Chapter 17 - Alexei #2
I lay flat beside her so I can press my cock into the mattress, trying to relieve some of the ache, but it only makes things worse. Her leg is up over my hip and she’s still squeezing around my finger, milking it, and I almost lose it right then. No—she doesn’t get to win. Not today.
I slide my other hand up, grab her breast, thumb the nipple until she’s got tears in her eyes. “You want it, Sofia? You want to see what happens when you talk back to me?”
She nods, but I can see the lie in her eyes. She wants this, but she wants to take it from me, wants me to give it up. Not a chance.
I take the soaked end of the sheet out of her cunt and drag it slowly up her stomach, over her tits, then to her mouth.
She opens, obedient for once, and I stuff the wet fabric between her lips, silencing the next moan.
She gags, then bites down, eyes rolling up as her hips start to move in frantic circles.
That’s the look I want—the look of defeat and wrath and need.
I can’t wait anymore, not with the way she’s writhing, not with the blood pounding through my skull and my cock threatening to split open from the ache.
The last shreds of control snap inside me.
I grip her thighs, hard enough to leave bruises she’ll feel all day, and pin her down to the mattress like she’s prey and I’m the only thing in this world that gets to devour her.
Sofia’s pussy is already drenched, puffy and needy, glistening in the watery morning light.
The scent of her is dizzying—a headrush of sugar and salt and something wild underneath.
I drag my tongue from her entrance to her clit, slow at first, savoring the taste: honey, sweat, the tang of last night’s surrender still leaking from her.
She jerks like I’ve shocked her, legs kicking, but I press my palms down and force her open wider, spreading her until she can’t fight me.
“Fuck—,” she gasps around the sheet in her mouth, but it’s mangled, just a desperate muffle.
I smile into her flesh and do it again, harder, flattening my tongue against her clit and flicking up until she bucks against my face, her whole body shuddering with the effort to get away or get more, I can’t tell which. Doesn’t matter. I want both.
Her thighs clamp around my ears and the sound goes thick and underwater.
Maybe she wants to suffocate, maybe ride my face until she blacks out.
Either way, I let her, because if this is how I die, I’m fine with it.
The world fades to the heat of her skin, the slick of her arousal coating my mouth and chin, the frantic tremble of her muscles as I work her closer and closer to the edge.
She pulls the sheet from her mouth and screams my name, the sound ringing off the walls.
Her hands scramble at the sheets, at my hair, at the edges of sanity.
She claws at my scalp and pulls, the pain sharp and perfect.
I growl into her cunt and the vibration pushes her even closer.
She’s so sensitive, so raw, I can feel every twitch, every heartbeat, every pulse of blood pounding through her as the pleasure builds.
I want to see her lose it, want to watch her shatter all over my tongue, but I want to ruin her a little first.
I pull away just for a second—just enough for her to wail in protest, to glare at me with those electric blue eyes full of murder and longing. I stroke the inside of her thigh with my thumb, gentle for the first time all morning.
“Make me come, Alexei. Make me come.”
I look up, lips shiny with her, so she knows who did this to her. “You’d beg the man who’s holding you captive?” I ask. “The man who’s going to destroy your family?”
She laughs, a wild, desperate sound, and says, “I’m not begging. I’m ordering you. Make me come or so help me God, I’ll fuck every last one of your men until I find one who can.”
The rage in me is instant and nuclear. I bite the soft mound of her pubic bone, hard enough to bruise, and she yelps, but the sound is pleased, greedy. I hate and love her for that. She wants the punishment. She wants everything I can give and more.
I spit on her pussy, watching the slick slide down her lips, then go back to work, sucking her clit between my lips until she’s sobbing.
This time I add two fingers, pounding them in and curling up, hunting for that spot that makes her scream.
She’s shaking now, her whole body taut like a bowstring, and I can feel her getting close.
I want her to remember this every time she tries to defy me. I want to own her orgasms, make her body betray her.
When she’s about to come, I snarl, “Now, kotyonok,” right into her cunt, and she detonates. Hips bucking, thighs locking around my head, her nails rake down my arms and leave blood behind. She milks my fingers, clenching so hard I think she might break them off inside her.
The sight, the sound, the taste—it’s too much. I rut against the mattress and lose control, coming hard and fast, spattering the ruined sheets with my own mess. She sees it, sees what just the taste of her has done to me, and smiles with her eyes even while she’s still trembling in the aftershock.
I crawl up her body, covering her, pinning her wrists to either side of her head. My cock is still twitching, leaking onto her stomach. I don’t care. I want her to see it, to know how wrecked she makes me.
She looks up at me, breathing in ragged gasps, and says, “Was that so hard?”
I lean down, lips grazing her ear, and whisper, “Next time, I tie you to the bed and make you beg for hours.”
She grins, unafraid. “Promise?”
I kiss her, deep and bruising, and let her taste herself on my tongue.
She kisses me back, just as hard, teeth clashing against mine.
For a moment there is nothing in the world but this—her, me, the taste of blood and salt, the ache in my bones, the knowledge that I’d do anything to keep her here, even if it means breaking her a thousand times.