Page 70 of Wilt

He moves his hand and picks up my other leg, my heel on his other shoulder. Then he lowers himself, his cock at my pussy, and I feel my stomach twist in anticipation.

The asshole doesn’t fuck me. No, instead, he rocks against me and takes my face in his hands, kissing me as he bumps my clit with the head of his cock.

I’m drowning willingly in all these sensations. It’s a blitz. I try to get him to slip as he thrusts to hit my clit, never aiming for my entrance. I lift my hips, I wiggle, but all he does is kiss me so deep, again and again, that I’m losing control.

Nikolai lifts his head, and his stare is so intense, I can’t do anything but stare back. We’re locked in as he deliberately moves, slowing his thrusts until—oh, fuck—the tip of his cock parts my lips.

He could easily take me. Split me open. Steal what I’m offering. I’m so wet. The position he’s got me in is made for his access and control. My breath is shallow, my skin burning and heart slamming against my ribs as he keeps his gaze locked on me, his cock rocking back and just in, back and just in.

I can feel the parting of my lips. The stretch. The anticipation of more. I try to raise up, try to move my hips to take him in, but when I get even a little motion, he pulls back.

It’s insane how hot this is, how I’m vibrating on the very edge of dismay and orgasm, of virgin and taken, empty and his. His expression doesn’t change. The burn of his eyes, the set to his face. It’s so intense, so erotic, so focused. I’m completely under his spell.

Teases me, rocking back and forth just a centimeter until that ache is a fire of desperate need in my belly.

Suddenly, he moves, sitting back, dragging me up and keeping me splayed open on his lap. His gaze goes to his cock, my pussy, and he’s pumping his shaft with one hand. As he starts to come, he shoves three fingers inside me and curls them, and we both shatter together, his cum coating my stomach.

He pulls away completely and staggers off the bed.

“Go to bed, Rose.”

Nikolai heads to his bathroom and doesn’t look back.

What just happened?

I take a deep breath, and on shaking legs that threaten to give way, I stagger back to my room, kicking off the heels and climbing under the covers, curling in a ball. I smooth his cum off me and will myself not to cry.

Chapter24

Nikolai

Fuck me, I’m not going to be able to resist her much longer. It’s why I sent her to fucking bed, why I didn’t look back. Her brat behavior and deliberate provocations and demands should have angered me.

Instead, I liked them.

She’s got fire and the will to win. Some might say I’ve got her where I want her, but from where I sit in my underwear, hair still damp from the shower, glass of scotch and my computer on my lap, it’s an almost but not quite one hundred percent.

I watched her after she left, watched her through the camera as she kicked off the shoes and crawled into bed, a ball of misery. I watched when she flung back the covers, dumped the collar that cost a fortune on the floor like it was a plastic thing from a dime store, and stripped down for the bathroom. I watched when she trailed back through, hair wet and in my damned shirt. She picked up the necklace and placed it on the chair I had brought in while we were out, on top of the books I sent up.

She’s still there, on the screen, in the top corner, sleeping.

I want her in my bed, where I can look at her, touch her when I want. Unfortunately, touching is a problem because I don’t want to stop. I don’t ever want to fucking stop.

When I teased her, I almost lost it. I almost took that vestige of her virginity, that final act to make and mark her as mine.

Yeah, I’m really not going to be able to resist her much longer.

While I destroyed the burner, I’m not shocked that Finnegan hasn’t answered his regular phone. When we pulled up, Tony handed me another that came while we were out. There was one number on it, a note on top stating that he’ll call tomorrow. Fuck that.

I’m guessing Finnegan’s in his safe place, hidden and hidden well. He’d never admit it, but he’s scared of what I can do. He should be. I might not do some of the fucked up, low down, cowardly things he does to women, children, whoever, but I’m worse than him.

Finnegan is a master at underestimation. His cockiness is going to be his undoing. The man doesn’t care about his daughter, not as a person. But as his offspring, an heir, his property? Absolutely. He doesn’t share.

I don’t either, but in a different way.

I turn the phone over in my hand, thinking of my next move. I’m going to need to walk a fine line here, push all his buttons, but only the right ones all the way down. With a sigh, I hit the number.

It rings, and for a second, I don’t think he’s going to answer, like this is some kind of asinine power play. But he does. Finally.

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