Page 87 of His Darkest Obsession
“Yes,” he admits without a hint of remorse, and my heart starts beating faster at the certainty in his voice.
I pull his cock down, and kiss the underside of the pulsing head, and a low moan of pleasure rumbles up from his powerful chest. My hands guide his cock across my lips, smearing his essence across them in slow aching circles while my own pussy begins to throb between my legs with a familiar aching emptiness.
“And did it feel good?” Now it’s his turn to ask, his voice a rough whisper in the confined space of the shower. “Watching me kill for you?”
“Yes,” I confess as I continue rubbing his cock back and forth over my lips.
I can feel the power between us churning. It’s just like our first dinner together after the wedding. One of us holds a weapon, but the other wields its power.
Tonight, he held the knife, but I guided his hand.
And right now, I’m on my knees, yet he’s the one who’ll beg.
I move one hand to cup his heavy balls, and smile when I feel them shift under my grip. I rub him across my lips and over my cheek until his scent—heavy and masculine—settles so deep inside of my lungs that I know I’ll never get him out.
Leaning in close, I draw a line with my tongue from root to tip, and sweep another drop of precum into my mouth. His stomach clenches in response, and I do it again. And again. And again until he can no longer hold back his moan.
That’s when I pull back and ask.
“Do you like it when your wife kneels in front of you like a whore?”
His teeth clenches. “I do.”
“I thought nobody calls your wife a whore?” I start massaging his balls.
The fist in my hair tightens, and he leans down, growling. “Nobody but me.”
My mouth waters, and I lean in closer until my breasts are pressed against his thighs, and kiss my way up the length.
“And what about you?” He asks when I reach the tip and swirl my tongue around it. “Do you like being my wife and my whore?”
“Yes.” The admission sends a thrill through me. “I want to be your whore, Anatoly. Just not one who begs.”
A dark smile curls on his face despite his clenched teeth, and a muscle in his cheek twitches. “Do you expect me to beg you now,printsessa?”
“No.” My thumb circles the sensitive head. “I’m taking what I want. Isn’t that what a pakhan’s wife does?”
“Yes,” he breathes. “So take it.”
And I do.
Without breaking eye contact, I open my mouth and slide my lips over him. His eyes widen as he watches me swallow him down. A warm wave runs between my legs, and I keep inching forward until he reaches all the way to the back of my throat.
Then, I pull back, slowly at first until the tip slides past my lips again, and wrap one hand around the thick shaft while my other squeezes his heavy balls. Then, I plunge forward to take him to the root again.
His eyes are dark with hunger as he watches me deepthroat him.
In. Out.
One hand remains fixed in my hair while the other is pressed against the wall like he’s trying desperately to cling to something to tether him to reality—the same way that I did when he held me against that window on our wedding day.
I start moving faster, working him with my hands and tongue and mouth all at once. My eyes water with exertion, and tears start leaking out from the corners of my eyes. He peels himself off the wall and leans forward, his hand still tight in my hair but letting me control the pace.
A single large hand runs down my wet back, past the curve of my ass, and two thick fingers opens my pussy, wet and dripping. I clench reflexively but he keeps me open to deny me the pleasure of the squeeze.
I respond by speeding up my pace. He bends down further and pushes a single finger inside of my soaked cunt.
“You suck my cock so well,” he growls. “My perfect wife. My dirty whore.”
