Page 48 of The Russian's Innocent Prey
“I need you,” she gasped against my mouth. “Right now. I can’t wait anymore.”
“Then don’t.” I grabbed her shirt and yanked, buttons scattering across the floor. “Fuck waiting.”
She pulled at my belt with shaking hands. “Get these off. Now.”
Clothes tore. My shirt ripped at the seams. Her skirt bunched around her waist because neither of us could wait long enough to remove it properly. Breath hitched as skin met skin.
“You’re already so wet,” I groaned, my fingers sliding between her thighs, finding her soaked through her panties.
“That’s what you do to me.” She shoved my pants down just far enough to free my cock, her hand wrapping around me immediately. “God, I’ve missed this. Missed you inside me.”
“Then take it.” I ripped her panties aside—literally tore the fabric—and lifted her against the wall. “Take what you need.”
The room pulsed with heat and desperation and all the words we’d been too afraid to say. Her hands mapped my bodylike she was memorizing it, like she was afraid I might disappear again before morning.
“I hate you,” she said, even as her legs wrapped around my waist. “I hate that you can make me feel like this.”
“Liar.” I positioned myself at her entrance. “You love it.”
“I do,” she admitted breathlessly. “I fucking love it. Now fuck me already.”
I slammed into her in one brutal thrust, and we both cried out. No gentleness. No slow build. Just raw, desperate need.
“Yes,” she moaned, her nails digging into my shoulders hard enough to draw blood. “Harder. Fuck me harder.”
“Like this?” I pounded into her, the wall shaking with each thrust.
“Just like that. Don’t you dare stop. Don’t you dare be gentle with me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” My hands gripped her ass, holding her in place as I fucked her with everything I had—all my frustration, all my love, all my desperate need to reconnect. “You feel so fucking good. So tight around my cock.”
“I’m yours,” she gasped. “I’ve always been yours, even when I hated you for leaving.”
I worshipped her in return, one hand sliding between us to rub her clit while I kept up the relentless pace, trying to pour all my love and regret and need into every touch.
“I’m sorry,” I groaned against her neck. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Show me.” She yanked my hair, forcing me to look at her. “Show me you’re sorry. Make me feel it.”
It was rough and hungry and perfect in its imperfection. A war between love and frustration that left us both breathless and clinging to each other like drowning people who’d finally found something solid to hold onto.
“I’m close,” she warned, her pussy clenching around me. “Make me come. I need to come.”
“Then come for me,” I demanded, my fingers working her clit faster. “Come all over my cock and scream my name so the whole fucking building knows who you belong to.”
She came with a cry that was half-pleasure, half-rage, her whole body convulsing in my arms. The sensation of her coming undone pushed me over the edge, and I buried myself deep, emptying into her with a groan that sounded like it had been torn from my soul.
“Fuck,” she panted against my shoulder as we both trembled. “Fuck.”
“Yeah.” I was still holding her against the wall, both of us too weak to move. “That was—”
“Overdue,” she finished. “That was about three months overdue.”
I carefully lowered her to her feet, but neither of us let go. We stumbled to the bed together, a tangle of limbs still half-dressed, and collapsed onto the mattress.
Afterward, as we lay tangled in sheets that smelled like sex and reconciliation, I buried my face in her hair and whispered the truth that had been eating me alive.
“I’ve been so focused on chasing this ghost that I forgot about the one thing that keeps me human.”
