I processed her words for a second before asking darkly, “Why?” She hated doctors. The only reason she would have an IUD was .. . fucking infuriating. “Were you going to let someone else have this?” I squeezed her ass cheek. “No... I don’t know.” Not the right answer. In fact, it was so much the wrong answer, I slapped her ass hard enough to welt. She yelped and arched her back, her eyes opening to shoot me a glare over her shoulder. Her annoyance faded when I pulled out and thrust back in at an angle that hit her G-spot. A low moan rose up her throat. I realized I’d never heard her say my name before. And I suddenly needed to. “You want more, kotyonok?” “Yes.” “Then tell me who’s fucking you,” I demanded harshly. “Does it matter?” She tried to rock back against me, but I held her still by her hips. “Yes, it fucking matters.” “Why? In the end, P1 only remember your headboard. It really is a sexy design.” Gritting my teeth, I threw her to her back so roughly she bounced. I pushed inside of her in one hard thrust, braced my hands beside her head, and watched her eyes roll back. Her fingers gripped my wrists. “Is this what you want?” I growled. She was flushed from her orgasm, her breathing rough, but she still managed to say, “I want candles.” It was so fucking ridiculous, my anger faded. Her soft hands slid down my sides and grabbed ahold of my hips to urge me on. I hated this position. Staring into a woman’s eyes during sex felt so intimate it was nauseating, but Mila wasn’t meeting my gaze; she was looking at where my cock was deep inside her. I found it hot and somewhat . . . annoying she was focused on the sight instead of my face. “Move,” she breathed. “No. You want your missionary fuck? Tell me who fucked you first.” “You.” She trailed her fingers up my arms, across my shoulders, and into my hair, sending a shudder down my spine. “My name, kotyonok.”