Peach

I’m going to regret this later, but right now, the only thing I care about is ripping Viktor’s shirt off so I can get closer to him.

I missed him.

I don’t know how it happened, but I missed him.

I’m breathing too fast, and there’s a desperate ache between my thighs that rubbing his hard length isn’t solving, and my breasts are so heavy I need a stronger bra.

And because he’s Viktor, he’s probably noticed, even with his eyes closed and his tongue stroking mine.

I succeed in unbuttoning his shirt and press my breasts against his hard chest—covered with an undershirt, of course, but my nippleage still goes harder. He ran this morning—I can still smell the scent of sweat lingering on him, mixing with his simple soap like he rushed through a shower and wasn’t all the way cooled down before he stepped out.

I wonder if he stroked himself. If he thought of me. If I’m ridiculous for being jealous of the water that was all over him.

Fuck, Viktor’s so hot when he’s all wet.

I’m dry-humping him like a rabbit on a little blue pill, and I don’t care. Every night the past week, I lay awake, listening to Meemaw snore and Papaya mumble to herself in her sleep, missing the steady rhythm of Viktor’s breathing and wondering if he jacked off before he went to sleep.

I need to feel his skin.

I need to hear his voice rumbling out that irritating my lady.

I need to see him desperately needing me as bad as I’m afraid I desperately need him.

He settles me on the bed, and I pull out of the kiss. “If this thing breaks—” I start.

He smiles, pops twin dimples, and my heart creaks out a feeble protest that the only place we’re headed is trouble.

But it’s overruled by the aching desperation of my throbbing clit.

He licks my neck and thrusts his hips, and every last worry in my chest evaporates.

“Pants off,” I gasp. “Condom. Nightstand.”

“Not those, my lady.” He cups my breast and thumbs my nipple through my shirt and bra, and I’m so close to coming I should be embarrassed, but Thor in heaven, I need this. “They’ve been compromised.”

I freeze.

Okay, most of me freezes.

My hips are still pumping against his dick because it’s been months since I’ve had a man-made orgasm and I’m so fucking close and he’s stupidly muscular and delicious and steady and— “Compromised?”

“The kingdom wishes for—I’ve hidden a fresh untampered box within the safe.”

He’s rocking against me, so thick and hard and insistent, and I have to force myself to focus, because god, his suit pants are slick against my leggings, the barriers so thin, his cock so heavy and riding perfectly against that bundle of nerves, and when he pinches my nipple, ten million volts of sheer pleasure rocket from my breast to my core, and I’m suddenly coming fast and hard with nothing for my pussy to squeeze.

I grip him by the hair and press his head into my neck. He nips at the tendons, and I cry out as my orgasm crashes harder.

I’m so fucking easy.

And still not satisfied.

“Clothes—off—now.”

He straightens—the man knows how to take orders—and strips off his undershirt. His abs ripple in the soft light, and his copper nipples are hard as pebbles against the flat, solid plane of his pecs. I fumble with my own buttons while he spins a painting of a goat fucking a sheep on its side hinges and turns a knob on a safe.

My hands still at the realization that if he weren’t so observant—and suspicious—we could be headed down a dangerous path.

“You—they—” I whisper.

He cocks a brow at me, then returns to inspecting the fresh box of condoms. When he pulls out a knife to slice through the tape sealing it shut, I’m simultaneously turned on and horrified.

“I changed the combination,” he tells me as he lifts a string of foil packets to the light and peers closely. “And I continue to change it every three days.”

“That’s—”

“Quite alluring and brilliant of me, I know. Pray don’t fall over yourself worshipping my masterful powers of distrust and suspicion.”

I stare at him for two heartbeats before I burst out laughing.

He grins, shucks his pants, and I suddenly lose my breath.

“Loser on the bottom,” he declares. “And, my dear, you’re quite far behind. I’ve only to remove my socks still.”

“That’s not the rule.” I hustle out of my shirt and sit up to unhook my bra.

He watches, his eyes glazing over with lust. “’Tis absolutely the rule. Now, shall I have you on all fours and take you from behind, or with your legs hooked about my neck, or shall I bury my face between your thighs until you’re quite incapable of walking for three days?”

My empty pussy clenches despite the danger, danger warning my brain is buzzing to my ears. I’m on birth control—learned that lesson the hard way—but the idea of compromised condoms still gives me the chills.

Viktor’s sharp brows narrow downward. “If you’d prefer to be on top—or to not do this—”

I tackle him before he can finish his sentence, and we topple to the floor next to the bed. His socks are still on.

So are my pants.

I jump up and yank them off, then straddle him, right there on the rug, before he can get any ideas. And then I kiss him before he can talk.

Because I can’t remember the last time a man gave me an easy out.

Hey, blondie, know what would look good between your legs? Me.

Just one more kiss, sweetheart, you know you want to.

I didn’t come up here so you could get cold feet.

His big hands cradle my breasts, his fingers and thumb stroking the curve of my breasts instead of going for the easy shot again with my nipples.

And it makes that hollow ache in my core throb harder.

My fingers curl tighter in his hair. I’ve trapped his cock between our bodies, gliding over it with my wet seam, moaning every time my clit rides the ridge of his thick, swollen head.

He’s gasping and grunting too, like maybe Viktor—steady, solid, always-in-control Viktor—is on the edge of losing it completely as well.

I’ve always wanted to drive him mad.

But I never considered seducing him would be the most effective method.

I giggle to myself while I’m still kissing him.

“I don’t want to know, do I?” he murmurs against my lips.

He brushes a thumb over my cheek, and the soft gesture would bring me to my knees if I weren’t already straddling him on the floor.

He licks my lips and continues. “You’re quite diabolical. I’m entirely uncertain if I should trust you.”

“Shut up, Viktor.” I reach between us and squeeze his erection.

His hooded lids drift completely shut, and he arches his head back. He shaved this morning, but he already has a five-o’clock shadow drifting down his neck. His tendons stand out stark and thick, and I lean in and bite one.

For fun.

“Bloody fuck, Peach,” he rasps out.

I stroke his thick length, squeezing to try to make my thumb and finger meet around his girth.

He grunts and strains, bucking into my touch, losing control. My pussy squeezes.

I want him.

I want him inside me.

Thrusting. Pounding. Coming his brains out.

I want to drive him wild. Insane. Ride him until we’re both sex-sated jellyfish.

The condoms have fallen on the floor. I grab the sleeve, rip one off, and roll it down his length. He rolls, trapping me under him, and I wrap my legs around his hips.

“Bloody angel of terror,” he grunts while he probes my entrance with his engorged head.

I laugh until he pushes inside, and then I’m gasping.

He’s stretching my inner walls to the max, driving into me like a man on the edge. “Ohmygod, more.”

I angle my hips, and he rams into me. His pelvis rocks against my clit with every thrust, and that hot coil builds deep in my center.

I didn’t mean to get back to the palace and jump his bones, but Thor almighty, I did miss him.

“So bloody tight,” he grunts. “So bloody hot.”

Our eyes connect, and the Viktor I know is gone.

His dark eyes are searching, seeking, but not the usual what are you up to? suspicion.

No, this is could you truly love me? vulnerability.

Raw desire and blatant insecurity from a man who’s usually buttoned up so tight I sometimes wonder how he can breathe.

“So bloody perfect,” he adds, and I break.

No, not break.

Burst apart in a glittery rainbow of sheer bliss, my walls clenching tight around his spasming cock while he holds one last thrust so deep inside me, I swear he’s touching my soul. I squeeze his ass. I hold him tight against me, taking all of him while we both ride out the powerful, overwhelming waves that are spinning sparkly dots in my vision.

I’m coming so hard, so fast, I can’t breathe, and I can’t remember why I need to. My heartbeat pounds in my ears—or maybe that’s his heartbeat.

He collapses on top of me as the last of my climax is still stuttering around his cock.

“Gods above, you’re so much more,” he murmurs into my neck.

He doesn’t say more what.

But he doesn’t have to.

Because he’s more too.

More than I expected. More than I gave him credit for.

More than I might be able to walk away from.

And I don’t know if I can deal with the choices I’m going to have to make when our year together is over.