Ghost (Boston Underworld #3) - A. Zavarelli Page 0,42

comes out again.

“You already do.”

I jerk in his arms and his fingers move inside of me again. The party is still happening downstairs, but Alexei doesn’t care. He takes his time. He doesn’t allow my fucked up needs to hinder our progress, and he gives me exactly what I require. He nurtures my desire for pain by pulling my hair and dragging his teeth down my throat before sinking them into my shoulder. And when I relax in his arms, he heaves me up and sets me on the desk, tearing my panties away and splaying my legs apart. He holds my thighs beneath his palms, scooting me to the edge of the desk so that my ass hangs off.

I’m on display for him. Lewd and dirty. My dress bunched around my waist, my breasts on display and my legs spread wide. I wonder if he likes me like this. Filthy and wrong.

I don’t have to wonder for long. He reaches for the cognac on his desk and opens it, pouring it down the front of my body and wetting my skin and my dress. My back arches and the liquid warms my skin as it slides down between my spread legs.

Alexei chases the liquid with his tongue, drinking it from my flesh. And yet I’m the one who is drunk off the combination. But there is still that part of me that feels the deep chasm of shame. He knows it, but he doesn’t let me give in to it.

His eyes meet mine before he leans forward and buries his face in the exposed part of me. He eats me out on his desk. On top of his paperwork and while his guests are downstairs. He fucks me with his tongue and grunts out his approval as he devours me.

And there isn’t anywhere else I could take my mind right now if I tried. He is the only place I want to be. In this moment. Watching him ruin me. Feeling the brutality of his grip on my ass, bruising my flesh and imprinting his mark on the deepest level of my psyche. The place where all of my fears and needs collide.

I come hard for him. And still, he doesn’t stop. Until I beg him to be inside of me.

And then he’s pulling me back into his lap. Freeing his zipper with his fingers and yanking my hand down in his to touch him. He wants me to need this. To need him. It must be his own fear that blinds him from seeing that his control over me is absolute. And that I do need it from him.

I leave no question in his mind. I cup the hot bulge beneath his briefs and run my fingers along his shaft. His eyes never leave mine. Only when I free his cock completely and shift my hips to push him inside of me, do his eyes close briefly.

Once he’s fully rooted, he grabs my face and forces me to look at him again.

“Mine.”

Then he’s fucking me. Using me. And thoroughly enjoying it. His hands guide my hips, and his lips sear my skin. Everywhere. He’s kissing me everywhere. Sucking on me. Tasting me. Breathing his fire into me.

His brand of fucking is more intense than any other I’ve ever experienced. His eyes never leave my face. Watching for every slight tremble. It’s intimate, and raw… being face to face like this. Skin to skin. Every time he gets close, he pauses or stops altogether just to kiss me. To touch me. To draw it out and soak as much pleasure as he can from the act itself. It scares me and sends a thrill through me.

And I feel like I need to ruin it.

“Do you like fucking your filthy whore wife?” I ask him.

He smiles up at me, and his cock swells inside of me. “I love fucking my wife,” he answers.

He thrusts up inside of me harder, harder. “Now tell me how much you love it too.”

“I like it,” I admit.

“Do you like calling yourself a whore?” he asks. “Do you like to be degraded, my little Solnyshko?”

“Yes,” I answer him honestly.

From him. I want that. I need it. To give myself permission to enjoy it. To let my mind be free.

“Then tell me you’re my whore,” he demands. “And the only thing you’re good for is pleasing me.”

“I’m your whore.” I lean back against the desk so that my body is on display for him. “And the