Page 48 of Immaculate Corruption (Romanoff Bratva)

Dima unbuttons my pants. My free hand immediately slides into his hair. I curl my fingers through his locks as he rips my jeans down and tosses them into the pile with his shirt.

I’m conscious of the fact I slept in a car and haven’t had a real shower in God only knows how long—but only for a second. As soon as Dima pushes my panties aside and curls a finger against my center, I’m barely conscious of anything.

I spread my legs and beg him for more. I’m moaning with every caress. Every thrust.

“You’re so wet,” he whispers, sliding a second finger inside of me and curling against my insides until my toes curl.

“I had a sex dream about you last night,” I admit breathlessly. “All of my sex dreams are about you. All of them.”

Dima stops suddenly and crawls over me, his blue eyes nearly eaten away by the black of his pupil. “Describe it to me.”

I miss him inside of me already.

I want it again. I want more.

“What?” I ask, lost in lust.

“Tell me your dream,” he says, “any dream. Let me make it real.”

My entire body comes alive at his words. At this man, this sex god, hovering over me, asking if he can make my fantasies come true.

Suddenly, my hesitation and nervousness is gone. The hunger inside of me has taken over.

I want this. I want him.

When I don’t answer, he leans back and slides out of his jeans. His eyes stay locked on mine as he watches me pull my shirt over my head, slide my panties down my legs, and unsnap my bra.

When I’m before him, naked, Dima bites his knuckle and shakes his head. “Holy fuck. You’re a goddamn dream, Arya.”

I smile and shake my head. “No, that comes later. First, we play.”

Something between a laugh and a growl escapes Dima. He reaches for me and, to my surprise, flips me over with one huge hand onto my stomach. He spreads my thighs apart again.

“Stay like that,” he orders in a husk rasp. “Bite the pillow if you need to scream.”

Then he descends over me. His body blankets mine with heat and scent and weight, pressing me down. All I can smell is him.

Dima slides his hard cock between my ass cheeks.

“Tell me your dream, Arya.”

Rather than tell him, I show him.

I lift my hips slightly, elevating my body off the bed just high enough that Dima’s hand can slide around to my center. His finger circles over me readily. Warmth floods from my head to my toes.

I shimmy my hips so I can grind against his hand and stroke his cock with my ass at the same time.

Dima growls and rubs my clit faster. Just when my body starts to crest, when I feel myself reaching the tipping point, I lift my hips higher, grab his length, and press him to my entrance.

He slides in without hesitation. He doesn’t stop until he’s as deep inside of me as possible. Our hips meet flush.

I’ve never been fuller.

I cry out, grateful Vera informed us about her white noise machine. I’d hate to ruin my dream come true with muffled cries.

“Fuck me,” I beg, reaching back to grab his thighs with my hands. “Hard.”

“Don’t fucking move,” he barks. Dima grips my hips and slams into me again and again. Each thrust presses me into the mattress.

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