The Professional: Part 2 (The Game Maker #1.2)(20)

As I petted my clit with the bulbous tip, his towering body shuddered with need. “Enough teasing. Wanted this too long.”

He covered my hand with his own, fitting the crown against my entrance, pressing forward just a fraction.

As soon as I knew without any doubt that I was about to lose my virginity, worries crept in. He was far larger than anything that had ever gone into my body. This is going to hurt.

He pulled our hands away, then began easing deeper, wedging the broad head inside. My gasp was cut off by his lips, hungry and insistent as he sank his cock farther. Each inch forced me to stretch more and more; where would it end?

Just as I felt a tendril of panic, he drew back. His smoldering eyes scanned my face, gauging my every reaction.

Though the hot water had long since run out, I began to sweat. The stretch burned—too big, too big—so I raised myself up on my toes to buy some time.

He shook his head slowly. “Take it.” His free hand seized my hip to hold me steady.

I inhaled for courage. Once I’d relaxed a degree, he murmured, “My good girl,” then continued his inexorable possession of my body.

I felt pain—no surprise, considering his size—but I could bear it. When I’d accepted as much of his shaft as possible, when he was seated deeply inside me, he went still again. Though I sensed in him a ravenous lust—the urge to thrust must be lashing him—he somehow harnessed his aggression, battling his most primal drives.

Even as his neck corded with strain and his muscles shook.

Even as I could feel his cock throb inside me with every beat of his heart.

Voice a harsh grate, he said simply: “Moya.” Mine.

At that moment I was completely his. I was joined with him, impaled by him, and there was no escape. Like I danced along the edge of a volcano about to blow—or gazed up at a rupturing dam.

“Moya.” He drew his hips back, then eased them forward. The pain faded, and in its place came a hint of something so incredible—

He did it again.

My lids went heavy as wonder suffused me. Rapture. Fullness. Connection. With his next measured thrust, I breathed, “Oh, my God.”

“You like that, pet.”

Adore. “I never knew.” My hands relaxed their death grip on his shoulders and began sweeping caresses over his sculpted back.

“My woman’s getting so wet.” Another roll of his hips had me sinking my nails into the rock-hard contours of his ass.

When I began to move with him, he bit out, “You want more?”

“Yes, God, yes!”

He lifted me with an arm looped around my back. “Hold on to me. Legs around my waist.”

When I locked them there, possessive hands cupped my ass, forcing me to slip back down his slicked cock. His shaft hit me at a new angle, and my eyes went wide. The pinch was fleeting; the pleasure mounted.

“Surrender, Natalya.”

I gave a cry, and did. Tonight I was his without reservation.

His golden eyes held me rapt as he surged against me, into me, cock thickening even more. When my nipples raked over his muscular chest, I tightened my arms around him, unable to get close enough.

He was inside me; I wanted to be enveloped by him.

His wicked, tattooed body was working mine, controlling my pleasure, heightening it in every way. The marble on the undamaged wall was smooth against my back. I slid up and down against it, slid up and down his throbbing length.

I was already racing toward my orgasm when his words ghosted over my ear: “You’re giving me such a hot, wet clutch . . . about to steal my cum from me before I’m ready.”

He was as close as I was? Even in this position, I began to meet his thrusts, writhing on his cock, grinding my swollen clitoris against him.

He gnashed his teeth. “Stop, milaya. Or I’ll come.”

I was too far gone to stop; surely we both were. I squeezed my legs around his waist so I could undulate faster, harder. Water collected at the tight seal where our bodies met, my feverish movements sending it sloshing.

He splayed his fingers over my ass, grating, “Said . . . to stop.” He dug into my curves to hold me in place, but his punishing grip just turned me on more.

Mindless, I panted, “Oh, God, oh, God!”

“Then moan for me, pet. Never get enough of that sound.”

I did, until screams replaced my moans as I hurtled ever closer. “Sevastyan!”

He bit out, “I want to feel how hard my woman comes. Wring my seed from me.”

At that, I crashed over the edge, my inner walls clamping down on his length. He gave a yell and ceased his thrusts; I knew he could feel me milking his cock with rhythmic contractions, demanding everything from him.

He held himself still as I clenched him over and over; spasms left me unable to do anything but repeat his name as my head lolled.

He wrapped my hair around his fist, forcing me to look at him. Between breaths, he said, “Ty moya.” You are mine.

Then he threw back his head and bellowed, beginning to ejaculate into me. I could feel his semen jetting inside, like a scalding tide. Only then did he thrust again, bucking his hips in a frenzy to pump himself dry, yelling from the force of his cum. . . .

Afterward, he clasped me against him so tightly, it was to the point of pain. I needed it, wanted him to squeeze me even harder.

I don’t know how long we remained like that, hearts thundering together, his hips softly rocking. Hours might have passed. When even the cold water from the tanks began sputtering, he carried me from the shower, arm clasped under my ass, his semihard cock still inside me.