Home > The Master (The Game Maker #2)(7)

The Master (The Game Maker #2)(7)
Author: Kresley Cole

His cock pulsated in his hand, and he muttered something in Russian that sounded like a curse. He returned to the couch, kneeling between my legs. The difference in our sizes struck me. He made me feel tiny and fragile—while he was all hard edges and power.

He leaned over me, using one hand to restrain my wrists over my head. With his other, he gripped his shaft and aimed it. When the crown slipped down my slickened lips, he hissed in a breath. “So fucking wet for me.”

As he prodded that broad head, I had my first worry.

I was soaked, but he was big—

He shoved inside to the hilt, yelling with pleasure.

Too big! “Ow! Hold up!” I strained against his grip. “Mierda, give me a minute.”

Lips parted, he released my wrists and drew back on his knees, leaving me pinned on his cock. “ ‘Ow? Hold up?’ ” This was the second time he’d flashed me that expression of shock/amazement; I termed the look Máximo shockeado. “You’re determined to enjoy your fucking?”

I guessed other women had let him shove away. “Let me get used to your size.” The fit was so tight that I could feel his dick throbbing with each of his heartbeats. “Can you do that?”

He held himself still, shuddering from the effort. His skin began to dampen with a sheen of sweat. He grated, “Somehow.”

Tentatively, I rolled my hips, sending his shaft in and out of me.

In . . . out . . .

In . . . out . . .

In. Out.


Each time I could accept his length more readily, my body accommodating his. Pleasure subdued the pain. My lids grew heavy again.

“Good girl.” His gaze was fixed between my legs. “I see you taking me, dushen’ka.”

When he leaned over me once more, I threaded my fingers through his thick hair. At my ear, he murmured Russian words, then he took my mouth. He’d liked it when I’d sucked on his tongue, so I did it again—

He growled into our kiss, his hips shooting forward between my legs. It didn’t hurt this time, wrenched a moan from me. He withdrew, then sank even deeper. And it was . . .

Increíble! I broke away to cry, “Yes, yes! Más, Máxim!”

Leaning on his forearms, he began to surge into me. His black hair was mussed from my frantic grip, his eyes hooded. He stared down at my face, brows drawn, as if I’d confounded him. “You’re making me lose control.”

Did I appear as lost to lust as he did? “I don’t want you to hold back,” I panted, spellbound by him.

His gaze narrowed, as if I’d challenged him—or was giving him lip service. He withdrew, then rammed his hips forward, taking my breath away.

But I loved his strength, his intensity. “That’s all you’ve got, Ruso?”

He went to his knees again and gripped my hips. “That was a warm-up.” Seeming to use every muscle in his body, he yanked me close as he shoved. “Uhn!”

I cried out, lifting up to meet his next thrust. He rocked into me; I rolled up to him, the pressure hitting my clit each time. Once the two of us were in sync, our bodies moving together, he pistoned between my legs, railing me as I’d never been fucked before.

Fuck of the century? Try millennium! I was holding on for dear life, hovering on the very verge of orgasm.

“So tight,” he grunted, his jaw set as he pounded away.

Ay, Dios mío, he could move! Each time he snatched me to him, his biceps bulged. His pecs flexed, hard slabs of muscle beneath sweat-lathered skin.

Just watching his toiling body pushed me closer to the brink. He enjoyed watching as well, was transfixed by my bouncing breasts.

The tension gathering inside me was about to release—if he kept up those long, deep thrusts. So close . . . so close . . .

Accent thick as gravel, he bit out, “I love your nipples, your tits, your gripping pussy. The way you watch me with those stunning eyes. You like to watch me fuck you?”

“Yes! Máxim, you’re going . . . to make me come . . . hard!”

“Fuck. Fuck.” He swelled even more, until it was too much! “Can’t hold on! My cock’s about to explode!” The lines of his face grew tight, as if he were in misery. Then his body stilled.

No, no, no! No, keep moving!

His look of misery vanished, ecstasy lighting his face as he began to ejaculate. He threw back his head and roared to the ceiling, his throat working, tendons bowstring-taut. He gave a brutal stab of his hips, then another, bellowing, “It’s . . . so . . . fucking . . . good!”

His shattering thrusts hurtled me over the brink. “Yes, yes, YES!” I screamed, my vision blurring. My back bowed, my tits slipping across his sweating chest.

“Blyad´! I feel you!” As my core clenched him, he bit out, “Your greedy pussy’s milking my cock. You’ll have every last—ahh!—fucking drop out of me!”

Hot. Wet. Bliss.

Continuing on and on and on . . .

Just when I could take no more, he shoved into me one last time. A long satisfied sound rumbled from his chest. His lids slid shut, and he collapsed over me.

I lay boneless beneath him, my limbs splayed. I moaned when his cock twitched inside me; he groaned when my pussy continued to squeeze his shaft.

As if our bodies wanted more of each other.

He nuzzled my neck, his exhalations tickling my damp skin. His heart thundered against my chest.

By the way he’d reacted, I began to think I might’ve given him an FOTC.





I patted his ass, sighing, “Not bad, Máxim.”

With a half frown/half scowl, he withdrew, revealing a condom filled with more semen than I’d ever seen.

“Un hombre viril.” I stretched out on the couch, grinning from ear to ear, finally understanding the term fuck-drunk.

Rising, he yanked off the rubber and dragged on his pants. “You’re pleased with yourself.”

“Pleased in general.”

“I don’t ever lose control like that. I never come until I’m ready to.” His harsh tone was accusatory, as if I’d done something unforgivable.

Qué cosa? Huh? “This took me by surprise as well.” I rose to look for my clothes.

“You don’t make a habit of getting off with your clients?”


Again, he clearly didn’t believe what the hooker was saying. “Something about me in particular must be ‘special’ and ‘different’ among your clientele. I suppose coming with each of your dates, all day long, would be an occupational hazard.”

Wouldn’t know. By the time I’d collected my clothes, he was already in the next room. Shame. I’d wanted to see him from the back.

I heard the shower running and had no idea what I was supposed to do. Leave? Get ready for round two? I donned my underwear, then grabbed my phone, ringing Ivanna.

After I’d given her a rundown of everything, she sputtered, “Maksimilian Sevastyan?”

“Yes. You’ve heard of him?”

“Of course! He’s a politician and a billionaire!”

The former interested me more than the latter. My father had been in politics too. Not that I’d ever tell the Russian. And not that he’d ever believe me if I did.

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