Velvet Devil: A Russian Mafia Romance (9)

I’ve never been so turned on by a kiss. Then, before I can catch my breath, he’s spun me around so that my back is to him. Our reflections staring back at us.

Isaak towers over me. His face is cast in shadow, but those eyes shine through anyways like they’re lit from within. It’s hard to look away.

I watch with bated breath as his hands trail over my figure, tracing my shape slowly. He peels my coat off and lets it fall at our feet. Then his fingers are at my side, pulling down the zipper holding me in this dress.

I couldn’t wear a bra with it, so when the last of the zipper gives way and the dress peels down, my breasts spring free. Isaak cups one in his palm and tweaks my nipple. I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out.

My panties are completely soaked through. I might be embarrassed if I weren’t so desperate for him.

When he starts pinching my nipples between his fingers, my spine arches of its own accord and the back of my head hits his chest.

One hand finds my throat and squeezes gently. Enough to threaten danger. The other hand slides leisurely down my front. Dips past the hem of my panties.

And finds the part of me that wants him most.

He fingers me gently, eliciting hard-won moans as I struggle to keep quiet. I grip the edge of the counter for stability. My legs are turning to jelly with every passing second.

I feel the shift in the air at the same time he does. This isn’t enough, it’s saying. We need more.

With a feral growl, Isaak grabs my panties in one hand and jerks them halfway down my thighs. Then he plants a heavy palm on the back of my neck and shoves me forward.

That stupid, preachy voice cries out in my head again. Shouldn’t you slap him? Shouldn’t you be offended? Shouldn’t you say no?

I always would’ve said I’m not the type of girl who has sex like this.

But maybe there’s more to us than we ever realize.

And it takes a man like Isaak to bring that part to light.

I can’t see his hand with my cheek pressed flush against the cold marble, but I can feel him moving behind me. Can hear the sound of his zipper rustling.

And then, when his hardness brushes up against my opening, I cry out.

There’s a slight nagging in the back of my head. A gentle reminder that’s alerting me to the fact that I might be forgetting something. He might be forgetting something.

But in the next second, he pushes inside me, filling me with one deep thrust, and I forget everything.

My own name vanishes and my control over my cries goes with it as he starts fucking me.

He’s going so slow, though. Even as every grind of his hips fills me more than I’ve ever been filled before, it’s not enough to feed the fire.

I start to push myself back onto his cock, but he stops me by gripping my hips in place.

“No, kiska,” he growls ferociously. “You’ll move when I say you can move. Moan when I say you can moan. Is that understood?”

He’s still pinning me down to the expanse of marble between the gilded sinks. I try to nod, but Isaak’s fingers tamp down on the back of my neck. At the same time, he slaps my bare ass hard. I cry out.

“Use your words,” he orders. His face is a mask of cruel and savage lust.

“Yes,” I whisper back. Hating myself for saying it. Loving him for making me.

I glance up and catch sight of myself in the mirror. I’m splayed out before him, and he dominates the mirror, his reflection larger than life and intensely powerful. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

Then, satisfied, he starts pounding into me, fucking me hard. Each thrust forces out a moan. Louder and louder.

I’m wide open and soaking wet for him. He’s so deep that he’s making my eyes roll back in my head.

And it’s still not enough.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmurs, leaning down to nip my ear between his teeth. His fucking gets harder and harder. Our hips crash together. My hair dances in a frenetic halo around my head.

I feel the orgasm coming from a long way off. The tempo increases, bringing it closer, closer, closer…

Until it’s almost on me. Until I’m scratching and clawing at the marble. Until my throat is raw from moaning and my legs are shaking from supporting my weight and Isaak still hasn’t stopped fucking me harder, as hard as he can, as hard as I can take it.

Until it breaks over me and drowns me in its waves.

The first clench has me spasming. Isaak keeps me pinned in place. His body flush over mine. I need that solidity. That comfort. That smell.

Otherwise, this orgasm might break me.

He fucks me again. Again. Again.

Then, just as the most intense contractions pass, he takes his turn. He grabs my hair into a makeshift ponytail and uses it to jerk me upright.

Then, with his hand on my throat, he empties himself with a roar.

I almost come again at the sight of his face in the mirror as he erupts. A single bead of sweat trickles down his perfect cheekbone.

I’m breathing hard. Sweat gathers at the base of my neck and across my collarbone. Isaak pulls out and grabs a pair of the ivory hand towels from the rack on the counter.

He offers me one. I take it, though I keep one hand planted on the marble so I don’t fall over. My legs are mush and the rest of me isn’t much stronger.

My thoughts are slowly drifting back to earth as I clean myself up.