I arch into his touch, shameless, aching for more.
“Anatoly,” I rasp, clutching at his shoulders. “Please.”
He peels my dress up over my head and tosses it aside. I’m left in nothing but a lace bra and panties, and the way he looks at me makes my whole body shudder.
“So beautiful,” he growls, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the curve of my breast, then lower, trailing kisses across my belly. His hands never stop moving—caressing, gripping, worshipping.
When he hooks his fingers into the lace and drags my panties down, I lift my hips without hesitation, offering myself to him completely. There’s nothing but pure, aching need. The fabric slides down over my thighs and knees, forgotten.
He curses in Russian, a low growl that sends a jolt of electricity straight through me. It’s reverence, possession, and hunger all tangled into one guttural sound. His gaze drags over every inch of me.
Then he slides up my body until he’s perfectly aligned. The anticipation tightens every nerve until I’m trembling beneath him. His mouth finds mine again—tender, coaxing, hungry.
He swallows the sounds I make when he presses into me, inch by delicious inch, stretching me slowly, until he’s buried so deep I feel as if I might shatter.
“Anatoly—” I gasp, clawing at his shoulders, my thighs wrapping around his waist. I want him closer, deeper, everywhere. My entire body aches for him.
I don’t want to ever belong to anyone else.
His hips begin to move, grinding harder with each thrust. Every inch of him strokes places that feel electric, molten, devastating. The weight of him, the heat of his breath at my neck, the quiet grunts he releases when I clench around him—it all combines into something untamed.
My nails rake down his back, marking him, anchoring myself against the tidal wave building inside me. He growls my name into my ear, one hand sliding under my knee, lifting it higher, thrusting deeper.
“Say it. Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” I breathe, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut against the onslaught of pleasure. “I’m all yours, Anatoly.”
His pace deepens, intensifies, hips rolling with ruthless control. Our skin is slick, sounds of mingled moans and the wet, obscene music of bodies colliding.
“Good girl,” he groans, his hand curling behind my head, cradling it like I’m breakable even as he ruins me. “Don’t you ever forget that.”
I won’t. Not when he’s inside me like this, not when every nerve sings his name, and my body begs for him to push me right over the edge.
And I’m so close.
“Oh God, Anatoly,” My voice cracks, high and breathless.
“That’s it, little wife,” he growls against my neck. “Come for me. Let me feel you fall apart.”
The pressure detonates, blinding and white hot. My whole body seizes, arching into him as I cry out, his name splintering from my lips. My release crashes through me, shaking me to the core. I clutch him tighter, barely holding on as pleasure pulses through every nerve like wildfire.
He groans my name, low and hoarse, driving into me one last time before erupting. His body shudders above mine, warmth spilling into me as he collapses onto his elbows, forehead pressed to mine, both of us gasping for air.
His skin is slick, his weight delicious, and I don’t want him to move. Ever.
He kisses my nose, soft and sweet, then shifts carefully, rolling us so I’m draped across his chest. We’re tangled in limbs and bedsheets. His hand traces lazy circles on my back, his chest rising and falling beneath my cheek.
“You alright?” he asks.
“Mmm.” I nod, eyes closed, lips brushing the curve of his collarbone. “More than alright. That was incredible.”
He chuckles softly, and it rumbles through me like a purr. “You’re incredible.”
I go still, breath catching. It’s not just the words—it’s the way he says them, like they snuck past his usual defenses and landed before he could stop them. I lift my head to look at him.
And suddenly, I’m overwhelmed by what we’ve become, by how safe I feel with him, by how terrifying it is to want something this much.
I curl back into his chest, pressing a kiss just over his heart.