Page 173 of The Pucking Arrangement

I don’t. Instead, I slide my hands over the curve of her hips, fingers digging in, holding her exactly where I want her. “Nice ass,” I murmur, then bring my palm down in a sharp, playful smack. The sound echoes, followed by her startled gasp.

I grin.

Then with zero warning, I toss her onto the bed.

She bounces once, her tits jiggling, cheeks flushed, eyes wild.

And fuck, she’s never looked more wrecked. More mine.

I shrug off my jacket, letting it fall to the floor, then slowly—deliberately—unfasten each button of my shirt.

She watches, utterly transfixed.

I know she loves my body, that she admires the strength carved into every muscle. But this look? This is something else. Hunger. Need. The kind that tightens the air between us, that has her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

I give her a show. My hands move unhurriedly, each movement measured, my eyes never leaving hers.

By the time I reach my belt, she pushes up onto her knees in front of me, placing her hands over mine.

“Let me,” she whispers, a plea wrapped in awe. “Please. I need to touch you.”

I nod. Her fingers make quick work of the leather, then the button, then the slow, excruciating drag of the zipper. Every motion is reverent, like she’s savoring the process, like she’s unwrapping something she’s been starving for.

She pushes my pants down, baring my thighs, and the second they come into view, her breath catches, her fingers tracing over the ridges of muscle, over the deep, defined cuts, her touch a featherlight edge against my control.

“These thighs,” she murmurs, voice thick with something close to worship. Then, without hesitation, she leans in, pressing her lips to my skin.

I swear under my breath, a long string of Russian curses, praying the profanities will keep me from combusting. Her mouth moves slowly, dragging heat in its wake, her tongue flicking against the muscle before she presses another kiss. And another.

“I can’t ever get over these thighs,” she moans, her lips moving, her voice shaking. “They destroy me.”

I let out a strangled groan, my hands fisting her hair, my pulse slamming through my veins.

And when she moans again, her mouth trailing higher, I nearly fucking break. Her hand palms my cock poking out of my boxers, her eyes flicking up.

“What do we have here, big guy?” She smirks, shoving the boxers down and swirling her tongue over my tip. I allow her a few playful licks, but that’s all I can take right now. I’m so close that I have to grab her by her shoulders and pull her up.

“Unless you want me to come all over your pretty face, you have to stop.”

She pouts.

“I need to be buried in your pussy now and fuck you so good, you will know exactly who you belong to.”

Her breath hitches as I push her back onto the bed, leaning over her and positioning my aching cock over her entrance. Her eyes are locked on mine as I slide into her in one deliberate stroke, bottoming out. She gasps, and I pull out and thrust in again, her hips swirling and meeting mine in a desperate dance of power and surrender.

My eyes never leave hers as I fuck her, feeling her tight channel caress me, milk me, tug at me. Her moans and the slapping of our bodies are the only sounds echoing in the room. She closes her eyes, but I need to see her.

“Look at me,” I murmur, slowing my strokes, my thumb brushing gently over her cheek.

Her legs tighten around me, her gaze locked on mine, eyes wide and searching. Holding. Needing.

“I love you, Erin,” I say as I push in and out of her, slowly, ever so slowly, feeling her channel tighten around me. I watch the moment it hits her—the way her breath catches, the way her lips part in a soft, stunned exhale. I don’t look away. I need her to see me. To feel me. To know that it’s only her. “I can’t get enough of you,moya lyubov.”

A broken sound escapes her lips—something between a gasp and a sob—as tears spill over, streaking down her cheeks like a flood she can’t hold back.

But she doesn’t let go.

Her arms stay locked around me, her body clinging, her hips rocking against mine with desperate, aching urgency.

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