Page 82 of Jewel of the Assassin
He picks up the pace, his cock’s blows like a battering hammer. I struggle to hold onto the bottleneck, but I don’t stop rubbing. All my senses narrow to that raging dick pounding my innermost nerves and my anus pulsing around the lip of the other bottle.
When he works one hand around me to twist my left nipple, pulling it hard to snap it, my blood spikes. I throw my head back and scream through the lightning climax singing through my veins, lighting up every neuron in my brain, splashing my face with ecstasy and heat.
Roman doesn’t stop. His control dumbfounds me. I can’t hold the bottle anymore, but I don’t stop rubbing my inflamed clit. Desperate for another one to take me higher. Tears burn my vision. My whole body aches.
Roman unleashes a string of Russian curses and hammers into me in rabid strokes before stabbing deep, striking another pleasure zone inside me.
My pulse detonates, exploding into waves of fire and ice. I convulse all around him, inner muscles strangling him as he shoots warm streams of ejaculation in me. He pulls the bottle out of my anus, and I collapse in his arms.
But I don’t get the chance to recover.
He dumps me on the ground, shoves my legs up high until my ankles are propped on his broad shoulders, and he slides his cockright into my ass. Soaked in our fluids, it goes in so easily, but I still scream, my voice hoarse by now.
“Eyes on me, Moya Samotsvet,”he commands and wraps one hand around my throat while pumping into me. Stretching those sensitive walls, burning, blazing. “Fuck, your ass smothering my cock, taking me so well, my wife.”
I can hardly focus. He growls through each pounding, squeezing to cut off my breath. His eyes are primal, and I know he’s lost control. This beast of an assassin who must fuck with the same passion as he kills. As soon as darkness seems to close in, Roman lets go, and I take a deep breath of air.
He’s everywhere. Fucking me, pulling my hair, slapping my breasts, tugging and thumbing my nipples. He unleashes hell on me.
And just as I’m ready to fall off the edge, he fucking stops!
“No!” I scream and smack and claw at his chest, bucking, trying to move. “You bastard, don’t stop, oh God, don’t stop!”
He seizes my wrists and leers down at me with a wicked smile. Sweat soaks his skin, and his muscles flex, his jaw harder than granite. Shifting so he grips with just one hand, he lifts his other finger, signaling me to wait…
I freeze as he roams his hand along my stomach. “I’m going to fuck you every day, Valentina, until this is filled with life. Not stopping until your womb is bred. You will bear my heir. You have no choice, do you understand, Moya Koroleva?”
He comes out, taking a rag wet from the hot spring before touching his crown to the opening of my pussy.
I falter, blinking back tears. “What if it doesn’t…? What if I can’t?—”
“You can and you will,” he insists, gripping my throat again, releasing my wrists.
“How do you know?” I ask through tears.
“Because you were meant for me. Chosen by me. You are perfect. And I do not make fucking mistakes. You’re ovulating, my dirty sweet queen. Are you ready to be bred?”
I blink up at him, unable to answer. All I can feel is the seismic activity ready to detonate inside me. “Roman, right now, I don’t give a damn. We’re locked together between heaven and hell, and I don’t really give a damn which way we go. Just finish it. Fucking finish it!”
“Answer the question, Valentina.”
There’s something in his eyes. Darker. Dark as the bowels of hell. More than marking his territory. More than continuing his line. He wants me to bear his legacy, our legacy—our child taking our thrones and this empire. How could I not want that? I want him with every iota of my being. How could I not want to carry his child?
“Yes, Roman. I’m ready. Breed me. Breed. Your. Soul.”
A muscle bounces in his hard jaw.
Then, he rips into me. I squeeze my muscles tighter, reveling in his groan and then reaching for him. He dives in and attacks my mouth, fucking me like a wolf, fucking me raw and red. I heave and gasp from another orgasm storming through me.
“Hurts so fucking good,” I say through ragged breaths.
He fucks as the head of my living, breathing, beating heart and soul. And with one twisted smile, Roman Makarova drives hard and fast into me until we explode together. He rocks me to my core, sending a blaze of rapture spiraling through my veins, lighting up every nerve and synapse in my body.
His fingers scramble for my clit, determined to get another one out of me. He presses hard, then goes down to lick the slippery nub until I’m bucking and rocking and rasping a scream, writhing beneath him—a trembling creature with the right to be lost in the pleasure of my head giving everything to his soul.
28
“I have a gift for you.”
