Page 39 of Jewel of the Assassin
When he grinds his cock against my spread folds, I arch myneck, surrendering to him. His deep groan rumbles from his chest and resonates in my throat. It kindles my blood more.
“One more little development,” he breathes hot across my face. He smells like sin and leather, sweat and masculine musk. Dominance incarnate.
A second later, he drops to his knees, stroking up my thighs, and then…
“Oh, fuck!” I scream from his tongue torturing my pussy. “Oh, damn you, you sonofa?—”
He doesn’t just lick. He devours. He eats me, unhindered by the pussy spreader. It only gives him more access to everything. My hips rock when he closes his lips around my clit, tongue circling, flicking, and stabbing at the hypersensitive flesh.
I can’t hold back.
As if he knows exactly when I’m about to come, he bites down on my clit, tearing the orgasm away from me.
“Roman, you fucking asshole, let me have it. Give it to me!” I screech.
“Who are you?” he growls, rising and coiling a strong hand around my throat.
Somehow, I manage to gasp, “Your wife. Yours!”
“And now, Maya Valya, you will come. From one goddamn thrust!”
He notches his crown to my slit and slams inside, spearing me to the hilt, impaling me on his cock.
My scream is so strident, it must crack the stones.
“Fuckfuckfuck, Valentina, yes!” he says, words overlapping my scream as he pants, muscles bulging. “Fucking owned!”
“Roman Makarova!” My pussy erupts, convulsing all around him, gushing as I come, soaring through showers of liquid stars. He captures my mouth, swallowing my back-to-back screams as the orgasm rips through me. Tingles saturate my skin, and I’m soon shaking, gasping in the aftermath.
“Good girl. And now, your reward.”
He places something against my clit. I sob from the sudden licking and pulsating sensation.
“A rose sucker and vibrator in one,” he murmurs in my ear, and I’m undone.
The vibrating sucker stimulates my clit, surging more blood there, turning it fat and swollen, beyond hypersensitive. I go over the edge one more time, clenching and spasming all around Roman’s cock.
How can it be so painful, so tight, if we’ve done this a thousand times over the past two years?
He’s stretching me to the breaking point, filling every inch of me. He kisses me with unrivaled hunger. I shift, trying to adjust to his cock burning and swelling every part of me.
I swear I feel a stream of fluids release, wetting his member.
Jaw locked, he holds my gaze, green eyes blazing with intensity. I buck, writhe, and roll my hips. The rose sucker resonates in my pussy and licks at my clit, threatening to send me over the edge again. Beneath its hum, I hear the faint sound of my cunt sucking, squelching from how soaked it is. And inflamed.
But I focus on him. My husband.
“So fucking exquisite,” he says, suspended between worlds, not moving, not thrusting. Yet. “And all mine. My wife.” His warm palm grips my throat, firm but not tight.
The pressure of his hand increases. Slight. Measured. Intimate. Head tilted, he holds my gaze.
It’s pure torture. But I don’t know what’s worse. The breath play. Or his un-moving cock.
My lungs strain, a heated ache filling my chest as the oxygen thins. Every nerve sharpens. Every sound dulls. The world narrows to his grip, his body, his control.My pulse thrums wildly beneath his fingers, and I know he can feel it—feels me.
It’s not just pain. It’s not just pleasure.
It’s the surrender. The trust. The beautiful madness of his cruelty.
