Page 34 of Masked Seduction
He grips my wet hair, tugging gently but insistently. "Spread your legs wider for me."
I obey, breath hitching. He positions himself against my entrance, teasing me, sliding just the head inside before withdrawing.
"Say it," he commands, voice dark and rough. "Tell me you want me to fuck you."
"I want you," I gasp out loud, fingers frantically working myself toward climax. "Abram, please, fuck me."
With one savage thrust, he's deep inside, thick and stretching, claiming me again. My mind and body synchronize completely, and I swear I can feel him in that moment, feel him thrusting roughly, hands bruising my hips as he drives into me, again and again.
"You feel how perfect you are around me, Jenna? How tight and fucking perfect?" He snarls against my ear, accent thick and ragged. "This pussy was made for my cock."
His filthy, possessive words ignite something deep within me. My hand moves rapidly, perfectly matching the rhythm of my imagined lover.
I'm so close.
In the fantasy, he wraps one powerful hand around my throat, squeezing just enough to heighten every sensation. His voice is commanding, fierce, yet edged with raw need. "Come for me,kotenok. Now."
His words snap me like a rubber band stretched too far and I shatter, moaning his name, the orgasm washing over me inwave after wave of pleasure. My knees buckle, and I lean heavily against the shower wall, panting, trembling, utterly spent.
The orgasm dissolves slowly, replaced by the warm rush of reality and the pounding of water on my flushed skin. Shame creeps in just a bit, mingled with satisfaction.
I force myself upright, rinsing my body clean as I feel the delicious aftershocks of release rippling through me. I can't believe how easily, how vividly, he took over my imagination. It feels dangerous, but God help me, it feels so damn good, too.
I finish quickly, stepping out and wrapping myself in a fluffy towel. As I catch my reflection in the mirror, cheeks still flushed, I shake my head at myself.
I don't know how I'm supposed to look Abram in the eye today without blushing furiously and betraying every filthy thought I just had.
But I'm going to have to figure it out, and soon. Because after this morning, I'm not sure how much longer I can pretend Abram Vasiliev hasn't completely, irreversibly, gotten under my skin.
I slip into my professional armor—pencil skirt, silky blouse, heels—and twist my unruly red curls into submission, forcing myself back into the careful, controlled version of Jenna Ridley that Abram expects to see every morning.
But beneath the polished surface I'm still burning. Still wondering. Still remembering the way those hands felt, the way that voice sounded, thick with accent and lust.
Fuck, how am I supposed to get through today without picturing Abram naked, taking me exactly how he wanted? Withoutpicturing myself on his desk, him pushing my skirt up, growling filthy Russian phrases into my ear?
My cheeks burn hot. I'm so screwed.
I shake my head, grabbing my travel mug of coffee and keys as I head out the door, bracing myself for whatever fresh hell Abram Vasiliev has planned for today.
As I lock the door behind me, one last shiver races down my spine, one of half excitement, half dread. Because if that masked man was Abram, it means I've seen his most intimate side, and he's seen mine.
It might already be too late to forget.
CHAPTER 12
ABRAM
She’s beneath me, legs spread, mask slightly askew as I drive into her again and again.
Her hands grip the couch, back arching as she cries out. Her thighs tremble around my hips, and her breasts sway with each deep plunge. I drag one hand up her ribcage, pin her wrists above her head, and lean down to whisper?—
HONNNNK.
The blaring horn yanks me out of the fantasy as surely as a punch to the goddamn face. I swerve back into my lane with a growl, the other car speeding past, the driver flipping me off in the rearview. I don’t blame him.
Get your brain out of your pants, Abram.
I grip the wheel tighter, flexing my fingers like I can shake her off. But it’s no use. I’ve been doing this all weekend—slipping into daydreams, letting her take over. I even gave in once, late Saturday night, alone in my penthouse with the city glittering below and her scent still on my skin.
