The Maddest Obsession (Made 2)

“You,” I moaned.

A noise of satisfaction rumbled in his chest, and then his fingers were gone. He lifted me by the waist and carried me a few steps. A gasp escaped me when he dropped me in a rough motion on the kitchen island, after sweeping everything off the surface. Glass shattered. Silverware clanged. Papers flew.

/>

He ripped my thong down my legs, and, with shaky hands, I worked on his belt buckle. Reaching beneath his waistband, I took him in my hand. So hot and hard. I was fascinated with him, dying to explore him further. Though, once again, I didn’t get the chance. His fingers dug into my inner thighs as he spread my legs, and then he pushed inside me in one deep thrust.

I choked.

He hissed, his eyes on where we were connected.

“Slow. God, slow,” I begged, clutching at his arms.

I still wasn’t used to his size, but even more so, something about having sex with this man was so intense I thought I would lose myself completely or do something ridiculous like cry if I didn’t feel I had a semblance of control over it.

He stilled, and then we were both shaking as he eased out and then back inside. Pleasure burned through my veins. I moaned. Ran my fingers up his chest and held onto his shoulders as he fucked me slowly on the edge of the counter.

We both watched his length disappear in and out of me.

“Christian . . . no condom,” I breathed. “Again.”

“I’ll pull out.”

“I think that’s how my cousin got pregnant with three of her kids.”

That should have been enough to scare both of us, but, with heavy breaths, we only continued to watch him fuck me.

“I’m clean,” he rasped.

“I’m not worried. I’m sure your body temperature is too cold for any STDs to survive.”

His eyes came up to mine and narrowed. “It sounds to me like I’ve worked you in, malyshka.” He punctuated that sentence with a violent thrust that tore a gasp from my throat.

He lifted me off the counter, pressed me against the wall, and fucked me deep and hard. Each thrust sent a wave of heat curling and searing through me. We were chest-to-chest, his hand on my throat, my legs wrapped around him. We still had our clothes on, yet every point of contact was so hot, so maddening, I’d never felt closer to anyone.

He kissed me only twice, both short and distracted, but each time, something warm unraveled in my chest, pooling in my extremities like melted butter.

The orgasm hit me hard, shooting stars between my eyes and knocking the breath from my lungs. I tightened a fist in his hair, lightly biting down where his shoulder met his neck.

With a rough noise, he pulled out and came all over my thigh.

It wasn’t romantic in the least, but something about seeing him come undone brought out a tender, grateful part of me. With my legs still wrapped around him, I placed a kiss on his neck, soaking up his smell. He rested his hands on the wall on either side of me, his breathing hard, while I kissed his jawline, his cheeks, his lips.

“If I knew I only had to fuck you to see how sweet you could actually be, I’d have done it a lot sooner.”

Warmth ran to my face. And I knew he saw the blush when he ran a finger across my cheek.

“Moya zvezdochka.” He murmured the two rough words against my lips.

I stilled.

Those words . . . I’d heard them before. More than once.

And then the memory dropped into place.

“You,” I breathed, eyes wide. “You were at my wedding.”

20 years old