Page 81 of Scarlet Chains
The words send heat pooling between my thighs, my core clenching with anticipation. By the time he sinks onto the couch with me, I’m trembling with want, my body singing with need for his touch.
His hands immediately return to frame my face like he can’t bear not to be touching me. The golden light from the nearby lamp bathes everything in gold, making this moment feel dreamlike and surreal.
“You’re sure?” he asks quietly. “Being my wife…” His lips are close enough to brush mine. “It won’t be easy.”
Instead of answering with words, I pull him back down and kiss him again, pouring every ounce of my desire into the contact. My hands find the edges of his robe, tugging it down his shoulders with desperate fingers, needing to feel his skin against mine.
He breaks the kiss long enough to help me strip silk garment away, revealing the magnificent expanse of his chest. Muscle and scars and ink, all of it perfect and masculine and mine. My palms flatten against his heated flesh, mapping the topography of his torso while he watches me with eyes gone dark as storm clouds.
“Beautiful,” I whisper, tracing the line of a scar that curves along his ribs. “You’re so beautiful, Osip.”
His laugh is rough, disbelieving. “Men aren’t beautiful,milaya.”
“You are.” I lean forward to press a kiss directly over his heart, feeling the rapid rhythm beneath my lips. “Every scar tells a story. Every line shows how strong you are, how much you’ve survived. You’re beautiful because you’re alive, because you’re here with me.”
Something raw and vulnerable flickers across his face before he captures my mouth again, kissing me with a desperation that makes my knees weak. It’s his turn to tug at my robe now, and I feel his hands shake as he unfastens the belt at my waist.
When the fabric falls away, leaving me completely naked, his breath catches audibly. His gaze travels over my body like a physical touch, heating my skin wherever it lands.
“Perfect,” he murmurs, his accent thicker than usual. “So fucking perfect.”
His hands skim up my sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts. Even that light touch makes me arch into him, a soft moan escaping my throat. Every nerve ending feels hypersensitive, like my body has been waiting for his touch my entire life.
And then his mouth is on me, hot and worshipful as he pays homage to my breasts. His tongue swirls around one nipple while his hand cups the other, and I throw my head back with a gasp that turns into a long, low moan.
“That’s it,” he encourages against my skin, his voice rough with approval. “Let me hear you,milaya. Let me know how much you love this.”
His mouth and hands work in perfect rhythm, alternating between gentle and demanding, until I’m writhing against him and clutching at his shoulders for support. Just when I think I might die from the pleasure, he slides down my body, trailing kisses down my belly. A wave of gooseflesh follows in his wake as his stubble grazes my sensitive skin.
Settling between my thighs, his heated gaze meets mine, and the air between us sparks with a current that makes my nipples tighten and my core clench. He leans down, pressing a kiss to my mound.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs against my skin, and I feel the word more than I hear it. His lips ghost over the downy hair over my pussy, and then his tongue flicks out and finds the nub of my clit. A strangled noise escapes my throat as sensation skyrockets, white-hot and relentless. His tongue laps at me as his teeth graze the tingling flesh, sending shockwaves of pleasure straight to my core. My hips buck off the couch as I silently beg for more, desperate for the touch of his mouth.
“Osip,” I gasp, threading my fingers through his hair to hold him close. “Please, right there. Don’t stop.”
His eyes meet mine as he chuckles, the vibration sending more delicious sensations ricocheting through my body. “You’re gorgeous like this, Ilona. All mine. Wanting me. Needing my touch.”
“Yes,” I whisper, every muscle drawn taut as bowstrings. “Please, I need you. Touch me.”
A dark smile curves his lips, and he traces his tongue up the seam of my pussy.
“Beautiful,” he says again, his voice a guttural rumble that sends shivers through me. “I love the taste of you,milaya.”
I whimper, struggling to keep my heavy-lidded eyes open as his breath washes over me, hot and rapid. Tension winds through me like a spring, tighter and tighter with every swipe of his tongue, every light kiss and gentle nip. My fingers clutch at the couch cushions, knuckles white as I silently urge him on.
“Osip, please,” I beg, my voice high and broken. “Right there. More, please.”
He gives me what I ask for and so much more.
His mouth is magic, a brand of hot fire that sends me spiraling into a million pieces. I cry out, my hands automatically fisting in his hair to hold him close, to never let him stop. His tongue strokes and flicks and laves, his lips sealing around my swollen bundle of nerves to suck gently.
My cries fill the room, a symphony of pleasure and need that he conducts with every clever stroke of his tongue. My hips continue to buck off the couch in a silent plea for more pressure, more speed, more of that wicked mouth that’s driving me out of my mind.
“You taste incredible, Ilona. Sweetness and heat and pure fucking desire. This is all for me,milaya.”
His words hit me like a spark, igniting the explosive tension that’s been building. My back arches completely off the couch, and I clench around his tongue, my cry of pleasure echoing in the room.
“Osip! Oh… Oh… Oh, God!” I cry out as my body convulses with pleasure, his mouth relentless on me even as the waves of my orgasm begin to recede.
