Page 146 of Gloves Off

A shiver runs through me, landing between my legs, and my eyelids flutter. Around his thick cock, I moan. I hate being toldwhat to do, and I hate how much I enjoy being rewarded by him. I hate that I love it when he calls me sweetheart.

“I knew you’d be incredible at this.” He casts a possessive look down at me, eyes hot with need. “I knew you’d make me lose my mind with that smart mouth. Keep going, Hellfire. Make me come.”

We find a rhythm that has his jaw tensing and his breath turning ragged. His fingers flex on my scalp. Watching him unravel is intoxicating. Between my legs, my center throbs, desperate for attention. My nipples beg to be touched. This is too good, though, seeing Alexei lose it because of me.

His grip on my hair tightens and I relax my mouth to take him deeper. He rewards me with a desperate look I never thought I’d see from him, but which I’m already addicted to. Deep down, I love him fucking my mouth like this. The version of me from three months ago would be shrieking in outrage that he has me under his thumb like this. It’s different now, though.

“I’m going to come in your mouth,” he groans through clenched teeth, burning me with his gaze. I make another humming noise of acknowledgment and just as he swells in my mouth, I slow down, sucking harder. He makes a hoarse, agonized noise of surprise before filling my mouth with his release.

I’ve never swallowed in my life—it’s never appealed to me—but Alexei comes in my mouth and I want this to be the best he’s ever had. Long after we divorce, I want him to think of this. I want him to compare every blow job for the rest of his life to this one.

He holds my gaze while I swallow. His chest rises and falls fast with his breathing, his eyes are clouded with lust, and he looks at me like he can’t believe we’re doing this.

My heart skips a beat, but before I can say anything, he hauls me over his shoulder, and carries me upstairs.

CHAPTER 69

GEORGIA

“My room,”I murmur against his mouth as he sets me down on his bed.

If we mess around in his room, it’s going to feel too—I don’t know. Like we’re married for real or something.

“No.”

Kneeling on the floor while I sit on the edge of the bed, he deepens the kiss, hot and searching, his stubble brushing my skin while he takes my heels off. It’s intensely familiar—did he do this the other night, after the bar? When my top comes off, his expression turns arrogant and pleased.

“Wearing the stuff I bought you, huh?”

“You know I like nice things. The designer did a good job.”

“The designer didn’t choose those, Hellfire.” He unbuttons my jeans and I lift my hips so he can pull them off. “I did.”

I blink. “You did?”

“Uh-huh.” His eyes trail down me, dark with heat and lust. The front of his pants tents—he’s hard again? “I told you. Buying you things makes me feel a certain way.”

He stares at my chest before his gaze drops to between my thighs, jaw clenching like he resents the lace for blocking his view. “Seeing you wrapped up in something I bought you, seeing you feel like the fucking knockout you are,” he rakes a hand through his hair, “I don’t know, Georgia. I like it too much.”

Oh god. It’s hard to remember why all of this is a bad idea.

“Alexei?”

Our eyes meet.

“Enough talking.”

“Agreed.”

Our mouths crash together again in a hard, fast kiss. While he kneels and I sit, we’re the same height, and my hands thread into his hair while he devours me. Every hot slide of his tongue pulls a noise from me, high and needy. Every tug of his hair has him making this low, addictive noise in his throat, like he can’t get enough.

He takes my bra off, pulling away to stare at my tits before he lets out a heavy, frustrated breath. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

His lips meet my collarbones, palming my breasts, weighing them, finding the stiff peaks, playing with them, winding me up as if I’m a toy. All I can do is sit here, eyes open but staring at nothing as Alexei lavishes attention on my tits.

Every pull of his lips on the peaks tugs on an intimate muscle deep inside me. Have I always been this sensitive? I don’t usually get wet from a guy touching my nipples, but no one has ever run their tongue over me with that expression—like I’m water in a desert. Like he’s discovering something new and life-changing. Like this is all he needs. Arousal gathers between my legs, and while he explores me, I do the same, pulling his shirt off, running my hands over the hard muscle of his shoulders and arms.

I guess he likes that, because his eyes meet mine before he latches onto one aching peak, and he sucks hard. My lips part, my eyes close, and I sigh as heat spills through me.