FAZER LOGIN“Spread your legs for me, printsessa. Show me how desperate that pretty pussy gets just thinking about my cock.” “My pleasure, sir…” * Trixie waited five years for Zahar to come home. One weekend is all it takes for everything to fall apart. One look from him. One touch. One quiet groan of her name, and she’s on her knees, begging for the man she was never supposed to want. He’s her father’s best friend. Her childhood crush. The man who stopped pretending he didn’t feel the same the second he saw her again. It’s wrong. It’s dirty. And neither of them is backing down.
Ver maisRussell’s grip on my arm was firm but not bruising as he led me up the wide, curving staircase toward our master bedroom. My legs still trembled from the intense double penetration downstairs, and with every step I could feel the warm, sticky evidence of Viktor and Elias’s release slowly leaking down my inner thighs. The mixture of their cum made my skin slick, a constant, humiliating reminder of what I had just done — what I had been made to do — in front of my husband. The grand hallway felt endless under the soft glow of wall sconces. My naked body, still wearing only the strappy high heels, moved with a strange, dreamlike detachment. Russell walked beside me in his perfectly tailored suit, looking every bit the composed billionaire while I looked exactly like what I was: his thoroughly used young wife. When we reached the bedroom door, he paused, turning me to face him. His eyes roamed over my flushed skin, my swollen lips, and the glistening trails running down my legs. “Look
The stretch was exquisite agony. Viktor filled my pussy with deep, measured thrusts while Elias worked his thick cock past the tight ring of my ass, inch by relentless inch. I gasped sharply, my fingers clawing at the polished mahogany table as my body struggled to accommodate both men at once. The dual fullness made my head spin — a burning pressure that blurred the line between pain and overwhelming pleasure. “Easy, chérie,” Elias murmured, his French accent thicker with lust as one hand stroked my back soothingly. “Breathe. Let us in. You were made for this.” Viktor’s grip on my hips tightened, holding me steady as he sank deeper. “So fucking tight,” he growled, his cold blue eyes now dark with raw hunger. “She’s squeezing me like a vice. Your wife is incredible, Harrington.” Russell stood beside the table, cognac still in hand, watching with that satisfied, almost paternal smile. He reached down and brushed a strand of hair from my sweat-dampened face, his touch oddly gentle c
Viktor reached me first. His large, warm hand settled on my waist with surprising gentleness for a man who looked like he could break bones without effort. Up close, his cold blue eyes were even more intense, scanning my body like he was memorizing every curve for future reference. The scent of his cologne — expensive, woody, with a sharp edge — wrapped around me as he stepped closer. “Such flawless skin,” he murmured, his German accent making the words sound almost clinical, yet heavy with hunger. His thumb brushed just beneath my left breast, watching my nipple tighten instantly under his touch. “And so responsive already.” Elias circled behind me like a shark, his fingers trailing lightly down my spine. “Look at this ass,” he said appreciatively, giving one cheek a firm squeeze that made me jolt. “Firm, round… perfect for gripping.” His breath was hot against the back of my neck as he pressed his growing erection against me through his trousers. “I’ve been imagining bending you
The chandelier above the long dining table cast a warm glow over the crystal glasses and delicate bone china. Soft light sparkled off the silverware and the deep red wine in our glasses. I sat at the far end of the table, legs crossed tightly beneath my emerald silk dress, trying my best to appear composed. Inside, my heart hammered wildly against my ribs. Russell Harrington sat at the head like a king on his throne. At forty-eight, he was still strikingly handsome — silver threading through his thick dark hair, a sharp, commanding jawline, and that calm, authoritative presence that made everyone around him sit up straighter. He was twenty-two years older than me, and there were moments, like tonight, when it felt as though he had purchased me along with this sprawling mansion, the designer wardrobe, and the luxurious life that came with being Mrs. Russell Harrington. Two of his most important business associates had joined us for dinner. Mr. Viktor Lang, a tall, imposing German inv


















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