Ivan – POV
I can barely stand.
My thighs tremble, breath shallow, vision hazy with want—and then I'm lifted.
Zander's arms wrap around me like iron, and I instinctively hook my legs around his waist. My back hits the wall again, not harshly, but firmly, like he's staking his claim. Like this moment is too big to take anywhere else. Too immediate for patience.
"I know I should take you to the bed," he murmurs, voice thick, hoarse, pressed to the corner of my jaw.
"But I need you right now, my love."
He kisses me—hungry, deep, like he's drowning and I'm the only breath he'll ever need. His hand cradles the back of my head. His other arm braces under me, holding me as though I'm precious, fragile, and simultaneously something he's starved for.
"I swear," he rasps, "I feel like I'll die if I don't—" He breaks off, burying his face into my neck, breath hitching.
"If I don't have you now."
I press my hands against his back, desperate for something to anchor me.
"I'm here," I whisper, my lips brushing his ear.
There's a sound—soft but distinct—the rustle of fabric, a zipper. I feel the shift as he kicks off his pants, his body still holding me with practiced strength. My own robe has long fallen open, barely hanging on at this point, the air cool against my flushed skin. The only thing between us is this thin thread of tension, and it's snapping—fast.
Zander breathes in deeply, like he's trying to hold himself together.
"Tell me you want this," he says. "Tell me again."
I lean back just enough to look into his eyes. They're wild. Desperate. And still, somehow, careful.
"I want this," I say. "I want you."
His forehead drops against mine, and we breathe the same air for a second. Everything in me aches. Not just physically—but in that terrifying, wonderful way where your whole soul reaches for someone else.
He shifts slightly, and I brace for impact, locking my arms tighter around him.
Then—
Pressure.
Blunt, hot pressure of his head against my entrance.
"Be careful," I murmur—but it's mostly to myself, a fleeting breath of thought.
And then—
"AH—!" I scream.
So much for careful.
Zander chuckles darkly against my throat, the sound warm and pleased, but his hands are still gentle as he adjusts me.
"Sorry, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice rich with heat and apology he doesn't really mean.
"You're just so damn tight. I couldn't help it and you're the one who said you wanted to feel me for days, sweetheart."
He shifts his hips, just enough to make me see stars. The pressure. The stretch. The sudden overwhelming heat. I grip tighter around his shoulders, gasp into his neck.
"Don't act surprised now," he growls.
He presses in deeper, slowly, his breath faltering in time with mine. My fingers dig into his shoulders, nails barely scraping his skin as I try to breathe through it. The stretch is dizzying, nearly overwhelming, but there's no fear. Just aching want.
"God," he groans, hips rolling slightly, adjusting the angle, pressing deeper still.
The burn turns into something more—a pull, a clutch, a spark shooting up my spine.
He kisses my shoulder, my neck, my temple, grounding me, keeping me anchored through the rising storm.
"You feel like heaven," he rasps.
"Better than anything I ever imagined, dreamed of."
I can barely speak. Can barely think. All I can do is cling to him and let my body learn the rhythm of his. The room spins a little, or maybe that's just me.
He moves inside me, slow but deep, and each thrust has a sound to it—soft, wet, indecent. His breath grows heavier against my ear.
"You're doing so well, Ivan. So perfect around me."
A helpless sound leaves my throat, and I bury my face against his neck. The world is too much and not enough all at once.
His grip on my thighs tightens, lifting me higher, angling just right.
"There," he growls—and the cry that rips out of me is sharp and desperate.
Stars. I'm seeing stars.
He keeps hitting that spot with every drag of his hips. My body arches despite the wall. I feel stretched, full, and—
"Zander, please," I moan. I don't even know what I'm asking for.
He shifts slightly, his hand pressing against my lower back to hold me still.
"I've got you," he whispers.
I kiss him, messy and desperate, our mouths sliding against each other like we're trying to breathe the same air. I can feel every tremor in him, every growl vibrating between us.
"You drive me crazy," he mutters against my mouth, biting my bottom lip. "You and that mouth."
I can't respond. I'm too busy trying not to lose myself.
His hand slides between us, down my chest, fingers grazing sensitive skin and making me jolt. I cry out when he brushes over my arousal, the friction delicious and maddening. He palms me, strokes me slowly, like he's memorizing the weight and heat of me.
"You're so… sensitive," he murmurs, almost in awe.
And then his hips thrust deeper, harder.
I cry out, eyes flying open.
He groans, his head dropping to my shoulder. "You feel… so good, Ivan. You have no idea."
The wet sounds of our bodies meeting echo softly in the room, mixing with our ragged breathing, the dull thud of the wall, the soft creak of the floorboards under his feet.
I feel wrecked. I am ruined.