The Master (The Game Maker #2)(9)

His expression grew stern. “You disobeyed me. You came without permission.”

I stretched my arms over my head, loving his gaze on my tits. “I regret nothing.”

He unbuckled his belt, his movements menacing. So why did I feel no fear of this strange man? He snagged a condom from his pocket, then unzipped his slacks. As he worked them over his massive erection, I gasped.

His cock was a work of art. Distended, damp-tipped, with a plum-colored crown and a thick veined shaft. I wished I could explore every inch of it at my leisure. I’d never been a fan of head, but I licked my lips to imagine my tongue flicking that bulbous tip, teasing it. My mouth nursing that length . . .

He stood nude before me, his body the most mouthwatering I’d ever seen. All I could think: Best job ever!!!

He wrapped his big fist around his shaft, giving a stroke that rendered me breathless. More moisture beaded the slit. As he rolled on what had to be an extra-large condom, he said, “Show me what I’m soon to enjoy.” There was no mistaking his tone. He’d given me a command.

Beautiful arrogant man.

I would follow his order, but I’d do it my way. I lifted one foot onto the couch back, resting the stiletto heel against the sofa’s piping, then let my knees fall wide. I undulated in this position, taunting him with my spread *. “How do you like variety now, querido?”

His cock pulsated in his hand, and he muttered something in Russian that sounded like a curse. He returned to the couch, kneeling between my legs. The difference in our sizes struck me. He made me feel tiny and fragile—while he was all hard edges and power.

He leaned over me, using one hand to restrain my wrists over my head. With his other, he gripped his shaft and aimed it. When the crown slipped down my slickened lips, he hissed in a breath. “So f*cking wet for me.”

As he prodded that broad head, I had my first worry.

I was soaked, but he was big—

He shoved inside to the hilt, yelling with pleasure.

Too big! “Ow! Hold up!” I strained against his grip. “Mierda, give me a minute.”

Lips parted, he released my wrists and drew back on his knees, leaving me pinned on his cock. “ ‘Ow? Hold up?’ ” This was the second time he’d flashed me that expression of shock/amazement; I termed the look Máximo shockeado. “You’re determined to enjoy your f*cking?”

I guessed other women had let him shove away. “Let me get used to your size.” The fit was so tight that I could feel his dick throbbing with each of his heartbeats. “Can you do that?”

He held himself still, shuddering from the effort. His skin began to dampen with a sheen of sweat. He grated, “Somehow.”

Tentatively, I rolled my hips, sending his shaft in and out of me.

In . . . out . . .

In . . . out . . .

In. Out.

In.

Each time I could accept his length more readily, my body accommodating his. Pleasure subdued the pain. My lids grew heavy again.

“Good girl.” His gaze was fixed between my legs. “I see you taking me, dushen’ka.”

When he leaned over me once more, I threaded my fingers through his thick hair. At my ear, he murmured Russian words, then he took my mouth. He’d liked it when I’d sucked on his tongue, so I did it again—

He growled into our kiss, his hips shooting forward between my legs. It didn’t hurt this time, wrenched a moan from me. He withdrew, then sank even deeper. And it was . . .

Increíble! I broke away to cry, “Yes, yes! Más, Máxim!”

Leaning on his forearms, he began to surge into me. His black hair was mussed from my frantic grip, his eyes hooded. He stared down at my face, brows drawn, as if I’d confounded him. “You’re making me lose control.”

Did I appear as lost to lust as he did? “I don’t want you to hold back,” I panted, spellbound by him.

His gaze narrowed, as if I’d challenged him—or was giving him lip service. He withdrew, then rammed his hips forward, taking my breath away.

But I loved his strength, his intensity. “That’s all you’ve got, Ruso?”

He went to his knees again and gripped my hips. “That was a warm-up.” Seeming to use every muscle in his body, he yanked me close as he shoved. “Uhn!”

I cried out, lifting up to meet his next thrust. He rocked into me; I rolled up to him, the pressure hitting my clit each time. Once the two of us were in sync, our bodies moving together, he pistoned between my legs, railing me as I’d never been f*cked before.

Fuck of the century? Try millennium! I was holding on for dear life, hovering on the very verge of orgasm.

“So tight,” he grunted, his jaw set as he pounded away.

Ay, Dios mío, he could move! Each time he snatched me to him, his biceps bulged. His pecs flexed, hard slabs of muscle beneath sweat-lathered skin.

Just watching his toiling body pushed me closer to the brink. He enjoyed watching as well, was transfixed by my bouncing breasts.

The tension gathering inside me was about to release—if he kept up those long, deep thrusts. So close . . . so close . . .

Accent thick as gravel, he bit out, “I love your nipples, your tits, your gripping *. The way you watch me with those stunning eyes. You like to watch me f*ck you?”

“Yes! Máxim, you’re going . . . to make me come . . . hard!”