Page 44 of Craving Dahlia

“I hate you,” I whisper brokenly, the word ending on a cracked moan, and Alek’s teeth sink into my earlobe, his lips sucking as his fingers slide down to my entrance.

“I hate you too,zhena,” he growls, and two fingers slide inside of me, impaling me as he grinds the heel of his hand against my clit.

Oh god.He’s right, it isn’t going to take long. My knees are already buckling, and Alek’s arm wraps around my waist, holding me upright as he fingers me roughly. My head falls back, and his mouth burns a searing line down my throat, his groan vibrating against my skin as he bites sharply just above my shoulder.

“Fuck!” I cry out, bucking into his hand, feeling myself tighten around his fingers. I’m so close, my toes curling, my breath coming in small, quick gasps, and my lips part on another moan as I feel myself on the verge of cresting into an orgasm that I desperately need?—

Alek pulls back, yanking his fingers free and stepping away from me so quickly that I nearly fall. Only the chair just behind me saves me, and I grab for it, staring at him through lust-glazed eyes as the corners of his lips twitch ever-so-slightly.

His cock is standing out against the tight black denim, a thick ridge that I swear I canseethrobbing. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, and as I stand there trembling he lifts his hand to his nose, nostrils flaring as he breathes in my scent before his tongue flicks out to lick my arousal away.

My knees almost buckle.

“What a needy little whore,” Alek growls. “My dirty little bride, drenched for a man who can’t stand the sight of her.” A tight sound that could almost be a laugh barks from his lips, and his gaze rakes over me. “Get out. I want to enjoy my night here.”

I stare at him for a brief second, wanting to argue. But I can feel hot tears burning at the back of my eyes, my humiliation and stolen orgasm bringing me to the verge of bursting into sobs. I won’t let him see that, and I drag in a ragged breath, forcingmyself to straighten as I lift my chin, stalking past him to the door.

I can feel his eyes on me as I walk past. Out of the corner of mine, I see him drop into the chair, bringing his fingers to his nose again as his hand drops to his belt. A shudder runs down my spine, imagining him taking his cock out, stroking it with the scent of my arousal in his nostrils, but I can’t stay here a second longer.

With tears on the edge of my lashes, I flee upstairs, thankful that I don’t see anyone else on the way to my bedroom. I fling myself inside, leaning back against the door, closing my eyes tightly as I try to banish everything he made me feel.

But I can’t. Desire pulses through me, thick and hot, dragging me under. I yank up my skirt with one hand, my fingers finding their way under the edge of my soaked panties, finding the spot he abandoned. I suck in a breath as the first jolt of pleasure hits me, every nerve in my body still primed, still desperate to come, and I try not to think of him as I stroke my slick, swollen clit.

But it’s impossible. Escaping him is impossible. A shuddering whimper escapes me with every circle my finger makes, every building ripple of pleasure, and even when I hear footsteps coming down the hall, that heavy tread that I know is him, I can’t stop.

I hate him for denying me, and I hate him for making me want him. I lean my head back against the door as my fingers move faster, gasping, stroking, imagining Alek doing the same, and I hear his footsteps stop. I know he can hear me, and it only turns me on more.

My teeth sink into my lower lip, trying to stifle the sounds, but they slip out anyway, whimpers and small gasping moans—nothing like the sounds I know he can drag from me. I swear I can hear his breathing outside the door, feel his heavy, oppressive presence, and my hand slides down of its own accord,two fingers slipping inside of me as I grind the heel of my hand into my clit.

It’s not as good as his touch. My slender fingers can’t compare with his, thick and rough inside of me, but I arch my hips up into my hand, feeling the orgasm build as I gasp aloud, and I know that the moment it breaks over me, he’ll be listening to me come.

The pleasure crashes over me in a wave that buckles my knees, sending me sliding down the door as I moan, fingers still curled inside of myself as my back arches and the orgasm spasms through me. It feels so good, a release I desperately needed, but it’s nothing like what it would have felt like with him. I close my eyes tightly, still rubbing the heel of my hand against my clit, drawing it out as I hear him shift outside, the floor creaking.

I almost open the door. This isn’t enough. I need more—I need what only he can give me, and I hate him for making me feel this way. The only consolation—the only thing that stops me—is that I’m all but certain that he’s feeling the exact same thing.

And if I’m going to suffer, I can at least make him suffer too.

15

ALEK

Why couldn’t I stop myself from fucking following her?

My hand hovers over the doorknob, on the verge of yanking it open. I’ve never forced my way into a woman’s room before, but my control is fraying when it comes to Dahlia, and it makes me want to punish her. It makes me want to take out every tangled, furious, confused feeling I have on her perfect skin, to take my belt to her ass until it’s red, to spank her pussy until she comes from the leather striking her clit, to fuck her until she screams. I want to use her until we’re both spent, and the need is so violent that it makes me take a step back.

It feels as if all the wrong things are waking up inside of me. She’s making me feel things I forgot, thawing my emotions, and I want to fight it with everything in me. I don’t want to feel. I don’t want any more pain.

I was going to stay in the library, lock the door, and jerk off. But I couldn’t stop myself from following her upstairs. I needed to know if she was going to finish what I started, give herself what I denied her. And now, as I stand outside her door listening to her panting as she comes down from the high of her orgasm, I’m still so fucking hard it hurts.

I can’t remember ever having been as painfully turned on in my life as I am from listening to my wife come.

I want her desperately, but I force myself away from the door, down the hall to my own room. My entire body feels like it’s throbbing with a second heartbeat, my arousal a living thing under my skin, and the moment I’m in my bedroom with the door locked I’m undoing my belt, seeking relief.

I feel unhinged. There’s never been a woman who has made my desire spin so completely out of control, not even…

My jaw tightens, the last echoes of my orgasm fading at the chilling thought of the last woman I wanted. The last woman who made me feel anything close to this—although now that I’ve had Dahlia, even that seems to pale in comparison.

What is it about her?I think, frustration welling up in my chest as I shuck my clothing and head for the shower. On the surface, it’s easy enough—she’s unafraid of me, and she doesn’t back down, even in the face of my taunts and my distrust of her. It’s rare for anyone to be so completely unfazed by who I am and what I’m capable of, man or woman, and again, that thought brings back the memory of someone else entirely. Of ice blue eyes and white-blonde hair, of a body made for sin, of a woman who, like Dahlia, didn’t fear me in the slightest.

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