Home > Stolen Heir(63)

Stolen Heir(63)
Author: Sophie Lark

Holy hell, that makes it hard to concentrate. While I’m sucking his cock, he’s penetrating me with his tongue, and rubbing my clit with his fingers. The angle is different than usual, and so is the sensation. There’s something incredibly satisfying about his mouth on me and my mouth on him at the same time. It makes the feeling of his cock against my tongue all the more pleasurable.

My heart is racing faster and faster. The time since we were last alone together is so long. I’m anxiously, painfully aroused. I touch myself in bed at night, thinking about him, but it’s not the same as the taste and smell and sensation of Mikolaj himself. Nothing can match that. Nothing can satisfy but him.

I’m rocking my hips, grinding my pussy against his tongue. It feels so good it must be illegal. I’m moaning around his cock, getting so distracted that I can’t do my part of the job anymore.

Mikolaj doesn’t care. He switches to penetrating me with his fingers, and licking my clit with his tongue. He puts one finger inside of me, then two. I’m moaning and riding on his face, the waves of pleasure rolling through me closer and closer until there’s no break in between, until it’s one long rush . . .

The orgasm ends, but I’m greedy for more. I can’t get enough of him. We’ve been apart too long.

I flip around and climb on top of him instead, his cock sliding snugly inside me. The warmth of the fire caresses my skin. It burns against my face, my bare breasts, my belly. I’m incredibly sensitive after that climax. Every stroke up and down on Mikolaj’s cock seems to awaken a hundred new receptors that I never knew existed.

Before I know it, I’m building up again. On my way to another orgasm, before the first one has properly ended. This time the sensation is deeper, concentrated inside of me instead of on my clit. The head of his cock is hitting that second pleasure center. Each stroke is like flint against steel, sending off sparks.

All at once the sparks catch, and there’s an inferno of pleasure, surging inside of me. I cry out like I really am on fire, a gasp that turns into a scream. My whole body tenses up. Then I collapse on top of Miko, limp and wrung out.

He flips me over so I’m down on all fours, and enters me from behind. I groan as he slides inside. His cock is too big—from this angle, it’s bottoming out, banging against my cervix.

I arch my back and that helps a little. He grabs my hips in his hands, sinking his fingers into my flesh. I feel how strong he is. How much energy he still hasn’t unleashed on me.

He’s not going to wait any longer. He starts fucking me hard, slamming into me over and over. It’s pleasure right on the edge of pain, but I like it. I love feeling how powerful he is. I love him taking control. I love how he takes what he needs out of me.

He’s grunting with every thrust, his voice deep and animalistic. The fire is so hot that we’re starting to sweat. I feel the droplets falling off his face and hair, down onto my back. He’s pounding into me harder and harder and I can’t get enough of it.

“Yes,” I gasp. “Keep going . . .”

There’s no way he was going to stop. His body slams against mine, his cock thrusting in as deep as it can go. Then he gives one last push, holding his cock in its deepest position, and he explodes inside of me. I feel the cum boiling out, without any space to fill. When he pulls his cock out, it pulls the cum out too, so it drips down my thighs.

I sink down on the rug, laying on my side, and Mikolaj lays behind me, spooning me. I fit perfectly in the hollow of his body. His arms lock around me, lean and strong.

“When should we get married?” I ask him.

“Immediately,” he says.

“Do you want to wait for summer?”

“No,” he growls. “I don’t want to wait another minute.”

 

 

33

 

 

Miko

 

 

I meet Geo Russo outside of The Brass Pole to hand the keys over. His payment hit my bank account this morning—he’ll be the new owner of both of my strip clubs (minus the one Nero Gallo burnt down).

Russo pulls up in his Bentley. He’s a short, stocky man—completely bald, with hands as puffy as cartoon gloves. He looks pleased and suspicious about our deal.

“Now that it’s settled,” he says, tucking the keys in his pocket, “Why don’t you tell me the real reason you wanted to sell? What is it? Have men lost their taste for titties?”

He gives a wheezy laugh.

“No,” I say, stiffly. “I’m just moving in a different direction.”

“By god,” he shakes his head in amazement. “They said you’d gone crazy over some girl, but I—”

He breaks off, seeing my expression. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

“Are you going to finish that sentence?” I ask him, coldly.

“No,” he mutters, staring down at my shoes. “My apologies, Mikolaj.”

“You can thank ‘that girl’ for putting me in such a good mood,” I tell him. “Otherwise I’d snap your fucking neck.”

I walk back to the car, where OIie is waiting to drive me over to Jungle.

“Trouble, Boss?” he asks me, as I slide into the backseat.

“No,” I say. “Just people forgetting their place in the world. I might have to make an example out of somebody.”

“Russo would be a good place to start,” Olie grunts. “He snaps his gum.”

“I noticed.”

I’m not sorry to let the strip clubs go. There’re too many other things to sell in this world—I don’t have the same taste for trading women as a commodity.

I’m not getting rid of Jungle, though. That was the first place I ever laid eyes on Nessa. And I’m not so reformed that I’m above selling liquor. In fact, I’ve got plans to open six more clubs—here, and in St. Louis. There’s still room to expand in Chicago, and in neighboring cities as of yet unclaimed.

I plan to renovate the house, too. Nessa doesn’t want me to change it, but I tell her we should at least have proper heating.

“Why?” she says. “I don’t care if it’s cold. We can cuddle up together.”

“That’s fine for us. But what about children?”

She looks up at me, green eyes wide.

“Do you want children?” she asks, quietly.

I never did before. But with Nessa, I want everything. I want every experience life has to offer, as long as it’s with her.

“I can wait,” I tell her. “But yes, eventually.”

“I want that, too,” she says.

“Are you sure?” I smile. “You know twins are hereditary.”

She laughs.

“Nothing with you is ever simple, is it?”

“No,” I say. “It really isn’t.”

For our honeymoon, I planned to take her to Agra, to see the Taj Mahal. But Nessa wants to go to Warsaw instead.

“I want to see where you grew up.”

“It’s ugly,” I tell her. “And dangerous.”

“The whole city isn’t ugly!” Nessa protests. “There’s palaces, and parks, and museums . . .”

“How do you know?”

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