“Jenna,” he says severely, pulling back from our kiss. “You’re rubbing your little virgin pussy on my thigh.”
I freeze.
So. Caught.
I don’t know why I thought he wouldn’t notice. I was distracted by how good my clit felt, how big he is over me, and how insanely turned on I am by our chase.
I’m insane. Obviously.
He’s been stalking you, I tell myself, but that doesn’t ease the ache of desire. It’s a maddening itch that I’m crazy to scratch, even as I know it’ll make the desire worse, not better.
“Did I tell you to stop?” he growls, pushing his thigh more firmly between my legs and pressing his mouth back onto mine.
He doesn’t want me to stop?
My brain is still trying to process that shock as my body responds with no such hesitation. My hips move. I rub myself against him wantonly, heedless of how forbidden this is. Or maybe that makes it hotter, that he’s much older than me, and dangerous, and has kidnapped me.
“Dirty, pretty girl. You like that, don’t you? Go on. Take it. Have your filthy orgasm with the beast who captured you.”
Pleasure sparkles down my spine from his words in that delicious, rough tone.
The kingpin clearly wants me. The evidence is poking into my soft belly, intimidatingly large. I’ve never been with a man, but he’s so, so hard. Like heated iron, almost painful where he’s uncompromisingly solid.
Anyone rational would not be doing this. But I have two years of social media posts proving not just that I have no sense, but that I am fully depraved. And something has snapped in me.
I swear, it was him that did it. After I saw him rescue that puppy, that was when I began to want to move my fantasies into reality. It’s as though my body knew, from the first, and where I’ve been shy and reserved in real life, suddenly I wanted more. I needed.
I grind harder into him, and he shifts to cup my jaw as he kisses me, his tongue spearing in. He swallows my moan of pleasure that’s caused by the way the now-soaked cotton is rubbing my clit and the firm plane of his thigh and how dominant his possession of my mouth is.
It doesn’t sound like it. Just a kiss and his leg between mine. No naked skin contact. But it’s incredibly intimate. He controls our kiss, fingers light but insistent on my cheek.
I’m so wound up by our game of chase, and by him. I’m sparking off Voronov like I’m a firework and was just waiting for him to touch his match to me.
A lifetime of being sure book boyfriends did it better, and suddenly when I met him, I became curious, awakened. That was when I started considering dating.
And now, with his heat and scent surrounding me, I let my eyes close and lose myself in sensation. He smells of sandalwood and patchouli. I breathe him in like an addict, in great heaving breaths as though I could keep all the air that reminds me of him inside. Covet it. I’m limp in his grasp, him holding me up by my pinned wrists.
“That’s it, reach higher,” he murmurs, adding something in Russian that I don’t understand but that sounds dirty in a way that flares heat right into my clit.
I move faster, chasing the pleasure exactly as he told me. He trails kisses over my cheek, trapping my face between his hand and his mouth.
“Beautiful zayka,” he growls, and nips the tender skin of my neck. “I could devour you. My good slutty girl.”
A cry tears from my throat, as though a primal part of me is returning his call. I’m sopping between the legs, slippery and getting wetter as he speaks. Then there’s a stream of hoarse words in Russian. I don’t understand them, but they sound gravelly and strong. Like praise, and affectionate chastisement.
… And love.
“Come for me.”
Just as my libido in the real world was triggered by his presence, my orgasm spins over the edge at his command. I shatter, pulsing as he holds me firm. I can lose myself completely as he keeps me safe and contained.
This climax reaches every muscle, right down to my toes. I thrash and burn. It’s like my body is giving everything up to this big, alpha, older, powerful man, since he has demanded it.
I have no idea how long it is until I stop spasming. The pleasure is still tingling in my veins as I become aware that my hands are limp at my sides.
Voronov strokes my hair and continues to whisper words I don’t understand into my ear, his breath a glide of warmth.
I just had the best orgasm of my life on my stalker’s thigh.
Turning my head, I tentatively look up at him. I’m not sure what I expected to find, but his eyes are fathomless black pupils contrasted with a ring of burning ice. His expression is savage and proud and intense in a way that makes me quake all over again.
It seems to be a painful effort of will as he eases his big body away from mine, like it’s tearing us apart. Pelvis, then his arms slowly lower, his fingertip stroking down my neck.
“How was your first kiss?” he rumbles, stepping back and sliding his hands into his pockets as though to prevent them from going to me again.
“Good.”
Total understatement. I glance down, unable to hold his knowing gaze. Because it wasn’t just a kiss, was it? I went well beyond what we agreed. I basically took advantage of him.
Used him.
Umph…
And that’s when I notice.
There’s a damp patch on his black trouser leg. My face heats. I’m… Oh god, I’m so embarrassed. This is humiliating. It’s one thing to get carried away, but it’s quite another to see the evidence of my all-out horny desperate, virgin girl behaviour wiped all over him. I was so wet, it seeped right through my cotton knickers.
He narrows his eyes, then follows my gaze.
“I’m really sorry,” I stammer. “I’ll…”
But neither of us ever find out what I’d do to rectify the situation, because he encircles my throat with his hand and his thumb comes up, stroking over my lips. “You don’t have to worry, zayka. I’m proud to wear your mark.”
A sound like a strangled giraffe emerges from my mouth.
“Now.” He releases me. “What about breakfast?”
“Umph.” So eloquent.
“Shower first. Go on. I’ll be waiting.” He opens the bedroom door and whistles. Karik appears, tail wagging.
I’m trying to stammer something about insisting that he take me home, but he glares at me until I retreat, my brain as putty-like as my legs.
Tingling and confused, I close the door behind me.
Doesn’t he want relief? Did he enjoy what we did? He sounded like he did, was saying encouraging things. But now I’m all alone again, with a massive gap in my memory. I think of the man on the other side. I have jagged jigsaw pieces that make no sense.
He was stalking me. He encouraged me and called me his good girl. Something happened last night but I don’t know what.
How can I even be sure that the Rotherhithe mafia boss is the hero in this story? He’s hot, yeah, but he would hardly be the first delicious and convincing villain.
That’s a question for future me. He said he’d tell me the truth, and I intend to follow through on that offer with a billion questions. For now, I think I agree with his suggestion of a shower. Maybe that will wash away whatever lunacy has taken me over.
I had an orgasm on his thigh.
And I want to do it again.
But on his cock.
