Chapter 16 #2
I don’t even know if Semyon has a clue what he's saying to me or how it's making me feel. He's so detached, so clinical.
I don’t think he sees things the way other people do, and hell, if that isn’t one of the things I love most about him.
“His phone is in my bedroom.”
Semyon frowns and shoves his hands in his pockets but doesn’t respond. He trails behind me, taking in every detail as if casing the place.
When I get to the room, I open my top drawer filled with what my mother would’ve called my "unmentionables." I pull it open and rifle through the soft satin and lace in shades of pink, white, and black… one of the few things that did not belong to my mother. These are all mine.
I like wearing sexy underwear and bras; they make me feel pretty, special—almost like I have a little secret no one else knows.
Ophelia’s family owns a clothing business, and whenever they discounted items, she’d bring me in.
I’d pick out something here and there, and her father would exchange them for loaves of bread and muffins instead.
"It’s right—" That’s when I see Semyon staring. I freeze mid-sentence and give him a curious look. "What?"
"I take it back," he says in a rough whisper.
"Take what back?"
"I told you not to bring your clothes back. That drawer… Fucking empty it. I want to see you in every one of those when we get home."
I stare at him, my hand embedded in the drawer of silk and satin undergarments.
Is he serious?
"All right…"
“Do you have the phone?” he asks, his voice tight. He looks around my childish bedroom, which hasn’t changed much since he knew me. I still have the rickety bookshelf with my favorite books, the faded pink duvet, and the secondhand furniture my mother painted white. A room frozen in time.
“It’s in here,” I say, wondering why he’s suddenly gone rigid, his look murderous. “What’s the matter?”
My pulse quickens with the intensity of his gaze.
“What’s the matter?” he growls. “If you don’t get me out of here, I’m going to—” He bites his words off and shakes his head. “I’ve wanted you for so goddamn long. I’ve held myself back, Anya, and I don’t know how much restraint I have left in me.”
I blink, his words sending a shiver down my spine. “You… you’ve wanted me?”
His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, one single moment, the years between us disappear. It’s just Semyon, my childhood dream crush, and I’m just his best friend’s sister.
“Always,” he whispers. “But not like I do now. Not when you were too young. I buried it, kept my distance. Kept you safe. But now there’s no fucking reason for me not to lay you on that pink bed and ruin you.”
I stare at him, our mission forgotten. My hatred for him a distant memory. I stare at the only man I’ve ever loved and say what I know will break his tightly held restraint.
“Do it.”
A thrill runs through me when he snaps. He lifts me in his arms, and my legs wrap around him, my arms around his shoulders. His thick cock pulses between my legs, and my sex throbs. I ache for him, even as I fear what it will feel like.
His lips brush the shell of my ear. “I saw the way your face fell when we came in here. Today will be the last day you ever darken these doors. But I want your last memory of this place to be one you cherish, Anya. One that’s burned into your memory and erased all others before it.”
I blink back tears. I’m a wreck. My arms encircle his neck. “Semyon, you already have.”
His eyes meet mine, and this time, they aren't cold but engulfed in flame. “Strip, baby, and spread your legs. I want to taste you.”
With shaking hands and my heart racing, I tug off my clothes. His hands meet mine, helping me. Impatient. My need grows.
“Hands by your side, Anya.” He nudges my knees apart with his.
I do what he says obediently despite my pounding heart. He slips off his glasses. Folds them. Tucks them next to my leg on the bed. Sinks to the floor and drapes my legs over his shoulders.
Oh my god.
The next thing I know, his eyes are closed, and he's inhaling my fragrance with a groan as if he's going to lose his self-control. Something about my stoic, possessive, utterly controlling husband losing his mind at my scent alone makes me want to cry.
He plants a kiss to my sex, and my hips jerk. His eyes meet mine with a wicked glint, holding my gaze as the tip of his tongue sinks between my folds.
Oh. Dear. God.
I've never felt anything like this in my life. I feel vulnerable and excited and so damn wet. I want more of him, but at the same time, I want to hide.
He licks again with the flat of his tongue. The sound of his groans fills the room.
Pausing, he laps at my inner thigh. “You drive me fucking insane," he growls.
“No one makes me lose control but you, Anya. Only you.” His tongue finds my clit as he traces my entrance with his fingers.
“Khristos,” he says on a moan. “You’re so fucking wet.
This is what I want, love. I want you wet for me before I take you.
I need to make sure that you're ready for me.”
My head falls back, and I’m lost to sensation again. He licks down the length of my slit, spreads my legs, and pokes his tongue in my core. I squirm as delicious heat trickles through me. I moan, letting myself go, lost to pleasure that only Semyon can give.
My god, it feels so good. My eyes flit by the bookshelf, still filled with the books I read as a little girl.
I know then that he’s right. My memory of this place will never be the same. I'll be forever changed because of Semyon—because of what we're doing on my pale-pink bedspread in my terrible apartment that holds nothing but bad memories for me.
I'll remember this.
Us.
I'm so turned on that every stroke of his tongue pushes me closer to the edge.
“How does that feel?” he asks, and I realize then he wants direction.
“Yes,” I whisper when he suckles, and when it’s too much, I rake my fingers in his hair. “Oooh, easy. Yes, yes, like that.”
The flat of his tongue presses before he sucks again and circles my clit.
I can feel the first spasm of pleasure coming, my need increasing, my ability to hold self-control gone.
“Come on my mouth, baby.” His hot breath brands my inner thighs. “Come on my tongue. I want to hear you. Let yourself go, Anya.”
My hips jerk, my breath is a moan, a scream I don’t recognize escapes my lips, and then I come. My climax is so hard I'm boneless, pleasure wrecking every cell of my body. My vision blurs, my pulse races, electric waves of pleasure washing through me and erasing all else.
He licks me to perfection, and when he's done, and I sag onto the bed half spent, he drags the back of his hand across his mouth and meets my eyes with a wicked, rare smile that makes my heart flutter in my chest.
“You liked that,” he says with obvious pride.
“Armph,” is all I can say. I’m incapable of actual words.
I watch him in a daze as he unbuckles his belt and tugs it through the loops. Then he unfastens his pants and pushes them down, his thick cock springing free.
I want him inside me so bad I’m practically salivating.
A nervous flutter tickles across my chest. I've never seen a man this close before, not like this. Ophelia and I have giggled over videos and pictures and things we read online, but this—this is next level.
He still wears his T-shirt, but it clings against the planes of his muscles as if the fabric worships him like I do.
“I'll do my best to take you slow," he begins.
"Please don't,” I say in a whisper. "Please."
"Jesus fucking Christ," he growls before he leans his weight on me and presses the head of his swollen cock to my soaking hot center.
I hold my breath, but he only shakes his head.
"Breathe, Anya,” he says, bending his mouth to my neck and kissing me there.
I giggle because it tickles, but it still makes me wet.
“Spread your legs. Relax. Don't tense up; you can't tense up. "
His voice is so soft and gentle it’s hard to imagine why I hated the man I thought of as being so cold.
He slides the head of his cock inside me, and I let out a moan.
“Did that hurt?” he asks, trembling with the effort of holding himself back.
I shake my head. “A little.”
“Alright, baby,” he whispers in my ear. “Let me make it better.”
The first thrust brings both pain and pleasure. So much pleasure.
Too much. Too good.
My pulse races. I was unprepared for the way this feels. My arms encircle his neck. He stills inside me, the walls of my pussy hugging his cock. "Are you all right?” he asks quietly in my ear.
I nod. “I’m so good,” I whisper back. “But you need to move, or I might die.”
I'll do anything to see the corner of his mouth quirk up again like that. The fleeting smile feels like a victory. My cold strategist disarmed. He obliges, pulling back before thrusting in again, a slow, deliberate rhythm that makes me whimper as pleasure unfurls inside me.
Each movement pulls me in deeper as he thrusts, building a rhythm of pleasure and pain.
“Anya,” he whispers.
My nails bite into his shoulders as my world shatters into brilliant shards. My climax blinds me, overwhelms me, wrecks me. He pumps into me, spilling his hot seed with a groan as we come together.
His forehead meets mine. Our breaths mingle, and our fingers entwine.
Vulnerability flashes in his eyes before he blinks it away, but I see it. I savor it. I cherish it.
The man hidden beneath the cold facade… scarred, burdened, but so capable of what terrifies him more than any enemy ever could.
With a kiss to my shoulder, he cocoons me in the pink blanket.
A door opens outside the room.
“In here.”