Page 47 of Savage Reins
“You like me taking you like this,” he growls, bending to bite my shoulder through my shirt. “Fast. Hard. Where anyone could walk in.”
My breath catches, but I push back against him anyway, grinding into each thrust. “Maybe I like the thought of someone seeing you fuck me like this,” I pant.
His laugh is dark and breathless against my ear. “You’d let them watch? Let them see how wet you get for me?”
“Maybe I want them to,” I gasp, my fingers curling tighter into the hay. “Want them to know I’m yours.”
He groans, slamming deeper, his hand sliding up my stomach to grip my breast hard through the fabric. “They’d hear you too—hear you begging me to keep going.”
“Then make me beg,” I throw back, and his answering growl vibrates against my skin as he drives into me harder, hips snapping with brutal precision.
He fists a hand in my hair, yanking my head back so my mouth opens on a ragged gasp. “Beg, Mira.”
“Harder,” I breathe, the word breaking into a moan when he answers with a vicious thrust that drives me into the hay. “Don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop.”
His grip in my hair tightens, forcing my back into a sharper arch. “That’s it. Say you need it.”
“I need it,” I pant, curling my hands to fists to protect my tender palms and still brace myself. “Need you to fuck me harder?—”
He snarls something low in Russian and obeys, hips slamming into me with a force that makes the straw crackle under my weight.
“Taking me so deep you can feel it in your throat,” he growls, dragging me back onto him with every thrust. “You gonna come for me like this?”
My answer is a choked moan, my knees threatening to give as heat coils low and tight. “Yes—don’t stop.”
His fingers tighten in my hair until my scalp aches, his hips hammering into me faster, harder, as if he’s determined to wring every sound out of me before either of us gives in.
His pace turns brutal, each thrust slamming me into the hay so hard my forearms scrape the bales. I keep my hands curled tight in fists, knuckles tucked in to shield the raw skin, my weight held in my elbows as he drags me back onto him over and over.
“Feel that?” His voice is a ragged growl behind me. “Every time I bury myself in you, you squeeze me like you’re scared to let go.”
I bite back a cry, rocking against him despite the sting in my arms. “Don’t stop.”
He fists my hair harder, forcing my head back so the angle has me gasping. “You’re gonna come on my cock, right here in the hay, dripping all over me.”
A helpless sound escapes me, my thighs trembling as the sharp pressure builds. “Yes.”
“That’s my girl,” he snarls, slamming into me so deep it steals my breath. “Come for me, Mira. Now.”
The order tears through me—I clench hard around him, my release hitting in a rush that makes my knees buckle. He grinds into me, a rough groan breaking from his chest before he drives deep and holds there, spilling hot and heavy inside me while his grip in my hair keeps me exactly where he wants me.
When his breathing starts to slow, he eases his grip in my hair and straightens, pulling me up with him. My legs feel unsteady, but he keeps an arm around my waist, turning me toface him as he tugs my jeans back into place. The wet slide of him inside me is gone, replaced by the slow warmth of his cum running down my thigh.
He tucks himself away, buckling his belt like nothing in the barn has shifted, then cups my jaw and kisses me hard—possessive and unhurried, as if the rest of the world doesn’t exist. When he finally pulls back, he keeps me close, his arms wrapping around me in a way that’s almost protective.
"I want you in my bed tonight," he rasps against my ear, and I nod at him, breathing him in.
I let myself sink into it for just a moment, breathing in the heat of him and the faint bite of smoke still lingering in his clothes. But even wrapped in his arms, my mind spins. I don’t know how I’m going to pull this off. Rusalka isn’t ready—not for the kind of performance we need. The only way might be to fix the race.
And I’m not sure I know how to do that. At least not without help.
19
RENAT
The black SUVs roll up the drive at noon, engines rumbling menacingly across the quiet ranch. I count three vehicles—too many for a simple check-in, not enough for a full operation. The family I grew up in has never once allowed me to believe they would ever go soft, but here I am creating a soft space in my life for a woman. Rolan Vetrov certainly won't appreciate that when we have a job to do, and when my boss shows up, it's proof I'm on thin ice.
Vadim steps out of the lead car, his polished shoes hitting the gravel. People bow before him, men like me, cowering and sniveling for mercy. But I'm not about to do that. Behind him come Anton and Boris, followed by two others I recognize but don't know well. Muscle. Insurance.
