Heart of My Monster (Monster Trilogy, #3)(51)

“We’ll try again.” He thrusts with a heightening pace and applies the perfect pressure on my clit. “Did any other fucker touch my cunt?”

“Oh, shit.”

“It’s a yes or no question. Which one is it?”

His hand starts to ease off my pussy, and I jerk, grabbing his wrist to keep it there. “No.”

“No, what?”

“No one’s touched me since you.”

Flaming possessiveness shines in his eyes, and he goes all the way, pounding into me in an animalistic frenzy.

I come with a violent shake, my clit and pussy throbbing in synch with his touch.

“And no one will,” he whispers against my throat. “I’m the only one who’s allowed to touch my fucking wife.”

I’m still riding the shock waves of the orgasm and can’t exactly speak, let alone think.

All I can do is give in to the carnal temptation and the unforgiving pleasure Kirill wrenches out of me.

He removes his hand from my pussy, and a sense of emptiness rattles me to the bone. I want to be filled again and fucked savagely like only he knows how.

To my horror, he also releases my throat, leaving me entirely empty. His harsh eyes remain on me as he unbuckles his belt and wraps it around his palm.

Arousal floods my inner thighs at the image. That belt has always been associated with my most depraved tendencies.

He frees his cock with the other hand. It’s veiny, hard, and has a hint of precum glistening at the crown.

I’m unable to stop staring as he jerks himself in a few violent strokes, making it even harder.

I wrap a hand around his and slowly push it out of the way so that I’m the one touching him.

It’s been such a long time that I nearly forgot how much I love his cock and the way it twitches to life beneath my fingers.

“That’s it,” he groans back in his throat and throws his head back. “Do it faster. You won’t hurt me.”

I up my pace, and when I feel him tensing, I squeeze as hard as I can. “Did you fuck anyone else after I was gone?”

His eyes focus back on mine, and he bites his lower lip like some sort of a sex god. Then he wraps his belt around my throat and tugs me against his strong chest. His cock is trapped between us, and I’m still squeezing.

The more I picture another woman having him, the harder I tighten my fist.

In my mind, he was never supposed to be anyone else’s. I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done if he’d actually married Kristina.

I like to think of myself as a good person, but I would’ve definitely become a fucking devil if she was his wife.

“You think I had the time to look at other women when I was fucking mourning you?” His deep voice drips with unveiled anger, and I don’t think it’s due to the pain I’m causing.

It sounds more raw and intrusive. More…hurt.

That’s when it hits me.

Earlier, when he demanded that I apologize for leaving him, I thought it was some sort of a power play, and I hated him for it. But now that I get a clear look beneath his mask, I’m tempted to believe that he was actually hurt.

The mighty Kirill Morozov was in pain because of me.

I have to stop myself from blurting the apology that’s trying to burst through. Instead, I jerk him up and down in an attempt to reawaken his pleasure.

Kirill forces me to release him and I kick my jeans and panties away to give him a better angle. He lifts one of my legs so that it’s lined up with his waist and his mythical eyes meet mine.

I’m momentarily distracted.

No, the correct word would be trapped.

I’m completely caught in a trance by the depth in them. The mystic emotions swirling through them. It’s almost as if…he’s releasing a beast that’s been lurking inside him all this time.

Or maybe it’s the man that he’s finally letting loose this time.

Kirill holds the belt in one fist and tightens his grip. My breath constricts, and that causes my pussy to throb harder.

“You’re never allowed to leave my sight again.” And then he thrusts inside me.

My body jerks, and my hip hits the wooden railing behind me. It’s been a long time, and Kirill is fucking huge. A tinge of pain mixes with the overwhelming pleasure, and I have to grab onto the railing so I don’t collapse.

The first few weeks after I left for Russia were physical and emotional hell. I told myself I hated him, and I did, but that didn’t mean I stopped missing him or the animalistic touch that only he could give me.

The bastard ruined me for all other men. I can’t look at anyone else and feel this overwhelming pleasure and these damned emotions.

No.

I roll my hips, taking him as he goes deeper. There are no emotions involved here. There shouldn’t be any emotions.

This is only about physical attraction and taking care of each other’s bodily needs.

“My wife.” He tightens the belt further, and I clench around his cock. “My woman.” Thrust. “Fucking mine.”

Then he‘s kissing me savagely. Like he can’t get enough. Like my taste is everything he needed.

It’s only physical.

I chant in my head as I kiss him with the same animalistic need. I don’t even care that the railing is digging into my back and that I can feel bruises forming.