My hands pressed hard against his chest as I took him, riding with a fierce hunger.
The way he stretched me open, filling the space between my legs, was exquisite agony. I clung to him as if my very life depended on it. My back arched sharply, a low moan escaping me. His hands gripping the waistband of his underwear, tied above his head, muscles taut and veins pulsing with desperate need.
He wanted to touch me. Hold me, but I wasn't giving in that easily. Even when he could've untied it that easily.
Because he deserved this punishment.
He had to be punished for playing with my friend's feelings, ruining one of my longest friendships behind my back. For risking everything by exposing my secret allegiance to him.
I leaned down onto his body, my lips pressing hard against his chest before my tongue traced a slow, deliberate path down his abs. My hands roamed over his skin, hungry and demanding. He groaned low and deep, his hips rising to meet mine as if he was begging to take control but I held back, savoring every inch.
"Fuck," he gasped, his voice rough with need, "this is torture."
I laughed softly, as my fingers slipped between my legs, moving in rhythm with my thrusts. I wrapped it around him, feeling every pulse of his thick, throbbing veins, every hardening length with fierce intensity. My knees ached from the relentless motion, but I didn't care. The sharp sting only stoked the fire burning inside me.
"Come on, Princess," he growled, his voice ragged with need as I kept pushing his pleasure to the edge before pulling it away. "How long are you going to keep me hanging? I know you want to come just as badly as I do. Let me go, and I'll make it worth your while."
Sweat glistened on his skin, making him looked like he was glowing underneath the dim light. Beautiful. Magical. Mine.
"No," I said coolly, relentless in my torment.
He tightened his grip, voice thick with threat. "I'll count to three before I break free and take what's mine."
But I wasn't even afraid. Not even close.
"Try me," I challenged, daring him.
Alex smirked, then swung his bound hands over his head, pressing me down by my neck. I landed hard on my back, my thighs instinctively wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper inside me. My hands rested flat on either side, like I was surrendering, even though he had me pinned beneath him.
"My naughty vixen," he growled, his voice rough, thick with his Russian accent. He only sounded like this when he was really riled up. Sexy.
I chuckled low and dark, his mouth crashing onto mine with hungry, demanding kisses. Then he pulled back just enough to slide his bound hands from my neck to the back of my head, yanking me closer as he drove into me hard. Fast and relentless.
My lower back scraped the ground, and I knew that the mark would sting, but I didn't care. The sharp pain only fueled the fire building inside me, growing faster with each of his deep, merciless thrust. The way he drove into that secret place inside me, again and again, twisting my pleasure into something fierce and raw, until all I could feel was him. Nothing else existed.
"Much as I love watching you ride me," he whispered hot against my ear, his voice ragged from his grunts as he drove deep inside me, "I love it even more when you're beneath me, writhing in pleasure, just like you are now."
His lips closed over my nipple, sucking and biting before tugging sharply. "You've never looked more beautiful. More mine."
"I love you too, Alex," I breathed, my voice trembling as he fucked me harder. I could feel him twitching inside me already. He was close. Just like I was.
He snapped over the edge with a guttural growl, his body shuddering as he spilled inside me, filled me completely. The heat of him pulsed deep within, raw and overwhelming. I clenched around him, riding the wave of my own release crashing through me, grounding my hips against him still. My breath hitched, heart pounding.
He unbound his hands, tossing away his underwear then gripped my hips fiercely, pulling me close before sliding down to push his cum back inside me. The feel of his fingers, warm and slick with him, deep within me made my hips grind against him instinctively.
"You're mine, Isolda," he whispered into my ear, his voice rough and desperate. "Just as I am yours, my love. Always."
I melted into him, every nerve alive, every part of me burning with the fire we had ignited together. He smiled against my cheek, lips pressing softly to mine. "Look at you now, how much you want me, even after I've fucked you raw."
"How could I not?" I whispered, breathless and trembling.
He cupped my jaw gently, lifting my chin to meet his softened green eyes, filled with something deeper. "Exactly," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "How could you not?"
Moments later, I was laying half-awake in bed as the pale morning light seeped in through the uncovered windows. Neither of us had bothered to close them the night before. And after I sucked him off in the shower, exhaustion had already pulled me under too quickly. My body heavy, pliant.
I stirred when the mattress dipped.
Alex was already dressed in his earlier clothes. I couldn't help but watch him through blurred lashes as he moved with careful precision, fastening his cuff, slipping his jacket on, every motion restrained. As if the slightest sound might shatter the fragile pocket of time we had stolen.
He paused right beside my bed.
For a moment, I thought he might leave without touching me. That would've been easier, I think. Cleaner. Even as my chest tightened at the thought, I told myself that it would hurt less that way.
"I miss you already," I murmured into the quiet, my voice thick with sleep. "How is that possible?"
He stilled. Then he leaned down, pressing a kiss to the crown of my head. Soft, lingering, possessive. His hand brushing through my hair once, slow and reverent, as if he was committing this moment to memory.
"Rest," he murmured. "You need it. After the way I worked you out last night."
"It's your fault," I mumbled, a ghost of a smile on my lips. "I love you, though."
"I love you too," he said tenderly.
Alex's hand lingering a second longer before he straightened.
I stayed perfectly still, my breathing slow, letting him believe I was already asleep. Even when all I wanted was to reach for him, to pull him back, beg him not to leave.
Instead, I listened to the quiet shift of fabric, the soft click of the door, and only then, did I let the ache settle fully in my chest.
Of course he had to leave. If he stayed past dawn, people would notice. That the evil Alexandre Barinov, the man they heard and fear, had slipped into the estate unnoticed.