Page 30 of Forced Pregnant Bride

The mirth in his eyes disappeared, replaced by an inferno of undiluted desire. Without looking at me, he recited the third piece of our own secret mantra.

“Have me.”

The tip of his veiny erection—which was very hard and big—rubbed against my sex before easing into me. My eyes fell shut, shock waves rolling down my body as I tensed, my walls clamping around him.

“Fuck…” he cursed, a smooth roll of Russian pouring from between his lips. Almost resisting him, I clenched down on him so tightly, struggling to adjust to his full size, and his jaw flexed. He caressed my bare ass, muttering incoherently in his foreign accent while he squeezed gently.

Finally, with gritted teeth and holding back a drop of tears, I relaxed.

He watched me, his eyes boring deep into my soul as we moved together. I felt my world shift. I was aware of every gasp, every sigh, every flicker of pleasure that danced between us. I surrendered to the fire that burned brightly within, trusting him to guide me through the threshold of passion.

Timur closed his eyes for a second, and I gripped him tightly, slowly rocking against him while he paused for me to adjust. He gave me more, pulling out long enough to make me miss him before pushing all the way back in. And he did it again.

Then, his gaze flickered between my legs, hovering over the point where we were joined together, and he stopped like a fast-moving train with its brakes screeching on the tracks. I wasn’t prepared for the next thing that came out of his mouth.

“There’s blood on my cock.”

When his eyes met mine, I saw the dawn of realization in them. He truly hadn’t known. Not when he gave me the speech about “handling the rest” or saw my face with anxiety andembarrassment. Struggling, I arched my back, trying to get away from him, but his weight over mine didn’t permit me to budge.

“This is your first time?” he asked in his most Timur-way, cold and straight. But no matter how rigid it was, I heard the gruffness of annoyance lingering in his tone. I just didn’t know who it was directed at.

“I thought you knew.”

“I deal with direct information, not assumptions. Even if you look like Clara Barton, who’s to say you’ve not rolled in the mud before?”

Okay…I decided to ignore the fact that he’d subtly misjudged me and focused on the more obvious point. “You asked if I was panicking.”

“You were about to fuck a complete stranger. What was I supposed to think?”

That made sense, but having me nude and spread-eagle below him while he hung above me, firing questions that made it seem like an interrogation session, was uncomfortable. And although my skin still tingled with the awareness that his slick tip pressed against my entrance, I wanted to get this over with.

I looked away from him. “You could have asked.”

Cupping my chin, he brought my face back to his. “I don’t fuck virgins,Pchelka.You should have said something.”

I wasn’t about to admit that hearing that stung worse than a bee would have, so I blinked back the unnecessary salty tears and held my head high. At least, as high as I could, being in that position. “Well, then, you should get off me since you don’t sleep with virgins.”

“I saidfuck, notsleep with, and technically, you’re not one anymore.”

Ignore the first part.

“What does that mean now, about not being a virgin anymore?”

Strangely, it didn’t feel like I’d been stripped of a title, but it did feel like I’d given something priceless and precious to a man who didn’t care what it was worth.

He lowered his mouth, and the corner of his lips made the smallest curl to the side. “It means I’m not getting off until you fucking come.”

And before I could say anything else, he drove into me harder. My back arched off the bed, and he grabbed my hips and spread my legs wider, plundering into me until all I saw were flames on scented candles and brown eyes. He hissed in my ears, fisted his nails into my skin, and trailed wet, biting kisses from my neck to my breasts. He squeezed one of my nipples, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, and I grew restless.

Pressure built at the base of my spine, rushing to the center of my core and settling between my legs. Groaning, he allowed me to move against him for a moment before whispering into my ear, “Do you want to come?”

I believed I was. I’d read books about it, watched it in movies, heard my peers talk about it—this…coming. But I’d never experienced it before—until now.

It was a high, a climb, a mounting pressure that just pushed me further off the edge, and I searched for a liberating release from this burden.

I nodded. “Yes.”

And he kissed me, slow and intentional. He sucked on each lip like they were dessert. I shuddered when his tongue touched mine, when he grabbed my wrists above my head. His lips were so firm and hard, I felt saddled with the burn to penetrate. So, I mimicked his style, kissing him as fiercely as he kissed me, tasting the corners of him and submitting completely to him.

---