Page 68 of Charmingly Obsessed
Instead, our lips meet in a desperate, searching exploration. He moves my panties aside with a practiced, surprisingly gentle flick of his thumb.
He thrusts into me, and I pull his hair harder, needing something to hold onto—something to anchor me as the world tilts and spins. I need to move my hands. I need to touch him. I need to hold on.
Now he’s pushing into me, deep and slow, dragging me toward him—toward the brink. A profound, almost primal shock courses through me as he fills me. So hot. So hard. So him. It’s as if I’m learning for the very first time that men even have cocks.
I feel him everywhere — inside me, around me, consuming me. I look at Mykola, at his beautiful, tormented face, and I can’t believe this vital, elemental part of him is moving inside me. Alive. Impossibly, wonderfully real, thick and long.
His grip on my thigh is like steel. Our gazes lock, becoming one shared look—a silent understanding that pins us in this undeniable intimacy.
Mykola makes a strange, guttural sound deep in his throat and drags me deeper into the couch. Deeper into him.
“I want everything with you, Diana. Everything,” he exhales, his breath hot and ragged against my face. “Without you… nothing. I don’t want it.” His voice drops to a broken whisper. “Be mine. Please.”
His eyes are feverishly bright, darting over my face as if memorizing, branding every detail. I nod, unable to speak, unable to do anything but agree.
“Be mine.”
“I already am,” I moan, the words torn from me. My fingers dig into his skin, dragging, raking, needing to leave my mark on him too. “I already am yours, Mykola. I want… I want…”
“What, darling?” He follows my dazed, unfocused gaze but never loses his own intense focus on my face. “What do you want, Diana? Tell me. Anything. Everything.”
“I want you to be,” I manage, wiping my nose inelegantly on his cheek before hiding my face against his warm, sweat-slicked skin, “only mine. I… I need you to be only mine.”
He laughs then.
A joyous, unrestrained, impossibly happy sound that seems to fill the opulent penthouse. It chases away the shadows and makes everything around us brighten, sharpen, come alive.
“Deal.” He kisses me everywhere—uncoordinated, frantic, hungry kisses on my lips, my cheeks, my eyelids, my throat. “Easy. Done. I agree. Only yours. Always.”
I want to stroke a stray, wheat-colored strand of hair that’s fallen across his temple, damp with sweat. But the movement doesn’t happen.
It’s as if time itself has frozen, fractured. A shimmering, impenetrable shell forms around our bodies—still moving, still gasping, still straining with each deep, possessive thrust.
And inside this strange, timeless shell, there are no seconds or minutes. No verticals or horizontals. No right or left. No up or down. There is only the boiling, elemental force of our contact—our connection. And it’s about to explode, consuming us both.
“My sunshine,” he whispers, his lips brushing my cheek, voice thick with emotion. Drops of sweat slide from his high, aristocratic forehead onto my ears, my neck. “Why are you crying? Why the tears, baby?”
“Because I’m an idiot,” I manage, biting my lips, reaching for him blindly as his restless mouth covers mine again. “A complete, hopeless idiot,” I sob against his lips.
“Then let’s be idiots together.” Mykola presses his face to mine. “Together, Diana. Everything. Just the two of us. Always.”
When he sweeps the heavy, ornate jewelry box, the stacks of leather-bound first editions, the ridiculously expensive scented candles off the antique mahogany nightstand with one swift, impatient motion—sending them crashing to the plush Persian rug below—I only exhale deeply. A sigh of surrender. Of acceptance.
We end up higher on the couch, somehow, almost sitting, tangled together, his legs entwined with mine. Now I can bracemyself with my palm flat against the cool, smooth surface of the low coffee table. Which comes in very handy.
Because he slams into me then with a wild, almost savage ferocity. And for some insane reason, I agree with each deep, punishing thrust out loud. Yes. Yes.Yes.
I keep tilting my head back, arching my neck, exposing my throat, offering myself to him.
Then, he suddenly pushes my knee aside, opening me wider, deeper. And the next three thrusts… they climax in an explosion. A shattering.
An explosion inside me. Deep, deep inside. And I can’t scream.
The exquisite warmth coiled inside me shatters into millions of burning needles, piercing my soul with pure ecstasy. I can only moan through pressed lips, desperately trying to bite back the sound.
“Kolya,” I try to utter, my voice shaken, breathless, attempting to articulate everything I feel, everything he makes me feel. “I… it… Oh, God, Kolya…”
He can’t catch his breath either. He’s still frozen above me, inside me, his powerful body trembling with the aftershocks.
