Page 74 of Under His Control
“You first.”
She wriggles out of her shorts with a twist of her hips that makes my pulse spike. When her panties follow, I nearly lose it. She’s already soaked. Glistening. Needy. Beautiful in a way that should be illegal. I step back only long enough to strip; my eyes locked on her the whole time, like she’ll vanish if I blink.
“That’s better,” she whispers, voice husky with want.
I press her back into the wall, one hand braced above her head, the other between her thighs, teasing her until her legs tremble. Her moans echo off polished wood and mirrored glass.
“Please,” she whispers, biting her lip. “Anatoly?—”
The way she says my name wrecks me.
I thrust inside her in one smooth motion, her body arching, eyes wide. She fits around me like we were carved to match.
“Fuck, Taylor.” My voice cracks as I bottom out.
She clutches at my back, mouth moving against my neck, desperate. “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”
I don’t.
My rhythm is slow at first, drawing her out, making her whimper with every thrust. She clings to me, legs locked around my waist, and I press her harder into the wall as she climbs.
“You’re mine,” I growl, voice ragged. “Every moan. Every tremble. Mine.”
“Yes,” she gasps, head thrown back, eyes fluttering. “Always yours.”
Her first orgasm hits hard—sudden and full-bodied, her inner thigh muscles tightening with brutal intensity. She cries out my name, and I swear I’ll never get tired of hearing it. I keep going, chasing that edge for both of us.
“Good girl,” I whisper, thrusting deeper. “Let go for me again.”
And she does.
I don’t stop moving, don’t let up. Not yet.
She clings to me like I’m the only solid thing in her world, and maybe, right now, I am. I can feel her heart beating against my chest, her sweat-slicked skin hot and perfect beneath my hands. I lower us to the plush bench in the center of the walk-in closet, never pulling out. She ends up in my lap, straddling me, flushed and breathless, still pulsing around me.
“Anatoly…” she whispers, voice aching with need.
I catch her jaw gently in one hand, forcing her eyes to stay on mine. “You still with me, little wife?”
Her lips curve into a dazed smile. “Still with you. You trying to break me?”
“No,” I say, voice rough as I thrust up into her again, deeper this time. “Trying to remind you who you belong to.”
Her breath catches on a moan. “I haven’t forgotten.”
She rocks against me with shaky determination, grinding her hips with each slow roll, her breasts pressed to my chest. Every movement drives me closer to the edge, but I hold back—just to watch her unravel again.
My hands move over her, reverent and possessive. I thumb her nipples, brush sweat-soaked strands of hair from her face, slide a palm down her spine to grip her ass and guide her rhythm.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I mutter, eyes drinking her in. “Look at you—taking everything I give you.”
Her head falls to my shoulder, and she gasps into my neck. “Don’t stop. I need?—”
“I know what you need,” I whisper, thrusting harder, deeper. “Let me give it to you.”
She lifts her head, eyes wide and glassy, mouth parted. “Anatoly. With you, I feel…complete.”
That’s it. That’s the last push. Her words hit deeper than they should, splitting something wide open in my chest, even as the pleasure builds unbearably low in my spine.
