Page 117 of Sinful Bride

I follow them to the floor.

“Fuck, Daphne…” He fists his hands in my hair when my lips wrap around his dick.

I take that as an invitation for more. So I give him more by taking more, sucking harder and deeper with every subtle thrust of his hips.

Soon, those thrusts aren’t so subtle. I flutter my eyes open to look up at him. That must do something for him, because he braces a hand against the wall as his hips thrust a bit harder. The surge makes me gag at first, but I moan again to open my throat for him.

And then I?—

Pasha suddenly pulls himself from me with a loud slurp.

I don’t know what I’ve done wrong. I was into it; he seemed into it. “What?—”

The hand in my hair tugs me up, and it’s singularly one of the hottest things he’s done to me yet. No pain, just a firm pull at my scalp that makes me obey his silent command to stand—followed by a deep, passionate, hungry kiss.

Boom. I’m dripping for him.

He doesn’t say a word. Just kisses me, tangles his tongue with mine. Gropes and squeezes and kneads my body. He’s gentle in every movement, but I can feel his need in every touch.

I don’t remember him slipping off my sleep shirt. I don’t remember losing my panties, either.

But when he plucks me up by my waist and sets me on the counter, the cool granite against my bare skin proves that those things are long forgotten.

His hands slide to my thighs. He doesn’t need to say anything at all for me to know what we both want. And when my legs wrap around his waist, the smooth, solid drive of his cock inside me feels like a completion we’re both aching for.

Pasha takes me slow and smooth. Nothing hurried, nothing harsh.

I’m the one who is supposed to be doing all the seducing, though, so I gather my wits—or whatever’s left of them—to double down on my efforts. To pull him in deeper with my legs, to ripple and squeeze myself around him.

To worship his body the same way he worships mine. Tasting, touching, feeling every inch my lips and tongue can reach.

“I want to ride you,” I pant in his ear.

“Fuck,” is his only groaned response before he scoops me up, carries me into the bedroom, and we both go tumbling onto the mattress.

I don’t give him time to adjust or shift us around. I want him, need him, and I’m not going to stop until he begs me for release.

I am his wife.

I am a force of nature.

I need him to realize for himself how the two are one and the same.

Pasha’s fingers dig into my hips as I grind up and down on his length. When I lean down to kiss him, to rub his chest with my breasts, he locks his hands behind my back to keep me close.

“My wife,” he breathes. “My beautiful wife.”

“Yours.” I sigh and whimper when he pushes in deeper, hitting that spot inside me that only he has ever been able to reach. “Only yours. Always yours.”

We stay like this for what feels like hours, holding each other as I ride him and he gives me exactly what I need. When we reach that delirious edge, we do it together. Lips and tongues entangled as we feed each other our cries of release.

I collapse on his chest and we both ride out the waves with breaths that come slower and slower and softer and softer.

“Fine,” Pasha sighs after a while. He kisses my temple. “Part time only, though. And if there’s even a hint of danger, you get the hell out of there.”

“Do I need to give you my ass for full time?”

He narrows his eyes and claps a hand on my butt cheek. “Nice try, moya plamya. But when I take this delicious ass, it will be because you’re begging me to. No strings attached.”

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