Page 43 of Sold to the Russian
She did what he had done to her, mirroring him, mocking him, matching his cool detachment with her own fire. She took his hand and guided it down her chest, past the valley between her breasts, under the swell of her breasts. Her skin ignited where he touched, her breathing was barely existent, her underwear felt sticky, molding to her slick folds, but she held her expression steady.
His touch was the definition of sin. Rough, excellent, unbelievably good, even with her hand guiding him. It was the kind of touch that could undo her if she let it. And God help her, she was so close to losing this stupid game of hers, so close to letting go, especially when his hand left hers and followed its own path down her hips.
Maeve let out a gasp when his thick fingers traced the hem of her panties, slotting in briefly before pulling out. He leaned forward, resting his weight on one elbow as he slid his hand lower and cupped her pussy firmly, roughly, the only thing separating direct contact with her flesh being the damp lace.
Her breath caught in her throat, stuttering when it stumbled out. Fedya’s dark, hungry gaze was on her face, almost like he was silently daring her to make her sound. He squeezed harder, and their chests touched, her nipples kissing his skin.
Christ, she was going insane.
“You’re soaked,” he said, his voice deeper and darker than she’d ever heard it. It was tight with restraint. His thumb ripped into one of the holes of her lace, before applying pressure directly on her sensitive clit. Maeve’s brows pulled together in pleasure, her toes curling against her feet.
“If you don’t want me to do something about it right now, you’d better go back to sleep.”
Maeve didn’t flinch, not even at the roughness of his voice. Instead, she rolled away, her lip caught between her teeth as she denied them both of what they wanted. She picked up her gown, slipped it down her head, letting the silence stretch between them. She could almost feel him vibrating next to her as he watched her turn her back to him.
“Goodnight, Fedya,” she said, her voice cool even though raw heat scalded her inner thighs. She slipped under the covers, squeezing her thighs together to alleviate the needy pulse in her cunt that made her bite down hard on her bottom lip to prevent herself from making a sound.
Yet, even with her heart racing, a small, satisfied smile was plastered around her lips as she closed her eyes to sleep.
He had touched her on his own, and so it went exactly the way she wanted.
Chapter 15 - Fedya
Fedya couldn’t remember the last time he had slept so soundly—so peacefully, so easily. And it was all thanks to the soft, warm body curled around his. He could feel the bright rays of the sun from the window behind his eyelids, and he woke, blinking the sleep away to find his body tangled together with Maeve’s on the bed.
Her head was on his chest, red hair spilled all over his skin. Their legs were entwined at the foot of the bed, and his arms were around her back. Her nightgown had ridden up as well, so her naked thighs were directly in contact with his.
Fedya dragged his gaze up her body, pausing at her lips, which were slightly parted as slow, easy breaths escaped her lungs. Her eyes were closed, her face soft, and he counted all eighty-five of her freckles sprinkled across her nose and cheeks.
Fedya wasn’t sure he could ever get over how ethereal she looked.
Their bodies fit perfectly together on the bed like the last two pieces of a puzzle. It made him think back to the night before, how she’d been straddling him only a few hours ago, how dizzy he felt with desire that she was right there, bare and open for him, the only piece of clothing on her being her wet panties. Her tits were right there, right in his face, her nipples practically begging for his mouth.
It was torture for him—the worst self-inflicted punishment he’d ever given himself. Even though his self-control had broken slightly, causing him to touch her eventually, it was nothing compared to the thousand and one ways he’d thought of taking her. If he’d moved more than he did, hewould’ve taken it too far because he knew once he started, he wouldn’t stop.
He had been trying to be smart, to be sure if she wasn’t just playing any games with him. He’d caught her in a lie last night when she said she was hovering around him simply because she wanted him to join her in the room. And then she rolled over without warning, taking him by surprise even though he didn’t make it seem like that.
If she’d stayed any longer on him after he told her to go back to bed, if she’d rocked her hips against his hand even after that, he would’ve snapped completely. He would have done every single thing he’d imagined doing to her and more. He’d still be fucking her right now.
Fedya curled a finger around a red strand of hair that lingered on her face. Still fast asleep, an imperceptible sigh left her lips as she shifted slightly against him, unintentionally brushing against the tent in his sweatpants.
Fedya muttered a curse under his breath when his hips jerked in response. His body had been fully aware of her on top of him, and he’d woken up with an erection so hard he could barely think straight.
Gently and carefully, he peeled Maeve off him, replacing himself with a pillow that she greedily latched onto in her sleep.
He barely got to shut the door of the bathroom before enclosing his fist around his cock. He closed his eyes and thought of her naked beneath him, the soft skin of her knees digging into the tiled floor. He thought of her eyes, glazed over with lust, lips parted and swollen, cheeks flushed with desperation. He thought of burying his cock in her throat, choking if she had a gag reflex.
But he wouldn’t stop. He’d work himself deeper until tears spilled from the corners of her eyes, until she was a trembling mess between his thighs. He thought of bending her over the bathroom sink, of pressing her head against the mirror, his hand wound tight in her hair so she could watch him fuck her from behind. He’d fuck her so hard she’d be breathless, begging, torn between telling him to stop and begging him for more.
His jaw clenched as he palmed his length furiously, stroking hard and rough to the dark fantasies his brain had conjured about her. He’d never been a gentle lover, not really. His fantasies were always dark and domineering, always desperate for control, for a kind of satisfaction that blurred the lines of pleasure and pain. He didn’t think she’d resonate with his sexual preferences, with how hard he wanted to fuck a woman, how he wanted to dominate her, how he craved control on the bed.
There was no denying her feistiness, but he didn’t think she’d be into anything more than plain, lights-off, vanilla sex. That was another reason why they didn’t fit, and yet Fedya couldn’t fathom the thought of not wanting her, no matter what she liked.
A hot puff of breath ripped out of his chest as he came with her name caught behind clenched teeth, strips of cum shooting out of him, coating his fingers and splattering against the tiles.
Fedya dragged a clean hand over his face before cleaning up and walking into the shower. All he could think of as the hot sprays of water hit his muscles was the woman outside the bathroom door. Fedya wasn’t foolish enough to have trusted her, at least at the beginning. He’d resorted to using fear since he had no reason to believe her loyalties would be tied to him simply because he married her. She’d been stripped of her choice, herdecision, and was married away to a dangerous stranger in exchange for ammunition. Anyone in their right mind would be bitter towards the person who did that to them, and that was why Fedya made sure to remind her of the fact that her father was her real enemy and not him.
Still, whether he liked it or not, Cormac was her father. Her blood and flesh and bone. And that was why he couldn’t blame her for not being able to answer his question in the car last night. He appreciated it, even, because her lack of response was better than a lie, because whether he admitted it to himself or not, he’d played a part in her choices being stripped away, even though he couldn’t help it.
