“You’re so fucking tight,” I growl, my forearm at her back, my hand slipping under her to change the angle. Her insides squeeze me like a hand in a silk glove as I plow my cock deep inside her. “Watch how you take me.”
“Oh God! This is—” She presses her lips to my shoulder, almost as though to stem the flow of words.
“I know.” It’s never felt like this. I don’t need words. Not as her strangled cry joins my hiss. Her entire body hakes as her orgasm hits, her walls milking me like she might drag me in. Every inch of my skin is prickling and hot as I force myself to pull out, and she watches me with dark, glassy eyes pouring with pure encouragement as I work my wet cock in my hand.
I am pure energy, pure power, and shaking from head to toe as I paint her pussy in endless pearly white strands.
12
Isla
THE MIDDLE - PRESENT
The wedding
That night was the beginning of the end for us.
Poised halfway on the castle’s service staircase, my hand grips the utilitarian banister as my mind slips from the memories of that evening. And what followed. But the truth is, if I’d known how things would end before he’d carried me over his shoulder into that office, I don’t think it would’ve made any difference. Foolish girl that I was, I thought I knew what heartbreak felt like. I had yet to learn. All I could think about was how I wanted him. I didn’t care about the consequences. By nature, consequences were for later. All I wanted was looking back at me with the same expression that I was surely wearing.
I’d never had sex like that. Never felt so commanded yet at the same time so worshiped. My orgasm was like an out-of-body experience, and as he helped me down from the desk, I was sort of surprised to find I still had legs. That I was flesh and blood and bone, not air and ecstasy. He’d slid the sweaty knots of my hair from my face, his eyes dipping to inspect my neck. Jesus, my neck. When he’d held me there, my body lit up like a Roman candle. I felt controlled, possessed. Adored. His knowledge of my body has always been one of the things most irresistible about him.
As I stood there, naked and sweaty, recklessness dripping from between my legs, Niko made me feel nothing but beautiful. Nothing but his. But then he’d pressed his lips to my head for the longest beat and a ripple of unease had run through me. A light kiss would’ve been lovely. A long kiss, well, it felt like goodbye.
“Please don’t tell me you’re sorry,” I’d whispered, staring at the dark blond hairs on his chest. Staring, touching, my insides a torrent of tiny aftershocks. I couldn’t lift my gaze to his, worried about what I’d see there. Worried about what he might see. It couldn’t be over between us. Not yet.
“I will never be sorry for glimpsing heaven.” Pulling back, he had slipped his fingers through mine. He’d brought his gaze level and kissed my hand. I was relieved to see nothing but sincerity in that alpine gaze of his. Which is why his next words came as such a shock. “But I will be infinitely sorry if I break your heart.”
It was a clear enough warning, but the foolish girl I was didn’t heed a bit of it.
“Oh, Niko,” I’d said, resting my chin on our linked hands. “You’ll be even sorrier if I break yours first.”
But, as it turns out, Nikolai Vanyin doesn’t have a heart. Unless you count the one I gave him. The one he was very careless with.
“Hello, Peanut.”
His voice brings me back to the moment, my hand tightening on the banister. If I didn’t know better, I’d wonder if my thoughts had summoned him. Like the dark lord he is. I force myself to take the next step, then the next, before looking up.
“Don’t call me that.”
The effort to prepare myself is wasted, my heart dropping like a weight between my legs at the sight of him. Not now, not when the evening is almost over. Not when I’ve done so well to avoid him. Mainly because parties don’t run themselves. But I’ve resisted more than two glasses of champagne and only spoke with him when others were present. Not that I can trust him to behave himself in company. Who am I fooling? I’ve resisted champagne because I don’t trust myself to be within a foot of him.
Champagne. Cream cakes. Chocolate. Niko Vanyin.
Why do we want the things we know are no good for us?
“So this is where you’ve been hiding.”
“Hiding?” I reply, channeling smooth, serene, and unruffled, three things he makes me feel the opposite of. “I’ve been busy.” I make my way down the remaining three stairs, my free hand holding the hem of my decorously gathered gown. The last thing I need is to find myself falling at his feet. Again. “Temperamental chefs required humoring, children herded like unruly sheep, and a dog’s occasional need to pee.” I scowl at my slipup and am relieved when he doesn’t bite.