I’ve never trembled with anticipation, but I do as I slip my hands into the elastic of his briefs. That’s when he stops me, locking his fingers around my wrist. “Not yet.”
He pulls me up until I’m standing on my knees, my legs on either side of his thighs on the chair. When he slides down in the seat to put his head on level with my sex, I understand his intention. I tense in anticipation.
His voice is commanding. “Not a sound.”
Yes, I’ll swallow them for him. Anything to have his mouth on me.
This time, he doesn’t watch my face. All his attention is focused between my legs. My face heats as he opens me with two fingers, exposing my clit.
“Such a pretty little flower.”
My cheeks grow even hotter at his sweet, roughly murmured words. No one has ever been sweet with me.
At the first sweep of his tongue, I forget everything. I forget why I’m here and that I’m not going anywhere. I give up on the control I always fight for so hard. I simply feel. And it’s amazing. He bites down softly on my clit while flicking his tongue over the engorged flesh. My toes curl from the pleasure when he dips his tongue inside, fucking me with shallow strokes. I cling to his shoulders and whisper his name, not daring to scream it. When he sucks hard on my clit, sparks sizzle in my lower body, and another orgasm starts to build. It’s not going to be slow-detonating like the first one. This one is going to wreck me. My legs start to shake.
His fingers tighten on my waist, and he holds me up when the pleasure explodes, eating me out throughout my climax as I bite down on my lip to keep in the sounds. I’m both depleted and strangely energized when he finally lets me go. Folding my arms around his neck to keep my balance, I sit back on my heels and watch, transfixed, as he frees his cock. He’s as big as I remember. The skin is smooth like velvet and embossed with masculine veins. Tracing a finger along the slit, I catch a drop of pre-cum. His cock twitches.
He watches me, waiting.
He’s giving me a choice. I take it gladly, climbing from the chair and kneeling between his legs. I fold my hand around him and angle the shaft toward my lips. When I lick the head, he hisses. I like the sound. I like knowing I have power, too. I want more.
A gruff sound of pleasure tears from his chest as I close my lips around his cock. I can’t take all of him—he’s too big—but I trace his length and girth until I’ve covered every inch with my tongue. His hands rest in my hair, guiding my tempo as I fold my lips over the thick head and take him as deep as I can.
“Enough,” he finally grits out, forcing me back to take a condom from the front pocket of his pants.
He tears the packet open with his teeth and makes quick work of fitting the condom, then helps me to my feet. Turning me to face away from him, he pulls me into his lap. I tense a little, remembering how hard it was to take him.
He kisses my neck. “Just relax.”
Whispering encouraging words in my ear, he lifts me higher and positions his cock at my entrance. Slowly, he starts lowering me. I grip the armrests for support. Even wet and with my muscles supple from two orgasms, I still battle to take his size. He’s patient, working himself deeper little by little.
It feels like forever until he’s fully seated. It burns, but I embrace it. The discomfort rekindles the fire, making my need climb again.
He presses a question against my ear. “Still good?”
“Mm-mm.” I barely manage a nod.
He takes me with shallow strokes until I’ve adjusted enough to take more. Then he shoves a little harder, making me whimper.
Oh, God. I’m going to come again.
His movements turn more urgent. I try to match his pace, bearing down when he slams up, but he curls an arm around my waist and holds me still. The rhythm becomes demanding. I hold on to his arm, my nails digging into his skin as I swallow a scream. Just as I’m about to float away from reality again, a hard voice calls through the door.
“Open up, Yan. Peter wants to see her work.”
Ilya.
“Fuck,” Yan mumbles, not breaking his pace.
“Mina?” Ilya says. “Are you all right?”
“We’re not done,” Yan calls back, the irritation evident in his voice.
My cheeks flame. Ilya must know what we’re doing. I try to push away, but Yan holds me tighter.
“Ignore him.” He gently bites the skin where my neck and shoulder meet. “Finish with me.”
“Open the fucking door, Yan.”
“Go the fuck away, Ilya.”
“Fuck you.”
It’s impossible. The moment is gone. “Yan.”
He uses his free hand to rub my clit. “Just one more time.”
“I can’t.”
“You will.”
He gets rougher, moving faster and pivoting his hips harder until I’m at the limits of what I can take. Despite my self-consciousness, the need Yan creates continues to climb. It rises inside me like a tide, until I’m trapped in the foaming waves of a violent ocean, and the drumming of my heart in my ears washes out the persistent tapping on the door.
My pleasure explodes. I let out a raw sound. Yan goes rigid. His cock grows thicker inside me, and then his whole body jerks.
“Mater’ Bozh’ya,” he grunts.
We come together. In a dirty shed with witnesses outside, I find release in the arms of my soon-to-be killer. I don’t reflect on how ironic that is. I barely have time to find my breath before Yan pulls out, leaving me strangely empty and cold. Lifting me to my
