Page 89 of Forced to Marry the Russian Pakhan
I scoop her into my arms and carry her to the bed, laying her down carefully among the pillows. She looks up at me, eyes dark with desire, lips swollen from my kisses, and I’m struck again by how fucking lucky I am that she’s here, that she wants this, wants me.
I strip off the rest of my clothes before joining her on the bed, kneeling between her parted legs. Her eyes roam over my body, lingering on the scars that map my history, on the tattoos that tell my story, on the evidence of how much I want her.
“Come here,” she whispers, reaching for me.
But I have other plans. I push her back against the pillows, trailing kisses down her throat, across her collarbones, to the swell of her breasts. I take my time, worshipping every inch of her skin, learning what makes her gasp, what makes her moan, what makes her arch beneath me.
When I finally move lower, tracing the gentle curve of her stomach with my tongue, her breathing turns ragged. I hook my fingers into the waistband of her panties, dragging them slowly down her legs.
“Trifon,” she pleads, voice thick with need.
I spread her thighs wider, settling between them. “Yulia,” I murmur against her inner thigh, letting my breath tease her. “Let me make you feel good.”
The first touch of my fingers against her center makes her hips buck. She’s already wet, already desperate for me. I stroke her slowly, circling her clit, dipping inside her entrance, building a rhythm that has her clutching at the sheets.
“Please,” she whimpers.
I slip one finger inside her, then another, feeling her tight heat grip me. “Like this?”
Her answer is a broken moan as I curl my fingers, finding that spot inside her I know she loves. I work her steadily, watching her face as pleasure builds, as her cheeks flush and her breath catches.
“Let go,” I urge her, pressing my thumb against her clit as my fingers move inside her. “I want to watch you come apart.”
She does, with a cry that might be my name, her body clenching around my fingers, back arching off the bed. I work her through it, drawing out every aftershock, every tremor.
When she finally goes limp, eyes dazed and chest heaving, I climb up her body, positioning myself between her thighs. The head of my cock nudges against her entrance, slick and ready from her orgasm.
“Yes,” she breathes, hands finding my shoulders. “Now, Trifon. I need you.”
I push inside her slowly, giving her time to adjust to my size. The sensation nearly undoes me—tight, wet heat enveloping me inch by inch. I have to grit my teeth against the urge to thrust hard and fast.
“Fuck,” I groan when I’m finally seated to the hilt. “You feel incredible.”
Her legs wrap around my waist, drawing me even deeper. “Move,” she urges.
I withdraw almost completely before sliding back in, setting a slow, deep pace that has us both gasping for breath. Each thrust feels better than the last, building a pleasure so intense it borders on pain.
I brace myself above her, watching her face as I move inside her. Her eyes are half-lidded, lips parted, cheeks flushed with pleasure. She’s never looked more beautiful than she does right now, coming undone beneath me.
“Stay with me,” I find myself saying, the words falling from my lips before I can stop them. “Don’t leave.”
Her eyes widen slightly, focusing on mine. “Trifon—”
I silence her with a kiss, suddenly afraid of her answer, knowing she and I? We’re talking about two entirely different things. But for now, I want to pretend she understood what I asked of her. I just want this moment, this connection, this illusion that she might choose me.
I increase my pace, driving into her harder, deeper, like I can somehow make her mine through sheer force of will. Her nails dig into my back, marking me, claiming me just as thoroughly as I’m claiming her.
The tension builds between us, hot and urgent. I slip a hand between our bodies, finding her clit again, circling it in time with my thrusts. I want to feel her come around me, want to push her over the edge before I follow.
“That’s it,” I coax as her breathing grows ragged. “Let go. Come for me again.”
Her body tightens around me, her inner walls clenching rhythmically as she cries out. The sensation pushes me past the point of no return. My vision narrows, pleasure coiling tight at the base of my spine before exploding outward.
I bury my face in her neck as I come. The orgasm tears through me like wildfire, starting deep in my core and radiating outward until every nerve ending sings with release. I feel it everywhere—in my fingertips clutching her hips, in my toes curling against the sheets, in the thundering of my heart against my ribs.
For a moment, the world disappears. There is only this—her body beneath mine, her breath against my skin, the perfect union of our bodies.
When I finally come back to myself, I’m careful not to crush her with my weight. I roll to the side, taking her with meso she’s draped across my chest. Her hair falls around us like a curtain, silky and sweet-smelling.
