Page 13 of Stolen Bride
I know that Nik is not a good man. If the kidnapping wasn’t the first clue, it’s in the way he carries himself, in the tattoos on his hands, in the possessive way he looks at me.
Maybe, I want to be bad.
“Go on, then.” I toss my long brown hair over my shoulder. “Show me what to do.”
Heat flares in his eyes. He brings one tattooed hand to my throat, circling it. I swallow against his tight grip. Either I am about to get murdered, or lose my virginity in spectacular fashion. Or both. Very possibly, both.
There’s a nervous pulse in my core as I gaze up at him, unflinching.
“No backing out, Sierra. Last chance. If you say yes, I’m going to fuck you until you’re pregnant with my heir.”
His words shock the breath out of me. Desire floods my body, filling my core, pooling heavy and hot in my aching breasts, turning my pussy slick with need.
Maybe he isn’t a good man, but he’s offering me everything I ever wanted. Wealth. Luxury. A family.
“Yes,” I say firmly. “I want you fuck a baby into me on our wedding night, Nikolai Orlov.”
His sensual lips curve into a predatory smile that should send me running for my life. Instead, my pulse scrambles. A thrill courses down my spine. He tucks one thick finger into the bodice and drags it down. Agasp escapes my parted lips when my breasts pop free of the tight, puckered yellow fabric.
“I’ve wanted to do that all evening,” he says in a voice like crushed gravel and whisky.
“Why didn’t you?” I toss my head. Long wavy tresses drag over the curve of my shoulder.
“We had to get married first.” For some reason, my brain interprets this as proof of his noble intentions. Maybe he didn’t go about proposing the way a man should have, but my body has already forgiven him. His big hand cups my breast and squeezes. A low moan rumbles in my throat, akin to a kitten’s purr. “These gorgeous tits are mine now, Sierra. This—” he pinches hard enough to make me gasp “—is mine.” He moves to the other side, skimming his palm down the slope of my breast and rolling it firmly. Testing the weight. “This one, too. These are mine to fill with milk.”
In my peripheral vision, a tent forms in the front of his pants. He shrugged out of his jacket the minute we walked in the door and rolled up his sleeve to reveal tattoos that cover his forearm in heavy black ink.
“Take the dress off,” he orders roughly.
“Yes, Nik.” I push the dress down over my hips, rushing at first, but I slow down when I see the way his hooded gaze tracks my every motion. I slide the sundress over the curve of my ass, then drop it and step out.
“Good girl, Sierra. Now get on your knees.”
I lower myself onto the carpet. He unfastens his belt with a soft click of metal. With me completely naked and kneeling before him, I am a supplicant. He pops thebutton on his pants and lowers the zipper. His hardened shaft encased in black, close-fitting underwear strains against the opening. My mouth waters. I’m acutely aware of cool air wafting over my bare, heated skin. He takes his time unbuttoning his shirt. Making me wait, the ass. Finally, he pushes his pants down just far enough to extract his dick from the prison of tailored wool.
He fists my hair and tilts my face upward.
“Before I let you suck my cock, how much experience do you have?”
I shake my head, as much as I can with him holding my hair like this. “Two boyfriends. Both of them broke up with me when I wouldn’t have sex with them.”
“Saving yourself for marriage?” he asks. I indicate yes with a slight nod. “We’re married, which makes this mouth, these tits, your body, all mine. I can do whatever I want to you, can’t I?”
Without waiting for a response, he shoves his ruddy cock past my lips. Startled, I gag and close my lips around his heated flesh.
“I’m going to fuck this pretty mouth. I’m going to come in it. You’re going to let me, aren’t you?”
A whine pulls out of me. He holds me by the hair. His hips thrust forward, shoving deeper into the hot cavern of my mouth. Unrelenting, he pulls back fractionally only to push again, harder, bringing tears to my eyes. I moan around his cock.
“That’s right. My wife is on her knees with my dick in her mouth and she loves every second of it, don’t you, Sierra.” It’s not a question. “Play with my pussy. Iwant you to stroke your clit, but you are not allowed to come unless I tell you to. Understand?”
Frantically, I move to obey. I’m desperate to climax. I need the release. Yet all I allow myself to do is circle the tight, swollen nub at the peak of my sex with two fingers. More for show than effective. The whole time, my breasts are hot and heavy with need. He thrusts into my throat, forcing me to take him. He doesn’t ask permission. He commands every part of my body, from the timing of my gasping, ragged breaths to the tension coiling in my core to the rug burning my knees. I am at his mercy.
“Fuck, Sierra, I’m close.” He grunts, then shoves his cock all the way to the hilt. I taste salt and slickness on the back of my tongue. A hot gush, followed by another, and another. I’m drowning in him. My pussy has never been so wet and needy.
At last, he shudders once and withdraws. I can breathe again, but the masculine scent of his skin lingers. A thread of cum stretches between his throbbing, still-hard cock and my lips, connecting us. It feels strangely intimate.
“You didn’t come, did you?” he demands.
