Page 43 of Under His Control
“Since you saw me alphabetizing guest complaints in HR?” I tease, trying to lighten the voltage thrumming between us.
“Since the first time you bent over the concierge desk and my brain short-circuited.” His hand slides to my throat, not squeezing—just claiming. “I’ve dreamed of you wet and begging ever since.”
“You don’t have to dream anymore,” I whisper.
A growl rumbles low in his chest. He spins me, pressing my front to the cool glass of the terrace doors. His body molds to mine—hard chest against my back, rigid length nudging my ass.
“Spread your legs,” he orders, breath hot at my ear.
I obey, bracing my palms on the glass. His fingers trail down my spine, my body shuddering at his touch. When he cups my sex, I gasp. I’m already slick and more than ready.
“Look at you,” he mutters against my neck, middle finger sliding through my folds. “So wet for me already.”
He lazily circles my clit, testing, then withdraws. I whimper.
“Patience,” he says, nipping my shoulder. “You’ll come when I say.”
The command in his voice liquefies my bones.
He sinks to one knee behind me, large hands parting my cheeks. The first hot swipe of his tongue steals my breath; the second has me arching like a bowstring. He licks with slow precision, humming each time I moan. Fingers slide inside—one, then two—crooking until sparks detonate behind my eyes.
“Anatoly—”
“Not yet.” He withdraws, stands, and guides me back inside to the dining table where we just ate. Plates and linens pushed aside, he hoists me onto the cool marble, spreading my thighs wide.
He kneels, tongue lashing my clit while his fingers return—pumping, curling, relentless. Pressure coils fast.
“Please,” I pant.
“Come for me.”
The command shatters me, and I cry out, hips bucking. He doesn’t stop—licking through the aftershocks until they border on too much.
My body deflates and I feel like jelly, the orgasm beyond devastating. He straightens, lips glistening. “That’s one.”
“One?”
“One of many.” He kisses me hard and I taste myself on his tongue. He lifts me off the table, my legs wobbly. He chuckles, carrying me bridal-style to the velvet pill-bench by the bar.
“On your knees,malyshka.”
I kneel, cushioned by plush velvet, face level with his cock. It’s thick, long, and intimidating. When I wrap a hand around the base, he hisses his approval.
“Take me deep,” he rasps.
I swirl my tongue over the head, tasting him, then hollow my cheeks, easing down until he brushes the back of my throat. He curses in Russian as fingers tangle in my hair, guiding a slow rhythm.
“Look at me.”
I gaze up, lips stretched around him. His eyes burn like blue fire. The connection—dirty and intimate—sends a fresh pulse of arousal between my legs. I suck harder, using my hand to twist where my mouth can’t reach.
“Enough,” he groans, pulling me free with a wet pop. “Another minute and I’d finish.”
“Isn’t that the point?” I wipe my mouth, smirking.
He hauls me to my feet, spins me toward the bar, and bends me over the polished onyx. The cool stone kisses my breasts as his palm slides down my spine.
“You want my cock?” he asks, teasing my entrance with the blunt head.
