Page 11 of Owning Him
Before I can even process the words, he moves. For a man his size, he is terrifyingly fast. He sets his carton on the floor and leans over the space between us.
He doesn't ask. He just takes.
He presses a bruising kiss right against the bare skin of my hip. His stubble scrapes against my skin. Good god, it’s like I’m on fire. Then he drops another hot kiss right above the crack of my backside, his breath scorching through the red lace.
He pulls back abruptly. My eyes dart down; beneath the grey sweatpants, he is sporting a literal third leg.
"I am going to excuse myself, or I’m scared I won’t be able to stop," he growls.
He stands up and walks out, leaving a mess behind him.
I’m the mess. My body is literally incinerating from the inside out.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Chapter Eight
Viktor
This is torture.
Fuck. It’s like Satan himself is licking me all over, and there is no relief from the fire spreading in my veins.
Valentina is fucking masturbating in the room next to mine. I can hear her moans and the high-pitched hum of what appears to be a vibrator.Fuckkk. I thought she wasn't “into whatever this is.” I guess she’s just not into me.
Why the fuck did she buy me then?
It’s getting harder and harder to resist her. I don’t know what is happening to me. It is like I’ve become a sex-crazed demon, completely losing my mind over the memory of her crack barely covered by that tiny scrap of red lace. When I was down there, I didn't want to stop. I wanted to trail my tongue downwards, and downwards, tasting every single inch of her.
Which is completely fucked, considering that was a part of the job I absolutely dreaded back in the brothel. When some of those women—who feared neither God nor STDs—demanded it, it took everything in me not to gag. I only did it back then to get the clients to leave.
For the first time in my life, I am craving eating out a pussy.
How would Valentina’s look? Would it be a pale pink? Would the inner parts extend just slightly, giving me something soft to pull between my lips and suck on? Or would it be tucked entirely inside itself, forcing me to saw my tongue deep inside to find her?
Valentina strikes me as the type of woman who wouldn't let me go down on her easily. She’d be so uptight, so desperate to maintain her control that she'd pretend she doesn’t enjoy it. But I’d make her enjoy it. I'd stay down there until she was clawing at the sheets and begging me to stop.
Fuck.
What is happening to me? Is this just sex withdrawal from stopping so suddenly? I honestly thought that after escaping the brothel, I’d become celibate.
So what the hell is this?
Valentina moans loudly again. It cuts off my train of thought completely. The noise makes my cock swell against the heavy fleece of my sweatpants until the pressure is blinding. I grip the edge of the mattress, my knuckles turning white in the dark.
I try to jerk off, but I can’t. The sounds coming through the wall aren't of a woman about to orgasm. They are frustrated. Helpless.
It sounds like she doesn't know how to get there.
Fuck. I know exactly how to get her there. It’s like we’re both being tortured in separate rooms, all because she’s too proud to admit she wants this. Is it really just because it’s me? I swear, I would make it so good for her.
I can't take another second of this. I get out of bed and pad down the corridor. I push her bedroom door open a fraction, standing in the crack of the doorway.
The view inside nearly stops my heart.
Valentina is spread out on the silk sheets, her legs thrown wide. She is completely naked, her pretty, wet flesh entirely on display. She’s pressing a buzzing purple vibrator against her clit, her hips bucking upward, but there’s a line of tension between her brows. She’s chasing it, but she can’t reach it.
"Can I?" I ask.
