Chapter 12 #4
Before she can even react, I’ve already reached for her hand. A thin line of red along her fingertip. Nothing serious. Still, an excuse as good as any.
“Let me see.”
“It’s fine,” she says, but doesn’t pull away.
I take her finger into my mouth, instinct more than thought. Salt, metal, her skin. She goes still instantly, breath catching in her throat. The taste of wax and blood lingers, and for a moment, everything slows—the sound, the air, the distance that isn’t there anymore.
When I let go, she doesn’t move right away. Just looks at me with that half-smile she can’t quite hide, eyes flicking from my mouth back to the rows of skis on the wall.
“You know,” she says slowly, teasing edge returning, “for a true fan of yours, this would be the perfect place for it. All your skis looking on.”
I laugh under my breath, still too aware of her hand in mine. “That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”
“I’m multitasking,” she murmurs. “Bleeding and fantasizing at the same time.”
“Efficient.”
She smirks, but her gaze lingers, and the depot feels smaller for it. I take the file from her hand, fingers grazing her skin—a simple touch, but it sparks like I’ve struck metal.
Neither of us speaks. She stays turned toward the workbench, one hand resting on the ski like she’s steadying herself, but her breathing says otherwise.
I set the file down. Move closer.
The heat from her body cuts through the chill of the concrete floor, the wax, the iron cooling on the bench. Her hair brushes my jaw when I lean in, the scent of resin and snow mixing with sweat and something that feels painfully familiar.
“Fabio…” Soft, uncertain, but not stopping me.
My hand finds her hip, a slow claim, thumb tracing the line between fabric and skin. The sound she makes isn’t words—it’s the kind of breath that wipes out thought.
That’s all it takes. One heartbeat more, and the space between us disappears.
She fists my jacket and pulls me closer into a hard kiss, our tongues tangled, teeth scraping.
This is not the gentle moment like my bedroom before; she’s raw and alive in this place, and it makes me go wild.
Moreover, after watching her for two hours admiring another man, as innocent as it was, I feel like I need to own her. And she doesn’t protest.
I trace my lips along her ear, her neck, and bite lightly on the sensitive spot where her neck ends and her delicate shoulder begins. Sliding her jacket and shirt from her shoulder, biting it a little harder. She moans aloud and lets her head fall back, offering her throat for my lips.
“Turn around,” I whisper, but can’t hide the raw command in my voice.
She obeys without words, unbuttoning her jeans as she does. I help her slide them down with her panties exposing her pulsing pussy in one smooth movement, one hand reaching for a condom package in my pocket.
“You carry condoms for ski tuning lessons?” she asks, breathless but amused.
“With you,” I answer, working my belt and jeans. “I have condoms on me everywhere we go.”
She snorts, but that sound turns into a moan when I slide two fingers between her slick folds and drive her. Her hips start moving, but I hold her in place. No games this time, this time I claim her.
She grips the table harder, moaning louder. She can’t move her hips; her voice is the only way to release the pressure. Her voice and the muscles of her pussy, which I can literally see squeezing.
“Fuck, Zlata,” I whisper. “Your pussy is just… a gem.”
She does not answer. At this point, her brain has stopped working; she’s melted into a puddle of need.
I slide my finger out and hold her hips in place with my hand. She’s quite a handful at this moment, twisting and squirming her hips, and I have to let go of her ass at some point to roll the condom on.
“Don’t move,” I order, voice rough enough to make her stop moving immediately.
“Good girl,” I smile. “Let us test how good you can hold this pose, right?”
I position my cock just above her entrance, guide it with my hand, and raise the other hand, freeing her hip.
“Don’t move,” I repeat. “If you want my cock, don’t you move an inch.”
She stays still, breathing hard, still moaning tightly, and goosebumps erupt on her naked butt.
I touch her entrance with my tip, and she leans her head back but does not move her hips.
I play with her entrance for a few seconds, teasing, circling.
Her breathing is ragged at this point; her pussy clenches and pulses, but she does not move her hips.
Slowly, patiently, I push all the way inside her, enjoying every inch.
“Yes, yes, yes,” she screams.
She can’t hold it anymore, her hips squirm, so I hold her firm. She can’t move, her pussy milks my cock, and slight desperation creeps into her voice.
“All the way in, Fabio, please,” she pleads. “Your cock… in. Fill me up. Please.”
That undoes me, yeah, I’m a sucker for this girl.
I wanted to tease her a little longer, but all patience, all resolve was taken away by a few filthy words coming from her silky mouth.
I grip her hips firmly and start pounding in her with a relentless rhythm, matching her raspy moans with my own.
It doesn’t take long when I feel her coming close.
I reach under her to find her clit, my fingers slipping at the wetness, but two fast swipes are all it takes for her.
She screams my name and unravels in spasms that vibrate not only in her womb and her pussy, but also in her whole body. The vibration sends a shiver up my cock, and just like that, she pulls me with her over the edge, and I spill with a howl that I barely recognize as my own.
For a long moment, there’s only sound—her breath, my pulse, the cooling silence of the depot settling back around us. The skis on the wall gleam dully in the lamplight, silent witnesses to the kind of chaos we just made.
She’s still trembling under my hands when I pull back, small shivers chasing through her muscles.
I didn’t mean to lose control that fast. I wanted to tease her, stretch it out, keep her begging longer—but one word from her and I’m gone every time.
It’s pathetic, maybe, the way she undoes me so easily. Pathetic, and perfect.
She turns her head, searching for my face, and when our eyes meet, there’s a hint of laughter there—soft, surprised, as if she can’t believe what we just shared. I brush my thumb along her spine, more instinct than thought.
Neither of us says anything. We don’t need to. The air between us is full enough—of heat, of something gentler neither of us dares to name.
No declarations, no promises. Just that quiet, shared knowing that we gave each other something real, something that won’t fit into any simple word.
I breathe her in, smile against her hair, and whisper, rough but honest, “You’re lethal, you know that?”
She laughs quietly, still out of breath, and leans back into me.