33. Chapter 33
33
Konstantin
B ella’s on my bed, a fucking vision I can’t tear my eyes from—legs spread, black silk bunched like a tease, her pink cunt glistening under the dim firelight. Two fingers plunge into her vagina, slow, desperate, slick with her own need, and her eyes—blue, wild, fucking starving—beg for my cock. I’ve never wanted a woman’s climax, never gave a shit about their pleasure—mine was enough, cold and done. Years dead inside, fucking to forget.
But watching Bella come undone is becoming my obsession, the most alive thing I’ve seen, and govno, it’s got me burning, cock throbbing in my grip, condom tight as I stroke myself hard.
I need this—her surrender, her desperation, all mine. She’s trying to mimic me, those fingers chasing what only I can give, but she’s failing, and the way her lips part, panting my name, makes me want to ruin her. Control’s my drug, and I’m high on it, holding back just to see how far she’ll break for me.
Her moan—sharp, desperate—snaps my focus.
“Konstantin,” she gasps, fingers plunging faster, and I’m done waiting. I climb onto the bed, silk shifting under my knees, and grab her wrist, yanking her hand away.
“Enough,” I growl, voice thick. “Ass up. Higher.” She scrambles, obeying, arching her back until her ass is high, perfect, her wet cunt bared to me. I grip my cock, dragging the head through her slickness—fuck, she’s dripping—and slap it against her clit, hard, the wet smack echoing.
She yelps, hips jerking, and I do it again, watching her shudder.
“You like that, don’t you?” I say, low, filthy.
“Yes,” she whispers “Please— Fuck me, please.”
“My little slut, begging for it.”
Her moan is agreement, and I lean in, biting her neck—hard enough to mark, red blooming under my teeth. My fingers slip inside her, curling, pumping, and she’s tight, clenching like she’s already close.
“Scream for me,” I demand, and she does—my name, raw, filling the room as Shostakovich strings claw the air.
I can’t hold back anymore.
I line up, gripping her hips, and thrust deep—hard, claiming her from behind. She cries out, silk sheets twisting in her fists, and I fuck her like I mean it, each stroke slamming into her, balls slapping her clit.
“So fucking tight,” I snarl, one hand fisting her hair, pulling her head back. “This cunt’s mine, isn’t it?”
She’s incoherent, moaning, “Yes, yes,” and I feel her tighten, ready to break. I pull out suddenly and flip her onto her back—missionary now, her legs spread wide, silk gown a wreck. Her eyes meet mine, wild, and I dive in, tongue lapping her clit, slow, teasing, tasting her desperation.
I suck hard, then soft, driving her mad, and she’s grinding against my face, screaming my name again. My fingers plunge inside, three now, curling, and she comes—hard, flooding my hand, her body shaking like it’s never known this before.
But I’m not done.
I crawl up, kissing Bella’s lips—deep, devouring—tasting her moans as I slide back inside her. She’s tight, wet, fucking perfect, and my cock fills her, condom slick with her need.
I growl against her mouth, thrusting slow, then brutal, each snap of my hips making her gasp.
My hand finds her nipple through the silk—pinching, twisting—and she arches, a sharp cry spilling out.
Her eyes lift to mine, wide, blazing, like I’ve just ripped her world apart, every thrust a fucking revelation. Like she’s never been fucked like this. Good. Because no one should fuck her. No one but me. She’s mine—every scream, every shudder—and I’ll burn anyone who tries to take her.
“Look at me,” I snarl, and her gaze locks on, softer now, dropping shyly, surrender in every blink. Govno , that submission—it’s gasoline on my fire, making my cock throb harder, owning her deeper.
“You’re so… big,” she gasps, voice trembling, a match to my fuse.
My hand snaps to her throat—not choking, just holding, my palm dwarfing her fragile neck. She’s such a tiny little thing, but her tits—bouncing wild as I thrust into her tight cunt—are a goddamn masterpiece, full and perfect, begging to be marked.
“Big enough to split your tight little cunt,” I growl, voice thick with lust. “You’ll feel me for days.”
Her breath hitches, eyes wide, pinned, wanting.
My other hand slides down, fingers rubbing her clit—fast, rough—blood shooting to her face, cheeks flaming red.
She’s close, trembling, but I’m not letting her come.
Not yet.
I want her desperate, aching, so I pull out—cock slick, leaving her empty.
Her whimper’s pathetic, hips chasing me, and govno , I want this to last—want her so much it burns, want to prolong this fire until we’re both ash. I don’t want it to end, not when she’s this alive under me.
“Stay,” I snap, fingers still circling her clit, slow now, teasing until she’s squirming, silk sheets twisting under her. “Fucking look at me, krasavitsa .”
Her eyes flick up, then down—shy, pleading—and she whispers, “Please, Konstantin,” unprompted, breaking faster than I thought.
It’s perfect, her need feeding mine, and I lean in, sucking a hickey on her collarbone—dark, claiming—while my fingers dip lower, grazing her dripping cunt, not entering, just torturing.
“This tight cunt’s mine,” I murmur, voice low, “No one else gets you like this.”
She nods, frantic, and I’m back inside—thrusting hard, pinning her wrists above her head. Her nails rake my arms, scratching red lines, and I growl, loving the sting, loving her fight.
“Scream for me,” I order, and she does—“Konstantin!”—raw, shattering, as I drive deeper, silk creaking under us.
I slap her clit—not my cock this time, just fingers, quick, sharp—and she’s done for, coming again, clenching so tight I nearly lose it. Her nails rake my back, leaving marks of her own, and fuck, she’s fire, life, everything I forgot I could feel. She’s not just sex—she’s waking me up, burning through the cold I’ve carried for years—wars, blood, a decade dead inside.
I keep thrusting, slow now, dragging it out because she’s alive, and so am I, her moans cracking my grave open.
I’m close, too close. I hook her legs over my shoulders, driving deeper, her moans a fucking symphony.
“Beg for my cum,” I snarl, voice ragged.
“Please, Konstantin,” she chokes, eyes locked on mine.
“Yes, that’s right, squeeze me with your tight little cunt.” My fingers are rubbing her clit, and she breaks—gushing, screaming, cunt pulsing like a heartbeat.
“Fuck,” she chokes.
I thrust once, twice, then pull out, ripping the condom off. My cock pulses, spilling hot across her stomach, marking her again. I collapse onto her, chest heaving, her warmth seeping into me. Her breath’s ragged, too, and for a moment, we’re just bodies—sweat, silk.
And I’m alive in a way I haven’t been in years.