Page 94 of Arranged Marriage to the Brutal Bratva King
“That’s it,” he encourages. “Let me see you.”
I’m climbing fast, his touch relentless and perfect. When I come, it crashes through me in waves, stealing breath and thought and everything except the feeling of his hands on my body.
Before I can recover, he’s positioned between my thighs, the head of his cock pressing against me. He slides in slowly, letting me adjust to the stretch, watching my face the entire time.
“Okay?” he asks when he’s fully seated.
“God yes.”
He starts to move, and this time there’s no urgency. Just long, slow thrusts that let me feel every inch of him. His hands frame my face, thumbs stroking my cheeks, and the tenderness of it undoes me more than the pleasure.
“Look at me,” he commands softly.
I meet his eyes, gray and intense and completely focused on me. He picks up the pace slightly, angling his hips to hit deeper, and I’m building again impossibly fast.
“I don’t understand this,” I gasp. “How you can be this and that and—”
“I know.” He kisses me, deep and thorough. “I don’t understand it either.”
His rhythm changes, thrusts becoming deeper. Each stroke drags against nerves that are already over-sensitized, pleasure bordering on too much. I cling to his shoulders, nails scoring lines down his back that will mark him tomorrow.
“Slower,” I breathe. “I want, fuck, I need—”
“Tell me.” His hand slides under my knee, lifting my leg higher, opening me wider for him. The new angle makes me cry out. “Tell me what you need.”
“Everything. All of you.” The words tumble out without filter. “I need to feel you everywhere.”
He groans, low and rough, and pulls out completely. Before I can protest, he’s flipping me onto my stomach, hands gripping my hips, lifting me to my knees. The position leaves me exposed, vulnerable, and when he slides back in from behind, the depth steals my breath.
“Like this?” His voice is rough against my ear, body covering mine, one arm wrapped around my waist to hold me steady. “Is this what you need?”
“Yes! God, yes.”
He sets a rhythm that’s almost punishing, each thrust driving deeper than before. His free hand slides up my body, cupping my breast, rolling my nipple between his fingers. The sensation shoots straight to where we’re joined, making me clench around him.
“You feel incredible,” he murmurs. “So tight. So perfect.” His hand moves from my breast to my throat, fingers resting lightly against my pulse. Not squeezing, just holding. “Mine.”
The possessiveness should bother me. Instead, it sends heat pooling low in my belly, makes me push back against him harder.
His grip on my hip tightens, control slipping. I can feel it in how his breathing roughens, how his movements lose their careful precision. He’s close, holding back for my sake.
“I need—” I can’t finish the sentence, pleasure building too fast.
“I know.” His hand slides from my throat down my body, finding my clit. “Come for me, Janice. Let me feel it.”
The combination of his cock driving into me and his fingers circling is devastating. I shatter with a cry that’s half his name, half incoherent sound, clenching around him so hard he swears in Russian.
“Again,” he commands, not slowing his pace. “You can give me another.”
“I can’t; it’s too much.”
“You can.” His fingers work my clit with ruthless precision, not letting me come down from the first orgasm. “Your body knows what it needs. Trust it.”
The pleasure is almost painful, too intense, but he’s relentless. He shifts the angle slightly, finding a spot inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyes. I’m climbing again impossibly fast, every nerve ending screaming.
“That’s it,” he encourages. “So beautiful like this. Completely mine.”
When the third orgasm hits, it’s the strongest. Longer. I’m drowning in sensation, trembling uncontrollably, and Dimitri finally loses his iron control. His thrusts turn erratic, desperate, and he buries himself deep with a groan that sounds like surrender.
