Vicious Protector by Maggie Cole

6

Skylar

Nothing I'm doing makessense, and I don't stand a chance against Adrian. I woke up hating him this morning. Now, I can't seem to remember why I disliked him. It's as if my brain can't register to stay away from him when he's this close to me. He's the epitome of male sexual power, and his kisses earlier did nothing to satiate me. All he did was make me want him more.

Panic annihilates me when he says he's taking me home. I have no reason to feel it. It's a rational, safe course of action, but the only thing that feels right is staying with Adrian.

Words roll out of my mouth. "I never said I didn't want to see you anymore, so why are you taking me home?"

His jaw clenches under my fingers. I lower my hand over his heart. It pounds into my palm. I slide my other hand to the back of his head and step closer.

"Don't tease me, my printsessa," he firmly states.

I caress the back of his neck with my thumb. "One thing I've never been is a tease, Adrian."

He dips down so his mouth is an inch from mine. His icy-blue eyes pierce my gaze. He warns, "No? Then be careful of your next move. If you touch my lips, you're staying. If you pull away, I'm taking you home."

Blood pounds between my ears. His body heat penetrates through my dress and into my skin, in contrast with the cool night air. I inhale his scent, almost becoming dizzy from it. I barely have to move before my lips mold to his.

Our tongues slide against each other, and like every kiss Adrian's given me, it's carnal bliss with an underlying tone that nothing is off-limits. With every swipe of his tongue or press of his lips, it's as if he wants every part of me, and he'll stop at nothing to take it.

It turns me on. I've never felt so wanted or dominated by a man. Before I know what's happening, my dress pools at my feet. I stand on his balcony with labored breath and in nothing but my undergarments. A chill runs down my spine from the contrast of his warm hands and the cool night air.

He steps back, assessing me. The longer he stares with his sexy, arrogant expression, the harder it gets not to move. When he finally reaches for me, he picks me up and sets me on the dark ledge. It's about three feet wide. The wood is cold, but Adrian's dense frame is warm. He asks, "Are you afraid of heights?"

"No."

"Do you feel like you're on top of Chicago up here?" he asks.

I glance around. The other buildings are several floors lower. "Yes."

His lips twitch. "Enjoy the view, my printsessa." He inserts his tongue deep in my mouth while unhooking my bra then tosses it behind him. His warm mouth devours my breasts until I'm writhing against him and gripping his head.

"Oh God!"

"Lean back on your elbows," he instructs.

I obey. The back of my arm hits the metal rail. My head and shoulders are over it, making me slightly nervous. The night air cools my hot nipples quickly, keeping them puckered and hard.

Adrian places my hands so they grip the edge of the wood. "Hold on." He smirks then widens my legs. He drags his wet tongue from my cleavage through my belly button and down to my panties. His large hands slide over my outer thighs and around my ass. He takes a deep breath and mumbles, "Fuck. You're going to be the death of me." Instead of removing my panties, his mouth attacks them, slowly at first, as if it's a game to see how long he can terrorize me with a barrier between his mouth and my pulsating body.

The blinking lights of the city become fuzzy. Heat rolls through my body, competing with the springtime air. Zings ricochet in my cells. I move my hands from the wood to Adrian's head. My voice comes out desperate and raspy. "Please."

He grunts then slides his tongue under my panties and rolls it on the edge of my hole. It's hot, slick, delicious torture. He pulls away and bites my clit through my panties.

"Adrian! Holy—"

He inhales again, as if my scent somehow gives him life. In a quick movement, he reaches for my damp panties and rips them off me. There's a slight sting, but I can't think about it for long. Adrian's entire tongue swipes my sex, over and over, the tip of it flicking on my clit every time he gets near it.

I rotate between glancing at Adrian and the city around me, no longer feeling the cold air. Sweat breaks out on my skin.

His tongue becomes a jackhammer, pounding deep into my sex, then coming out as fast as it went in. His fingers assault every part of me. My clit. My nipples. My mouth.

"Suck," he growls, inserting two of his fingers past my lips. "You're going to control my mouth now."

What does he mean?

He stops and arches his eyebrows, intently watching me suck his fingers. After several seconds, his expression becomes cockier. "Show me what you want, my printsessa." He places his mouth on my clit and sucks with the same intensity I am, flicking his tongue simultaneously.

My mouth forms an O, but he keeps his fingers lodged over my tongue. His mouth stops moving, and the arrogant expression of his grows. He taunts, "Can't handle it, my printsessa?"

Jesus.

My lips mold back over his fingers. I suck his digits like it's his dick, sliding the tip of my tongue along the length and applying pressure.

Everything I do, he replicates. I forget I'm sitting on the edge of a building, overlooking the Chicago skyline, naked and sweating on top of the cold plank. All I can focus on is Adrian's haughty, icy-blue eyes locked onto mine while he mimics every move my tongue and lips make.

My whimpers become louder. He has me on the cusp of flying, and I lean up. I slide my hands under the neck of his T-shirt and dig my nails into his back. He tugs my body closer to him so I'm barely on the ledge. My legs hang over his shoulders, and I grind my sex against his face. He inserts his fingers in and out of my mouth, as if it's his dick pushing into my body.

I'm desperate for it. Each time his fingers slide in my mouth, I hungrily attempt to suck them. "Please," I beg him every time he pulls out of my mouth, until I'm crying out into the night sky.

Like a wild animal who hasn't eaten in days, he savagely sucks me until an earthquake of endorphins destroys me.

"Adrian!" I scream as he continues to keep me high, buzzing, and so dizzy, I claw his back until he's groaning.

When the adrenaline fades, I'm still quivering and shiver as the cold night air hits my clammy skin.

He tilts his head up. The cockiest expression I've ever seen fills his face. He shimmies up my body, playing with my sensitive breasts, then taking ownership of my mouth with his.

He readjusts my legs, so they are around his waist, then picks me up and takes me into the bedroom. Every move he makes is fluid. There's no pausing or analyzing. Not one part of him lacks confidence in what he's doing. He lays me on the bed, steps back, and strips.

Oh. My. God.

How is this man with me right now?

I knew Adrian was a specimen of perfection, but seeing him naked and in the flesh is like seeing a masterpiece of art for the first time. There are so many places to look. My eyes dart from head to toe. Brilliant tattoos of crosses, snakes, skulls, and flowers adorn his arms and torso. His chest has a voracious lion with the letters L-E-V above it. Chiseled flesh lies under every inch of his skin.

He fists his erection, staring at me. I'm mesmerized, unable to tear my gaze away from his thick, long cock.

How did all of him fit in me the other night?

He reaches for his nightstand and pulls out a condom then slips it on. He lunges over me, propping himself up on his elbow, positioning his face over mine. His breath smells of my orgasms, and he pins his steel gaze on me. "You're mine, printsessa."

I reach for his face, but he holds his position steady.

"Do you understand?" he demands.

"Yes."

His eyes dart to my mouth, and he begins fucking me with his tongue until I'm moaning. He retreats, studying me, then returns to assaulting my mouth while grinding his shaft against my sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Oh God!" I scream, trembling hard against his muscular body.

"That's my girl," he growls in my ear. Then he quietly says something in Russian between kisses and stroking my head until I catch my breath.

"Please," I whisper, spreading my legs wider and bucking my hips.

"Please what, my printsessa? What do you want? Hmm?" He slides his tongue over my cheek.

Heat bubbles in my veins. I begin to sweat again. My voice cracks, "I want you, Adrian."

His mouth hangs an inch above mine. Blue flames burn into me. He shifts his hips and slowly enters my wet heat, groaning, as if in relief. He doesn't pull out but presses every last inch of his cock in me. I accept it all, as if God created Adrian's body exclusively for me.

Maybe he did. Every thrust he makes, I meet with eager perfection. Each kiss we have is fire. Any touch is an explosion of zings.

He uses every part of his body to ravish me, leaving nothing untouched. He gets on his knees, tugs me by my hips, then pushes my ankles to his chest. One of his arms holds my shins. The other hand dips to my sex. He pinches my clit, then rubs it with his thumb, then repeats it while slowly thrusting in me and watching my every reaction.

I cry out, and he smirks. He continues to do it until I'm shaking and my insides clench his shaft. He stops pinching me and only circles his thumb while pounding in me harder.

I dig my nails into his outer thighs and scream as adrenaline pummels me. I spasm on him, over and over, feeling a train of euphoria, unlike anything I've ever experienced before. It lasts and lasts until he growls out in Russian and spurts his hot seed deep within me.

His phone dings. He sucks on my big toe while running his fingers up and down my inner thigh.

Jesus. Does this man ever stop?

He releases me, grabs his phone out of his pants, then pulls the bedding back. "Slide under."

I do as he asks.

He sits on the edge of the bed, texts a few things, then groans.

I wince when I see the claw marks on his back. I must have done it when we were on the balcony. I reach out and trace the bloody trail. "Sorry."

He turns and grunts. He tosses the phone on the nightstand and slides under the covers. He cages his body over mine. "Don't say sorry to me after we have sex."

"I drew blood."

His smug expression fills his face. "As I recall, I was the reason you drew blood."

I bite down on my smile.

He kisses me. It's slow and gentle, unlike his other kisses. "Sergey is coming over."

"In the middle of the night? Did something happen?"

"I'm not sure what's going on, but everything is fine."

"Should I go?"

He scoffs. "No. You should stay in my bed. Do you have anything going on tomorrow morning?"

I rack my brain. "No. I have plans with the girls Sunday morning but nothing tomorrow."

He grins. "Good. Take a break. Rest up for later."

"Later?"

He traces my lips. "Sergey isn’t staying long. When I come back, I'm waking you up."