Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 592(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
After taking a moment to acclimate to his girth, I clench around him, silently permitting him to move.
My muscles ripple and tighten when he pulls out to the tip before he slams back in.
I moan like I am possessed, loving how full he makes me feel.
“Christ…” Maksim breathes out through clenched teeth. “You feel so good.” He pistons his hips on repeat, nailing me to the wall of the elevator. “You take my cock so well. You’re going to make me come so hard.”
Pleasure ripples through me as he plunges in and out of me hard and fast. He fucks me recklessly. Possessively. He uses every muscle to drive me wild, and all I can do is scream and moan.
I’ve never felt so taken… claimed.
He thrusts into me, his body moving like a well-oiled machine over and over again until I’m overcome with the insane need to climax.
I throw my head back and scream through an orgasm that is so overwhelming tears prick my eyes mere seconds before they slide down my face.
I’m a quivering, blubbering mess, but Maksim’s pace doesn’t slow. He continues to dominate my body, demanding every inch of its attention. He plows into me with enough force that my back creeps higher on the wall with every punishing pound.
My body doesn’t mind, though. I grow so hot and wet that I slide up and down his lengthy cock with ease. I accept as much of him into my body as possible, and my acceptance is rewarded with another blindsiding orgasm full of heat and lust.
“Ah, Christ,” Maksim grinds out, his hips as stiff and jutted as his words when the walls of my vagina squeeze around him.
His hips churn impatiently for several more minutes before the desire to mist his skin with sweat wins. He grinds into me another three greedy pumps before he buries his head into my neck and grunts through a brutal release.
My name rips from his throat as he comes. It is a feral, animalistic rumble that sweeps pleasure across my core as ruefully as his cum heats the walls of my pussy.
As the shudders of his release threaten to pull me under for the umpteenth time, he switches our position so his back is against the elevator wall and mine is open before he slides us down to sit on the floor, our connection never lost.
I brush my lips against his sweat-slicked business shirt before pressing my ear to his racing heart. We’re almost still fully clothed—only the most intimate parts of our bodies are uncovered—but I feel raw. Exposed.
He knows my deepest, darkest fear, but instead of hiding from it as everyone else in my life has, he’s trying to understand it. Possibly even lessen it.
Just knowing he’s trying cuts my worries in half.
We stay huddled together for several long minutes, neither willing to break us apart first. I could stay immersed in his bubble forever, but regretfully, I can’t. This is the only elevator in the building. We can’t continue to hog it.
When I say that to Maksim, he draws me in closer, holding me with a tenderness a man his size shouldn’t have, before he mutters against my temple, “They can use the stairs.”
I peer at him, smiling when I notice how relaxed he seems. There are no grooves between his brows, no shadows under his eyes. He appears well-rested, which has me thinking back to his earlier confession.
“Did you really sleep with me every night?”
My heart thumps wildly when he tilts his chin so our eyes align. It isn’t solely his nod responsible for the extra blood pumping through my veins. The raw emotion in his eyes is what my heart is paying attention to the most.
He doesn’t want to hurt me. Not for a single second.
He only wants to protect me.
“What did they do?” I murmur, my curiosity too high for me to contain.
It had to be something mammoth, because I don’t see this beautiful, gorgeous creature murdering three people for something minute and unmeaningful. His title in the underworld demands a level of fear, but this seems more important than that. It appears personal.
He brushes a damp stray lock off my temple before using the same fingers to increase the heat on my cheeks. He isn’t distracting me, but he isn’t racing to tell me the truth, either. He appears torn, like he’s unsure of what my reaction will be to his confession.
“I won’t hold it against you.”
“I’m not worried about how it will have you looking at me.” His voice is husky and lustful, and it makes me wish I could save our conversation for another day. My heart just refuses to listen to the prompts of my brain and body. “I’m more worried about how it will have you looking at yourself.”
Me? How would the actions of others affect me?