Page 26 of Viper’s Reign

I haven’t even found my balance, and he’s on me. His hands yank at the waistband of his pants on me, shoving them down my hips, and suddenly nothing but cool air is hitting my soaked pussy and thighs.

I kick the fabric aside, left naked from the waist down, his baggy shirt the only thing draping my upper body, hanging loose and teasing.

He sinks onto the sofa with a controlled grace, his thighs spreading wide, and pulls me onto his lap until I’m straddling him, my knees bracketing his hips. My exposed pussy grinds against the bulge in his trousers, the friction making me whimper into his renewed kiss.

“Drown me,” he quietly begs. “I want to drown in you.”

We devour each other like that for long, charged moments—his lips bruising, teeth nipping my bottom lip, tongue sweeping deep to taste every corner while his hands roam my back, pulling me closer. The kiss stokes the flames higher, my clit rubbing against him with every shift, my wetness smearing over the fabric.

I’m panting now, grinding down harder, the need coiling tight in my belly, building my desperation until I can’t hold it back anymore. “Please, Dimitri,” I beg against his lips, my voice breaking, hips rolling in shameless circles. “I need you inside me. Now.”

He growls, the sound primal, and the next second he’s on his feet with me still wrapped around him, clinging as he fumbles with his zipper and shoves his pants down to free his cock. It stands thick, veined, the head already leaking. He positions me over him, the tip nudging my entrance, slick and ready from my earlier orgasm. Then he sinks in.

Inch by agonizing inch, he stretches me open again, filling me, the burn of it blending with the overwhelming fullness. We both groan in unison, the pleasure unbearable. My walls flutter around him, gripping tight, still sensitive from before, every ridge of him dragging against my insides. God, nothing has ever felt this good.

“Are you on birth control?” he rasps against my ear, his voice strained as he bottoms out, hips flush against mine.

Reality cuts through the haze. He’s not wearing a condom. “No.”

“Fuck.” The word tears from him, frustrated—but he doesn’t stop. Instead, he thrusts up, jolting me in his arms, his cock slamming deep, and that frustration bleeds straight into his pace. Long, punishing strokes that have me bouncing on him, my tits heaving under the shirt.

He carries me through a few thrusts before dropping back onto the sofa with my body still impaled on his length, gripping my hips to pull me down harder. The rhythm turns relentless, his cock hot and pistoning in and out of my pussy, the wet sounds echoing over the waves, my arousal coating his balls and thighs.

Pressure builds back faster than I thought possible—tighter, higher—until he angles just right and everything inside me snaps. My head falls back, and my pussy clamps down on him, spasming wildly as waves of ecstasy ripple through me.

He keeps fucking me through it, groaning low, his thrusts erratic now as he chases his own release. “Drown me. Fucking drown me,” he chants against my neck, his voice thick and broken with lust. His hands roam—one sliding up to squeeze my breast, thumb flicking my nipple, the other yanking the shirt’s neckline down with a sharp rip, exposing my chest to the air.

He pulls out, his cock jerking in his fist as ropes of hot cum erupt, splattering across my belly and breasts.

Thick, white streaks paint my skin, some spilling onto the torn edges of his shirt clinging to me, marking me in the most primal way.

He pumps himself a few more times, milking every drop, his chest heaving as he watches, eyes dark with satisfaction.

When he’s finally spent, I sag against him, boneless and sticky, my pussy throbbing emptily now, the warmth of his release cooling on my skin.

“From now on,” he mumbles, holding me tight, “I finish inside you.”

10

GRACE

Dimitri carries me up to the top deck, where a hot tub sits waiting, tucked behind a protective screen that blocks the view of the water and the rest of the yacht.

We sink into the heat together, and I let out a long, slow breath as my muscles unknot one by one. For a while, we don’t talk, just sit there together, and I let my mind go blank, finally free from worry.

I’m not sure how long it is before I hear the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. I stiffen as the blurry figures of two men appear on the other side of the screen.

“Easy,” Dimitri mutters, brushing his thumb over my shoulder. “It’s only my staff bringing breakfast.”

Right on cue, my stomach voices an extremely audible opinion on this development.

He chuckles, rising from the tub. “Come on. It’s past eleven already. Let’s get you fed.”

I bite my lip as I finally get my first proper look at him—fully, unapologetically naked—and damn. He truly is a specimen of a man.

His blue-green eyes lock on mine, now a guileless blue that pulls me in, and I quickly look away before I embarrass myself. His wavy dark hair clings to his forehead, water tracking down over his chest and abs in slow rivulets, following the lines of the dark ink splashed across the right side of his body. The tattoos start at his pec and crawl up the side of his neck, over his shoulder, and down his right arm to just above his wrist.

I squint as I try to make sense of them. The emblem covering his pec stands out first—a black double-headed eagle gripping a sword and a stone pillar in its talons, flanked by a wolf and a bear. Underneath are words written in Russian. I don’t know what they mean, but I recognize the image as the Petrov family crest. The lines along his neck and shoulder are harder to trace from here, but down his arm, I can make out a beautiful depiction of a lion and lioness facing each other, and above his wrist, a dark rose. I wonder what they mean, but I hesitate to ask.