Page 88 of The Pucking Arrangement

“Don’t be afraid,” he murmurs, his voice heavy. “You should never be afraid of me.”

“I’m not,” I whisper. “I’m scared of how much I want you.”

His hand fists in my hair, tilting my head back.

A deliberate touch. Firm. Commanding.

The contrast is jarring—his grip possessive, his mouth soft as he brushes his lips over mine, slow and torturous.

He’s holding me in place, unrelenting, while his kiss is nothing but patience. I exhale sharply, my fingers curling into his chest, but he sets the pace, his mouth moving over mine with agonizing slowness.

My knees threaten to buckle.

Then his mouth is at my neck, finding the spot that makes my entire body lock up, his teeth grazing my pulse point.

“Quiet,solnyshko,” he murmurs when a moan escapes me, his accent thick, rich, wrecking me. “Wouldn’t want to wake the little one. Playtime would be over.”

I gasp as he drags his hands down, unzipping my dress, letting it fall to the floor and leaving me in only my panties and heels. Then he pulls back just enough to look at me, and—fuck.

His eyes are black.

His hand curls around my hip, drawing me closer, his other hand palming my breast.

“These tits have featured in my dreams for weeks now,” he rumbles, cupping the weight of my breast in his palm, brushing and playing with the sensitive buttons. He leans down and takes a nipple in his mouth, licking and sucking on it.

Thinking ceases to exist.

He straightens, one hand tangling in my hair, destroying what’s left of my bun, while the other teases down my thigh until my leg hooks over his hip. He lifts me, carries me to the bed, sits me down on it. I lean down to take off my shoes, but he stops me, his hand covering mine.

“Leave them on,” he growls. “I want to see how you look when you come with my name on your lips, wearing these shoes.”

His words set me on fire, a thrill of anticipation that has my heart racing. He straddles me as he pushes me onto the mattress. His hands roam over my skin, tracing the curves and lines, exploring every inch of me.

I look up at him, my breath coming in quick pants. This is it, the point of no return. And I’m ready to jump, ready to fall into the abyss.

The shadows and moonlight dance across his face as he hovers over me. His dark eyes are ablaze with a hunger that has my heart pounding in my chest. I’m laid out before him, feeling more exposed than ever, and yet, there’s something empowering about the way his gaze devours me.

“You’re still trembling, Erin,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that I feel deep within my core. His fingers trace the lace of my panties. He hooks his fingers into the waistband, then pauses, his eyes meeting mine. “Lift,” he commands softly, and I obey, raising my hips so he can slide the lace down my legs, leaving me completely bare except for my heels.

“Because you’re making me wait,” I admit, my breath hitching as he slowly pulls it down. His touch is deliberate, torturously slow, and it’s wrecking me in the best possible way.

He leans down, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of my collarbone. His mouth moves lower, sliding down inch by agonizing inch. Cold air peaks my painfully hard nipples.

“Do you taste as sweet as you smell, solnyshko?” His voice is a rumble, a thunder that rolls over my skin and shoots straight to my core.

“Dmitri, please,” I manage to whisper, my eyes fluttering closed as his mouth finds my nipple, sucking gently before moving to the other, biting and teasing.

“I love hearing you beg. And then giving you exactly what you need.” He discards the panties, his eyes never leaving mine. “Are you on protection, Erin?”

I nod, my voice barely a whisper. “Yes. I have an implant.”

A slow, approving smile spreads across his face. “Good girl. Nothing to separate us.” A surge of heat spreads through me. I’m totally wrecked, completely at his mercy. The way he holds back, the control he maintains, only serves to heighten every sensation. I’m a live wire, sparking with anticipation, desperate for his touch.

He moves down my body, his lips blazing a trail of fire along my skin. Each kiss, each gentle nip, sends waves of pleasure crashing through me. His hands explore every curve, every line, as if memorizing my body. I’m a symphony, and he’s the maestro, playing me with expert precision.

When his mouth finds my pussy, I gasp, my hips arching off the bed. He takes his time, tasting my opening, greedily sliding his tongue from back to front, nibbling at my clit, teasing me, his tongue circling exactly where I need him to be. My hands fist the sheets, my body taut as a bowstring, ready to snap.

“Dmitri,” I pant, his name a plea on my lips.

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