’m going to take care of her. It’s what I want to do.
We haven’t fucked like that in ages. If she does hate me, it’s not entirely clear. I’m soaring on a post-nut high that’s so intense I nearly collide with the bathroom door. Huffing, I push open the door and grab a few towels from the counter.
My wife isn’t moving when I get back to bed. Her shoulder rises with every breath drawn, but her eyes are shut and her mouth is slack. Soft snores drift from her lips.
The mattress creaks when I lean over her. “Has anyone told you that you’re gorgeous when you’re not worried about your appearance?”
She hums. It’s a sleep response, but it’s a response nonetheless. It soothes me to know she feels comfortable and safe enough to fall asleep next to me.