Page 51 of Sold to the Russian
“No,” he admitted, voice raspy now. His hands gripped her hips, and his length pressed against her stomach. “I’m dizzy with the need to bend you over this sink.”
Maeve let herself forget everything that wasn’t him. In that moment, her father didn’t exist to her. His promise of her freedom didn’t either. The only thing that did exist was the man standing in front of her.
So she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him first. His lips were soft against hers, following every motion of her kiss.
She pulled back, breathless and filled with heat. “Do it then.”
His mouth was on hers again, and instead of the hard, filthy kiss she was used to, he kissed her slowly, deeply, like he had all the time in the world and he wanted to spend it on her mouth. They kissed like long-lost lovers, and underneath the scrape of his teeth on her lip was her heart—a thunderous beating thing against her ribcage.
Her head felt light, her breath rushing out of her lungs so quickly she thought she would pass out in his arms. Her body was responsive to his touch, to the slow, addictive caress of his tongue against hers. The sounds of their kissing echoed in the bathroom before his lips descended down her jaw, kissing a hot, wet path down her neck and collarbone.
His voice was rough and thick with emotion when he spun her around, bending her over the sink. “I need you,” he said as he bunched her robe over her hips, slipped her panties down,and buried himself into her in one hard stroke. They moaned at the same time. “So fucking badly.”
The bathroom mirror fogged with heat, but Maeve’s breath left a clearer print each time she exhaled, moaning, gasping, bracing herself against the edge of the sink as Fedya drove into her from behind. She’d never felt so good, so full, so hot for anyone before. His touch was the most intoxicating thing she’d ever felt, and with every thrust, she became even more and more addicted to it. Drunk on it.
She loved it—loved him, his body, his hands on her hips, his cock hitting places in her she didn’t know existed. Oh god, it felt good. Too good to be true. But it was true. Very true and very real. Better than the first time.
One of his hands gripped her hip, anchoring her while the other slid up to a fist in her hair, pulling her head back just enough for their eyes to meet in the mirror. The sight of her—lips parted, eyes drooping from pleasure, flushed and trembling—only made him rougher, harder, pounding her into the sink, the hard porcelain digging into her stomach until she felt pain and pleasure colliding into a volatile thing that burst into flames in her body.
“Look at me,” he demanded, his tongue licking the sweat off her neck. “Look at me while I fuck you, Maeve.”
She could barely keep her eyes open from how good he felt inside her, stretching her walls out, sliding in and out of her pussy. Her ass bounced against his hips, skin slapping against skin, the wet slick of her arousal obscene in the echoing tiles.
He bent low to growl in her ear, “This what you wanted?” and her only answer was a desperate, wrecked yes. His hand was on her throat, choking out her moans before sliding two thick fingers inside her mouth.
“You feel so good,zhena,” he panted behind her, rolling his hips into her. “This tight, little pussy belongs to me, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” she cried around his fingers, feeling a wet sensation trailing down the corner of her mouth, a thin drool trailing down. He turned her head to the side, dragging his tongue over her jaw as he licked up the drool, and then he was kissing her again, kissing her hard and messily until she came, trembling in front of him.
His hands had left a red imprint on her ass while he fucked her. He sank his teeth into her exposed collarbone, one hand groping her tits as he jerked against her, filling her up completely.
“My fantasies of you are nothing compared to this,” he admitted as he pulled out of her, watching his cum drip down her thighs. He scooped her up into his arms, and his hand went between her legs, fingering his cum back inside her. She was moaning when he sat her down on the bed, spread her thighs apart, and knelt down in front of her.
And just when she thought she would pass out, she let out a scream when he buried his face between her legs and licked her clean.
Chapter 19 - Fedya
Her body was his drug, and he was addicted to it.
Nothing in his fantasies could have prepared him for the reality that was her. He’d thought of her a thousand ways, writhing beneath, clinging to him like he was her anchor, breathless and wet for him, but nothing compared to the way her fingers curled into his back when he touched her like she was a precious jewel, one that he could never let break.
Nothing matched the way she whispered his name like it was the only word in her vocabulary or how perfectly natural her body felt against his, like she was made for him and only him. This—what he was doing with her—was becoming more than just sex. It was pulling at his heartstrings. It was an intimately dangerous connection.
He knew her body in and out. Worshipped it. Craved it. Loved it.
Even the aftermath of their sex felt as natural as possible. He’d sat her on the table in the room and fucked her with her eyes closed, half-asleep and half-begging for him not to stop. She’d curled up into him after that, her cheek against his chest, her fingers tracing the tattoos on his arm like she was learning what each of them meant.
And there was no awkwardness between them, even after they woke up. Legs tangled together, mouths soft and swollen from kisses. There were no barriers between them, just a quiet acceptance of what was blooming between them—a rose in a field of thorns.
Fedya made love to her again, slower this time, deeper. He turned her to the side, his arm curled around her waist as he buried himself in her from behind. His lips were on her neckas he thrust slowly, his fingers rolling and twisting her hickey-decorated nipples. Her moans were as soft and gentle as the morning breeze from the window, and she’d whispered his name like a prayer, arching into him as his fingers stroked her clit with the same rhythm with which he was fucking her.
Maeve didn’t try to hide how sore she was afterward. It was evident in the way she winced when she sat up too quickly, in the way her thighs trembled when she tried to stand. She gave a soft, breathy laugh when he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bathroom, all the while pressing kisses to her face.
He sat her down on the edge of the tub while he knelt in front of her. The water was warm and soothing, and he felt her eyes on him as he lathered soap onto a sponge and gently cleaned the places where his hands and mouth had been only hours earlier.
“You,” she murmured, watching as he focused on her body, patting her skin dry with a towel. He reached for a small tin of ointment from the shelf and looked up at her.
“Me?”
