Page 9 of Hostage with Benefits'

He positioned himself between my thighs, the blunt pressure of his cock against me making me arch upward. “Say it again, you want it like this?”

“Yes.”

He pushed into me slowly, the stretch and fullness making me gasp. Once fully seated, he stilled, his breath coming hard against my neck.

“Move,” I urged, trying to shift my hips.

“Demanding, even now.” But he began to move, setting a pace that was still too controlled for my liking.

I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him deeper. “More.”

His rhythm faltered, before resuming. “So greedy,” he growled. “Demanding what you want.”

He groaned, his control slipping further. “What more do you need, Natalia?”

“Nothing,” I gasped as he hit a spot that made me see stars behind my eyes. “Just like this.”

His movements grew more forceful, less controlled. “You like being fucked by the man who kidnapped you?”

The words sent a shameful thrill through me. “Yes.”

“Fuck.” Next, he growled something in Russian that my brain couldn’t register, even though I knew the language. But his rhythm grew erratic, and I was close—so close—hovering on the edge.

“Look at me,” he demanded.

I opened my eyes, meeting his gaze. And just like that, I was hypnotized. I couldn’t look away as pleasure built to an unbearable peak, a spiral coiling tightly in my core.

“Come for me, Natalia,” he growled. “Let me feel what that’s like.”

The command, or maybe just the way he said my name, pushed me over the edge. Release crashed through me in wave after wave, my walls clenching around him as I cried out with a hoarse voice. I was never this vocal usually, but fuck if this wasn’t unusual sex.

His rhythm stuttered, then his breathing grew harsher as his own orgasm followed, his cock throbbing, pumping me full of his cum.

He pressed his face into my neck, a string of Russian words I couldn’t translate fast enough in my mind falling from his lips.

As our breathing slowed, he made no move to withdraw. Instead, one hand moved between us, his fingers finding where we were still joined.

“Stay still,” he hummed against my ear. “Let your body drink every last drop of it.”

The possessive tone in his voice sent an unexpected aftershock of pleasure through me. I should have found it weird, maybe even concerning. Instead, I felt my walls tightening around him again, my body responding to his command.

He made a sound of approval, his lips brushing my temple. “Good fucking girl. You’re maddening.”

The weight of him on top of me like this should’ve been uncomfortable, but somehow wasn’t. Instead, I felt… present in my body in a way I hadn’t been in a long time. Like he was an emotional support weighted blanket.

Finally, he shifted, withdrawing carefully and moving to lie beside me. I expected him to get up to leave. Instead, he pulled me against him, arranging us so my back was to his chest, his arm draped over my waist.

We lay in silence for a while, the reality of what we’d just done slowly seeping back in. I’d had sex with my kidnapper. Really good sex. The kind of sex that made you forget your own name for a few minutes. And now we were… cuddling?

He released me a minute later and got up, gathering his clothes from the floor. I watched him dress, noting the deliberate way he avoided looking at me now.

“Your laptop,” he said eventually. “The password is on a sticky paper inside.”

“Thanks,” I said, my voice carefully neutral.

He paused at the door, his back to me. For a moment, I thought he might say something else, something to acknowledge what had just happened between us. Instead, he simply nodded and left, the door closing behind him and the lock clicking into place.

I lay there for a few minutes, processing. My body felt used in the best possible way. My mind, however, was a riot of conflicting thoughts.

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