Page 108 of Twisted Pact
Her whole body goes rigid as the orgasm crashes through her. I feel every pulse around my fingers, and taste how much wetter she gets on my tongue. When the aftershocks finally fade, I stand and jerk her around to face me.
She looks wrecked. Flushed cheeks. Swollen lips. Eyes dark with satisfaction and renewed hunger.
“More,” she demands.
“Mila, we should be careful. The baby?—”
“I said more.” She reaches for my belt and works it the rest of the way open. “I want you inside me. Now.”
I should probably protest, or remind her about Dr. Orlov’s warnings and the stress on her body. But when she gets my pants open and wraps her hand around my cock, all thoughts evaporate.
“Couch,” I manage.
We stumble toward it together, shedding the rest of our clothes along the way. When we reach it, I bend her over the arm, so her ass is in the air and her face is pressed into the cushions.
I line myself up and push inside slowly. Even after everything we’ve done, she’s still so tight that I force myself to go slow and let her body adjust to the invasion.
“More,” she demands again. “All of it.”
I sink to the hilt and pause there, giving her a moment, but she doesn’t want time. She pushes back against me, taking me even deeper.
“Fuck me, Alexei. Hard. Make me forget everything except how good you feel.”
At her command, I pull almost all the way out and slam back in. She screams, but the sound is pleasure, not pain. I can tell by the way she arches her back and spreads her legs wider.
I set a punishing pace, with each thrust driving her forward into the couch. Her sounds get louder and more desperate. I reach around with my good arm and find her clit, circling it in time with my movements. My injured shoulder stings with each thrust, but I push through it. Pain is just another reminder that I’m alive.
“Yes,” she gasps. “Just like that.”
“You feel so fucking perfect.”
“Harder.”
I increase the force of my thrusts, and my shoulder protests the movement. I wince but don’t slow down. The pain centers me somehow, keeping me grounded in this moment instead of spiraling back to the warehouse and the men who didn’t make it out.
The couch scrapes against the floor as I grip her hip hard enough to leave bruises, but she doesn’t complain. She pushes back to meet me stroke for stroke.
Her body was made for this. For me. Every curve fits perfectly against me. Every sound she makes drives me closer to the edge.
“I’m close again,” she pants. “So close.”
“Wait for me.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.” I slow my pace, denying her the friction she needs to go over the edge. “Wait for me, Mila.”
She makes a sound of frustration, but she holds on. I can feel how close she is. Her body trembles with the effort of not coming, and her inner walls clench around me with increasing frequency.
“Please,” she begs. “I need it.”
I pick up the pace again, chasing my release. The pressure builds at the base of my spine. My balls draw up tight. Every muscle in my body coils in anticipation.
“Now,” I growl. “Come now.”
She falls apart with a cry that’s half sob, half scream. Tears stream down her face as her body convulses around me. The sight of her undone pushes me over the edge.
I bury myself as deeply as possible and empty myself inside her with a groan that tears from my chest. Waves of pleasure crash through me until I’m spent and shaking.
