The Player (The Game Maker #3)(55)

His broad crown nudged my entrance. This was happening? I could feel his piercing; the metal was sizzling.

He broke our kiss to catch my eyes. “Are you ready, moya zhena?” He rubbed the head up and down my *, spreading my wetness. Again and again, he did this—as if he readied to cross a line but still debated it.

Every time the tip met my entrance, I tilted my hips to catch him. I was shaking for it, clutching his shoulders. My wedding ring caught my attention, and a sense of déjà vu hit me, as if it had always adorned my finger—and always would. I faced him. “I’m ready.”

His jaw was set, those dark amber eyes claiming me as much as his body was about to. He held my gaze as he worked the head in. His rigid shaft forced my flesh to yield.

He gave a shallow pump of his hips, making me cry out.

So much pleasure. . . .

A groan rumbled from his chest, and sweat misted his skin. He continued deeper, filling me, claiming me.

Changing me.

I was never going to be the same after this. Even in the midst of my chaotic emotions, I recognized that.

Once he was seated deep within me, we lay frozen like that. He rasped, “Rai.” Heaven.

I panted. “Yes, it is.”

“Who would ever want to leave heaven?”

As in drifting?

“Just keep looking at me, Vika. My God, the way your body feels . . . we’ll know soon enough.” He moved me to my back, resting between my thighs. His powerful frame loomed over me.

I tested his command with his first full thrust—because my eyes rolled back in my head. “Oh, my God.” I melted around him, gripping his arms.

“I need to look into your beautiful eyes.”

I met his gaze, struggling to catch my breath. “Dmitri.” His name was my plea for more.

He pulled his hips back, then slowly rocked inside me. “You belong to me now.” His voice was hoarse. “Irrevocably.”

My back arched, my nipples grazing his dampened chest.

With his next thrust, he bit out words in Russian.

My nails dug into his skin. “English, baby. I want to know. . . .”

“I knew it was you,” he said, his expression half-crazed. He gripped one of my hips, stretching his thumb to rub my clit.

I whimpered from the added sensation.

“I knew you’d be my wife. I am obsessed with you, Victoria. Always will be.”

Right now I understood. He was a dream lover, using his flawless body to deliver pleasure. Maybe I was already obsessed with him too. My hands dipped to grip his ass.

Still working my clit, he gave a harder thrust. And another. “I would’ve done anything to possess you! Remember that.”

Every time I thought he couldn’t go deeper, he’d plunge with more force, making me cry out in surprise. I was captivated by the wild look in his eyes and the feel of his ass working under my fingers.

He clamped the backs of my knees and bucked hard between my spread thighs. Sweat dripped from his forehead onto my bouncing breasts. “Your body drives me mad.” He shoved inside me, stealing my breath.

My head thrashed. “Ah, God!” I locked my legs around his waist, couldn’t get close enough to him.

“Give yourself to me.” He clasped my nape and drew me up. “Give me everything you are!” He’d told me he would always want more, that he’d coax it from me. Now he was demanding I surrender to him.

To this life.

He was demanding it with his enthralling eyes. With his unyielding grip on my body.

“Dmitri!” I fought the pleasure, wanting this never to end. “I’m so close . . . so close!”

“You wear my ring.” Thrust. “You always will. You’re my wife. Say it.” Thrust.

Falling deeper under his spell, I said, “I’m your wife.”

He gnashed his teeth. “Again!”

“I’m your wife!” He made me say it over and over, till I was murmuring it on my own, mesmerizing myself.

At my ear, he confessed: “It was always going to be you. Or it never would have been.”

A sudden scream burst from my lungs. I orgasmed, not just from sensation—but from emotion. My fingers clutched at him, nails digging in.

“I feel you . . . feel you coming for me!”

I writhed beneath him, pleasure coursing through every inch of me. In those shattering moments, I was his.

Connected to him as I’d never been to another.

I’d barely drifted back to reality when he commanded, “Cross your arms over your chest.”

I didn’t ask, only obeyed.

He grabbed my wrists and trapped me with my own arms. I couldn’t move if I wanted to. This was bondage—without leather or chains. Just a man taking his pleasure.

Once I was positioned as he desired, Dmitri Sevastyan started . . . to f*ck.

He rammed his massive body between my thighs, using his grip on me for leverage. Pistoning his cock inside me from hilt to tip, he pounded my *.

I’d never felt anything so deep, as if he were taking my virginity. “What’re you doing to me?”

He seemed to cling to the last of his control. “Fucking—my—wife.”

“Ahhh!” I came with a scream. He slammed me harder. I came again.

He was railing my mind blank, long-dicking me into oblivion. Only one thought remained: I’m his.