Page 66 of Possessive Vows

I do.

“Who am I?”

I blink at his odd question, but the answer slips from my lips with ease.

“Mio maritoand angel of death, Dimitri Volkov.”

He smiles in pleasure and shifts on the bench.

“Give me more,so´lnyshka,” he growls.

Madness sweeps through me, and I unbuckle my belt and unfasten my pants before doubt creeps through me, but I’ve come too far. I push my trousers to the ground and step out of them.

I hook my fingers into my panties but can’t force myself to slip them off my hips.

“Leave them on. I can make you come through the fabric.”

The surety in his voice erases the angst in my soul. I push aside my worries and use the bar to maintain my balance as I swing a leg to straddle the bench. His nostrils flare and pupils dilate as I hover a few inches above his face.

“You smell so sweet. Give me a taste,so´lnyshka.”

My thighs already burn and my hip aches, but the urgent pulsing of my clit demands satisfaction, so I lower myself a little more and gasp when sneaks his tongue out to flick over my sex.

His low groan fulfills a part of me I didn’t know existed. I inch closer to his mouth and tremble in anticipation.

Between his sensual licks and my arousal, my panties soon become sopping wet. The fabric clings to my folds and creates delicious friction as he swirls, licks, and flicks his tongue over every inch of my pussy.

He worships me so thoroughly I forget how to speak. Soft sounds of need bubble up from my chest, and I tremble as the pressure in my womb grows unbearable.

It hurts. I need more.

When I jerk away, instinctively avoiding my orgasm, he hums a disapproving note and sneaks his fingers under my hands. With a gentleness that makes my heart squeeze in wonder, he peels my digits off the bar and weaves our fingers together.

Alarm spears through me as he uses our joined hands to settle me more firmly onto his face. I squeak and wriggle as he opens his mouth wide and runs the flat of his tongue over the whole of my sex. My thighs jump. I teeter on the edge of bursting.

“Wait, Dimitri, I—”

He lightly scrapes his teeth over my clit.

I shatter. Waves of pleasure crash over me, dragging me into the most tumultuous orgasm of my life.

Sweaty and shaking through the aftershocks, I suck down a breath only to exhale on a sob. Emotions barrel through me. I can’t separate them to identify why I need to cry.

My Russian bratva man needs no further prompting. Between one blink and the next, I stand wrapped in his arms with the side of my face pressed over his heart as he cups the back of my head.

“You are magnificent,so´lnyshka. So brave. So gorgeous. I don’t deserve you, but I’ll never let you go,” he murmurs.

His chest vibrates against my face as he continues to praise and support me.

I wrap my arms around him and give myself to the fresh tide of emotions sweeping through me.

I don’t know how I survived without him, but now that I have him, I’ll never go back. I need him by my side. No one else will do.

I float through the next few minutes in a cloud of euphoria, and when the cheerful buzz lingers in my veins, I put my trust in my husband and allow my brain to switch off for a little while.

As capable as ever, he maneuvers me through several tasks—including returning to our townhouse for a clean pair of panties—and settles me into the car before my mind clicks back on.

I can’t even be mad at him when I realize he blitzed me out so thoroughly I didn’t register when he saw me fully naked for the first time.

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