"Just keep looking at me, Vika. My God, the way your body feels . . . we'll know soon enough." He moved me to my back, resting between my thighs. His powerful frame loomed over me.
I tested his command with his first full thrust--because my eyes rolled back in my head. "Oh, my God." I melted around him, gripping his arms.
"I need to look into your beautiful eyes."
I met his gaze, struggling to catch my breath. "Dmitri." His name was my plea for more.
He pulled his hips back, then slowly rocked inside me. "You belong to me now." His voice was hoarse. "Irrevocably."
My back arched, my nipples grazing his dampened chest.
With his next thrust, he bit out words in Russian.
My nails dug into his skin. "English, baby. I want to know. . . ."
"I knew it was you," he said, his expression half-crazed. He gripped one of my hips, stretching his thumb to rub my clit.
I whimpered from the added sensation.
"I knew you'd be my wife. I am obsessed with you, Victoria. Always will be."
Right now I understood. He was a dream lover, using his flawless body to deliver pleasure. Maybe I was already obsessed with him too. My hands dipped to grip his ass.
Still working my clit, he gave a harder thrust. And another. "I would've done anything to possess you! Remember that."
Every time I thought he couldn't go deeper, he'd plunge with more force, making me cry out in surprise. I was captivated by the wild look in his eyes and the feel of his ass working under my fingers.
He clamped the backs of my knees and bucked hard between my spread thighs. Sweat dripped from his forehead onto my bouncing breasts. "Your body drives me mad." He shoved inside me, stealing my breath.
My head thrashed. "Ah, God!" I locked my legs around his waist, couldn't get close enough to him.
"Give yourself to me." He clasped my nape and drew me up. "Give me everything you are!" He'd told me he would always want more, that he'd coax it from me. Now he was demanding I surrender to him.
To this life.
He was demanding it with his enthralling eyes. With his unyielding grip on my body.
"Dmitri!" I fought the pleasure, wanting this never to end. "I'm so close . . . so close!"
"You wear my ring." Thrust. "You always will. You're my wife. Say it." Thrust.
Falling deeper under his spell, I said, "I'm your wife."
He gnashed his teeth. "Again!"
"I'm your wife!" He made me say it over and over, till I was murmuring it on my own, mesmerizing myself.
At my ear, he confessed: "It was always going to be you. Or it never would have been."
A sudden scream burst from my lungs. I orgasmed, not just from sensation--but from emotion. My fingers clutched at him, nails digging in.
"I feel you . . . feel you coming for me!"
I writhed beneath him, pleasure coursing through every inch of me. In those shattering moments, I was his.
Connected to him as I'd never been to another.
I'd barely drifted back to reality when he commanded, "Cross your arms over your chest."
I didn't ask, only obeyed.
He grabbed my wrists and trapped me with my own arms. I couldn't move if I wanted to. This was bondage--without leather or chains. Just a man taking his pleasure.
Once I was positioned as he desired, Dmitri Sevastyan started . . . to fuck.
He rammed his massive body between my thighs, using his grip on me for leverage. Pistoning his cock inside me from hilt to tip, he pounded my pussy.
I'd never felt anything so deep, as if he were taking my virginity. "What're you doing to me?"
He seemed to cling to the last of his control. "Fucking--my--wife."
"Ahhh!" I came with a scream. He slammed me harder. I came again.
He was railing my mind blank, long-dicking me into oblivion. Only one thought remained: I'm his.
Over the sounds of his skin slapping mine, he bit out, "Uhn! About to give you my cum! Fucking worth it--"
His body froze. A guttural yell broke from his chest.
Our gazes locked. His was anguished. I don't think he breathed.
Then he began to ejaculate.
With his first searing jet, he heaved in air. Hips jerking uncontrollably, cock pulsating, he gave a frenzied roar: "VICTORIA!"
He plunged furiously, his yells matching each new flood of semen. His release pumped on and on . . . until my body had drained his.
A last groan passed his lips. A shudder down to his bones.
Lost, he rasped, "Mine." Then he collapsed atop me.
We lay for some time, catching our breath. My heart raced; his pounded in answer.
"Hurting you?" he asked.
"Uh-uh." Hurt? I floated. "That was more than just sex." My tone was awed.
"That sounds awful."
He lowered his face, meeting my eyes. His lashes were spiked with moisture, his black hair whipping across his cheeks. "It is pure. I live anew now."
Were these mad ramblings? Or was he baring his heart? Why couldn't I make sense of what he was saying? "I want to understand you. Help me!"
"I planned for this night; I prepared for it. Yet in the back of my mind, I feared my past would win--as it always had before. But I had a wife, a responsibility. Sex was no longer about me; it is about us. And I cared more about your pleasure than I cared about registering my own. If I drifted for a time, you probably wouldn't know. If I stayed gone, you would be taken care of."
Stayed gone? As in, losing touch with reality permanently?