Page 25 of Under His Control
“You’re so wet already,” he growls. “Is that for me?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
He rips the fabric, the sound causing me to whimper. He spreads me wide, tongue stroking through the slick heat of my folds. The first lick is overwhelming, the second, devastating. He eats me out like a man starved, lips and tongue driving me higher until my legs are shaking.
“Come for me,” he commands. I do—crying out in the utmost pleasure, hips bucking against his face.
The fantasy is so vivid, my body is pulsing. I flick the vibrator on the lowest setting at first, sliding it between my thighs under the water.
My head tips back against the porcelain, a moan slipping free. I tease myself with thoughts of his mouth, his command, what I’m guessing is his impossible size. The toy hums, building pressure fast.
Back in the fantasy, he stands up after the shattering orgasm he just gave me, his eyes feral with lust.
Then he flips me onto my stomach. Papers scatter as he drags me to the edge, positioning me. The thick head of his cock presses against my entrance, and I tense.
“Breathe,” he soothes, sliding in slow. The stretch burns at first, then melts into pleasure so intense I see stars. He sets a punishing rhythm, one hand in my hair, the other braced on my hip, each thrust rocking the desk.
“Mine,” he growls, pounding deeper. “Say it.”
“Yours,” I gasp. “All yours.”
He drives harder, deeper, until my world narrows to the slick slide of him inside me, the slap of skin on skin, the heat of his breath.
I imagine the blunt head of his cock pushing deep, the stretch delicious, the fullness obscene. My free hand rolls my nipple, tugging lightly. The water in the tub sloshes as my hips lift, seeking more.
I crank the toy higher. The vibration pulses, and the fantasy swells. Anatoly’s mouth at my ear, whispering filthy Russian endearments while he thrusts slow and deep.
He flips me over onto my back again. “You take me so well, little wife. Look how your body swallows me.” He bites my shoulder, then soothes it with a kiss.
“Anatoly,” I whisper.
The orgasm gathers like a storm, tightening every muscle. I imagine him pinning my wrists above my head, licking the sweat from my throat. I imagine the other hand circling my clit as he pounds into me.
“Come for me again. I want to explode inside you while you come all over my cock.”
The toy throbs exactly where I need it, and my body obeys—clenching hard, pleasure detonating in waves that ripple from my core to my fingertips.
I bite my lip to muffle a cry, hips jerking as aftershocks pulse. The toy slips from my hand, buzzing against my thigh until I switch it off, chest heaving. Water laps the sides of the tub, bubbles clinging to my skin.
Slowly, I surface from the fog. My skin glows, limbs loose. I lift the toy, rinse it, and set it on the ledge to dry. Then I just breathe, eyes half-closed, replaying the fantasy like a favorite song.
I should be terrified. I’m about to sign a contract that makes me a dangerous billionaire’s wife for twelve months. But right now, all I feel is languid satisfaction—and a deep, molten anticipation.
Because if the reality is even half as good as the fantasy, the year ahead is going to change everything.
I reach for the oversized towel hanging on the hook, wrapping it tightly around myself as I step out of the tub, my heart still thudding in a slow, heavy rhythm.
My phone glows on the bathroom counter. It’s late, nearly midnight, but I remember what Anatoly clearly had said.
The moment you make your decision, I expect to know.
I create a text thread and type.
I’d like to meet. Maybe sign. Can we talk first?
I hesitate only a second before hitting send.
The reply comes almost instantly.
