Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 141532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 708(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
She could taste his anger. Not anger. Rage. She tasted possession. Lust. It rose in him sharp and terrible, and with his raw hunger came hers. She couldn’t stop it, no matter how much she reminded herself they weren’t at home. Her entire body ached for him. She went damp. Then slick. Then burning out of control. He was rough. Wild. Everything she’d come to expect, everything that made her addicted.
She kissed him back, her arms sliding around his neck, her body melting into his. She didn’t hold anything back. She never did. It was always impossible. His hand slid into her hair and his kiss gentled. He lifted his head, his eyes burning into hers. “Are you all right, kotyonok?”
She shook her head, honest with him. Her body hurt so badly she wanted to scream. Her head was coming apart. Exploding. She could barely stand her clothes, and between her legs, she was on fire.
“It is good to meet you,” Mitya said. “I wish I had more time, but we’re in a hurry.” He sent Alessandro a smile that was even more predatory than when he’d walked in.
Sweeping his arm around Ania, he walked her right through the astonished customers and out the front door to the waiting car. It was a town car with dark windows. Sevastyan opened the back door for them.
“You drive,” Mitya ordered abruptly. “Only you in the car. Put the privacy screen up.”
Sevastyan took one look at Ania and nodded. He waved Miron to the car behind them with two other bodyguards, Kiriil and Matvei. Vikenti and Zinoviy took the lead car. Sevastyan slid behind the wheel and pressed a button for the screen to rise between the seats.
The moment Mitya had the door closed, he caught at Ania’s shoes, pulling them from her feet and tossing them to the floor. “If you like that blouse, take it off.” His hands were already stripping her jeans and panties from her. She wasn’t fast enough, and he caught the front of her blouse, shredding the material and releasing her breasts from her bra, almost in the same motion. The way he did that, ripping her clothes from her as if he couldn’t get to her fast enough, always gave her a crazy thrill and yet some trepidation simultaneously.
Her clothes had been hurting her skin, but now the cool air seemed to inflame her even more. She writhed on the seat, edging on panic. His gaze was savage, the lines in his face carved deep with lust. He looked like the epitome of carnal sin. He caught her thighs, jerked her legs apart and lifted her hips to his mouth.
His tongue felt rough. It felt like velvet. It was pure flame burning through her as he licked and then sucked. He used the edge of his teeth. He was ruthless, implacable, devouring her as she screamed and thrashed, out of control, tears leaking out of her eyes, her body bursting into a thousand blazes, a conflagration that just seemed to grow hotter and hotter until she was almost convulsing.
Ania tried to push his head away, pleading, sobbing, but then realized she was begging him for more. She wasn’t pushing; she was yanking on his hair. She was more out of control than he was. He flicked her swollen clit with his fingers, a hard tap that sent more flames bouncing through her, driving her up over and over until she really thought she might go insane.
“Stop.” She whispered it, even as she pressed her body deeper into his mouth, needing more, desperate for more. “You have to stop.” But he couldn’t. If he did, she might die.
“I say when we stop,” he snapped, his jaw slick with her cream, his eyes blazing at her, almost demonic, a wanton, carnal animal, savage and fierce.
His mouth was on her again, his fingers stroking through all that liquid spreading everywhere while he consumed her. He claimed every inch of her, with hands, mouth, teeth, fingers. Then he shoved down his trousers and dragged her down the seat so he was over her. There was no preliminary; he simply slammed into her, a hard claiming, driving through her swollen, inflamed folds.
She heard herself scream again. She dug her nails into his shoulders, desperate for an anchor. He surged into her again and again, so hard she felt the car shake on the road, but it wasn’t enough. Deep inside, that coiling began, a fire so hot it grew and grew. There was no stopping it. The roaring in her ears became the sound of the inferno building in her.
He never stopped. Not when she writhed. Not when she struggled. Not when she thrashed. His hard features were merciless. She needed that, but it terrified her. Absolutely terrified her. Did anyone die from the heat of a leopard? She might be the first. He had to stop. He couldn’t stop.