Chapter 28 Sima
SIMA
As we climb upstairs, I keep my stare on Petyr’s back at all times. His broad, firm back with muscles peeking out the collar of his shirt. For as long as I can focus on that, the nerves stay out of sight.
By the time we get to the bedroom, though, I’m a mess.
The door clicks softly shut behind us. Suddenly, the air feels heavier. Thicker. My pulse is a drumbeat in my ears, and every inch of my skin is alert, anticipating.
This is it. The night we finally… That.
Which is a stupid thing to panic about. Seriously. We’ve done literally everything else, haven’t we?
But not this, the anxious part of me whispers. The part that’s gone twenty-four years as a virgin, hasn’t seen a dick anywhere but in unsolicited DMs, and has no idea of what to do with it.
Theoretically? All good.
But in practice? Not exactly a whole lot of experience on my résumé.
What if I’m not good at it? What if I grip it wrong and accidentally crack it like a glowstick? What if I freeze up and Petyr thinks I’m one of those cold-fish women who writes grocery lists in their mind while staring at the ceiling? Thrust, buy more bread, thrust, we’re out of orange juice?
What if I snort like a pig when I cum and he gets turned off permanently?
Why do you even care? This isn’t about pleasure. This is a business arrangement. Get married, get knocked up, get out. If he doesn’t like the experience, he can always whip out a turkey baster.
Right. This is about making a baby. Not sex. Or, like—not real sex. Not sex done for purposes that Sister Margaret would disapprove of. This is one-hundred percent Church-friendly, procreation-driven hanky panky.
But you want it. Heat flashes through my body. You want it to be real sex. You want it to feel good. Just like everything else has felt good so far.
I’m such an idiot. Petyr may not have expectations, but me? I’ve stopped approaching this like it was pure business the second I came around his fingers. There’s no point lying to myself—I want it.
I want him.
And that’s fucking terrifying.
“You’re thinking.”
“Huh?” Petyr’s husky voice breaks me out of my spiral of chaos. “I’m…?”
“Thinking,” he repeats. “Don’t do that.”
“Don’t what? Think?” I ask, amused despite myself. “Are you worried my delicate womanly brain is going to overheat?”
“Yes.” He closes the distance between us in one smooth step. His big palms settle on my hips. “So turn it off, or I’ll do it for you.”
I know he’s going to kiss me. I know that. I know that.
But when his lips collide with mine, it still lights up every single one of my nerves on fire.
His tongue presses for access. Hot, rough, demanding. My doubts scatter like butterflies. Soon, I don’t have the bandwidth to think at all.
When he pulls back, I’m already breathless.
“Much better,” he says, drinking in the sight of my kiss-bruised mouth.
He walks me back until the backs of my knees hit the bed. I fall onto the mattress, staring up with wide eyes, my gaze hooked to his. His pupils, dark and blown, don’t stop tracking my movements for even a second.
“You’re still nervous.” He doesn’t ask.
“A little,” I admit breathlessly.
“That’s fine.” His eyes go dark. “I don’t mind earning my praise.”
“Cocky,” I snort before I can stop myself.
“Confident,” he corrects. He mouths at the curve of my jaw, making heat spark low in my belly. “And soon to be very, very busy.”
My laugh turns into a gasp as he starts kissing down my neck. I can feel the scrape of his stubble on every inch of skin he kisses. Rough, delicious. My hands grip his shoulders, desperately looking for an anchor. His body is such a warm, solid thing against mine.
He peels my top off slowly, deliberately, like he wants me to feel every second of it. And I do. God, I do.
Then he pulls back for a moment, looking at me with burning eyes. “You’re so fucking gorgeous.”
I flush, scoffing out of habit. “Flatterer.”
“I don’t do flattery.” He reaches for my waistband. “So take the compliment, lisichka, and everything else I give you.”
Before I can stutter an embarrassed reply to that, he kisses me again. This time, there’s no hesitation in me as I kiss back. Only raw need and the slow, steady rhythm of Petyr pulling me under.
I go willingly.
Petyr doesn’t waste time. He peels away the rest of my clothes like he’s unwrapping a gift. Slow where it makes me shiver, fast where it makes me gasp.
Since I don’t like to be outperformed, I start pawing at his clothes, too.
When I finally see him naked, I forget how to breathe.
My eyes trail over him: broad chest, sculpted stomach, a V-cut that looks carved by the gods. I swallow around a dry mouth, trying to wrap my mind around the fact my baby daddy apparently looks like a Greek statue.
And then there’s the obvious, not-so-tiny detail under the waist.
“Holy Sister Margaret,” I mutter.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
But he’s caught my stare now. And that small, half-smirk that blooms at the corner of his mouth makes me want to blurt something stupid and patently false.
“It’s not that big.”
“I was expecting more.”
“I could fit two of those.”
Bitch, you can’t even fit one. My rational mind slaps me awake. Right—that’s got to fit. If we want a baby, that has to go, like, in me. All the way.
Oh, God.
I should be scared, right?
I totally shouldn’t want it more than I want to breathe, right?
…
Shit. He’s going to ruin me for anyone else, isn’t he?
Petyr’s dark gaze fixes on me. “If you keep looking at me like that,” he says, hoarser than before, “I’m not gonna be able to take this slow.”
“Who says I want you to?”
My comeback surprises both of us.
“Blyat’.” Suddenly, he’s on me, pressing me down into the mattress. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, little fox.”
Then he’s diving between my breasts.
I throw my head back and fist the sheets.
Petyr’s tongue moves from one nipple to the other without restraint. I can feel his teeth closing around sensitive skin, pulling and biting and dragging the most shameful sounds out of me.
Meanwhile, his hands are roaming everywhere. Belly, hips, thighs—if he can reach it, he’ll touch it. My focus splits between the wonderful things his mouth is doing and the press of his fingers on my inner thighs, forcing my legs open.
“Oh, God,” I gasp, holding on to his shoulders.
He’s going to fuck me. The realization hits all at once as I feel the drag of his hard cock down my leg. He’s going to—
Then Petyr’s head moves between my thighs, and I lose the ability to think.
His tongue drags over my clit. Slow, hot, maddening. I don’t even realize I’ve wrapped my legs around his neck until I hear him growl. The vibration alone drives me wild.
“Petyr,” I moan. “Please.”
“‘Please’ what, lisichka?” He stops kissing between my legs to speak, and that should be a human rights violation. “Use your words.”
“Make me cum.” My shame takes a swan dive out the window. “Please, I need to cum, I—”
I don’t get to embarrass myself further. The second Petyr’s tongue is on me again, my words twist into unrecognizable screams.
He eats me out like he’s starving. Like he wants to taste every single sound I make. My thighs tremble, my hands knotted in his hair as I lose every scrap of self-control to his mouth.
Then his finger starts pressing into me.
“So fucking gorgeous.” Petyr whispers sweet nothings into my flesh as he starts pumping in and out of me. “All these years, just waiting to be fucked.”
Yes, I want to scream. I was waiting for you.
I don’t care if it’s not true. Right now, it feels so much like the truth, I forget how badly I’m supposed to be scared of him.
Then I remember, and somehow, that makes it better.
“Don’t stop,” I beg. “Please, God, don’t stop.”
But Petyr has no intention of stopping. He adds a second finger, crooks them just right against that spot that has me close to tears. With his mouth sucking on my clit and his fingers fucking me, I’m so close I can taste it.
Then he adds a third, and I see white.
“Petyr!” My orgasm hits hard and fast. I cry out his name as I cum, thighs shaking, hips rocking shamelessly into his mouth.
When I come back down, he’s kissing up my body again. Stomach, breasts, neck. I taste myself on his tongue as he kisses me senseless.
“That’s it,” he murmurs between kisses. “Good girl.”
His praise shoots straight through me. “Petyr,” I gasp. “Please—”
“What did I say?” His voice rolls through me like thunder. “Use your words.”
“Fuck me.” I’m practically begging at this point, but I don’t care. “Please, just fuck me already.”
He hisses into the crook of my neck. His cock twitches against my thigh.
Before I can think better of it, I reach out to stroke it.
Petyr’s muscles lock around me. For a moment, I’m terrified I’ve done something wrong. Grabbed him too hard, too fast. “Fuck,” he breathes.
“Is that bad?” I start to pull my hand away, but Petyr’s fingers close around my wrist like steel.
“No,” he rumbles. “It’s not.”
I stroke him again. Once, twice, feeling the sheer length of it, the girth. It’s so big, I can’t wrap my hand around it fully. Will it really…?
“It’ll fit,” Petyr promises, as if reading my mind. “You’ll take all of it, little fox. I’ll teach you how.”
My mind goes cloudy. “Teach me now,” I whisper.
For once, Petyr doesn’t make me beg.
He pulls one of my legs over his shoulders, then lines the tip up to my entrance. “If it’s too much, you tell me,” he says as if he’s setting down a rule. “If it’s too fast, you tell me. If it hurts at any point—”
“I’ll tell you,” I breathe. “I’ll be good, I promise.”
Damn. Where’d that come from?
Before I can let myself linger on the praise kink I think I might be developing, Petyr grabs my hips. “I know you will,” he murmurs, hot and low.
Then he’s pressing up into me, and thoughts become a distant memory.
I hold my breath as I feel him breach me. Inch by inch, so slow I could cry. He’s giving me time to adjust, I know, but the slower he goes, the longer he drags against my oversensitive walls. Does he have any idea how maddening that is? How overwhelming it feels?
“Petyr…” I moan.
His hips roll to a stop halfway into me. “Fuck. You feel like heaven.”
Then fuck me already!
But my mouth is dry cotton. I can’t speak, can’t string together a coherent sentence. All I can do is look hazily up at Petyr, all muscles and sweat and dark, dark eyes, and feel the pleasure roll through me.
“More,” I beg.
Petyr’s pupils eat away at the burnished gold of his irises.
He doesn’t make me ask twice.
He leans over me, braced on either side of my face. One of his hands slides slowly back to my bent thigh, prying it open. I had no idea it was possible to be stretched so wide, be so full.
When he’s finally rolled all the way inside me, I’m stunned at how little it hurt, if at all.
“Last chance to back out, lisichka.” He grinds out those words like it costs him.
I get it. Because if he stopped right now, I might just fucking die, too.
But I can’t do words, so I show him instead.
I roll my hips once, twice. By the third time, Petyr’s eyes are completely black.
“Please,” I whisper.
I’m no expert, but I think that’s what breaks him.
He starts moving inside me. This time, his movements are far less measured than before.
He pulls all the way out, then practically slams back inside. I lose count of how many times. I’m too busy holding on for dear life, moaning into his shoulder as he stops fucking around and starts fucking me in earnest.
“Petyr,” I gasp, clutching at his back as he drives into me. Harder, faster, deeper. “Don’t stop. God, don’t stop.”
“You like that?” His hips pick up the pace. “Being fucked like this? Having my cock inside you?”
“Yes!” I pant, too far gone to deny it. Every nerve ending feels like it’s being lit up from the inside. “Yes, yes—”
His lips brush the shell of my ear. “Then beg for it.”
And I do. Because I’d do anything to shatter again under him.
So I beg. Beg him to fuck me, to make me feel good again. Beg my enemy to cum inside me, put his baby in me, make me his.
And when I cum around his cock, clenching with a choked sob, I can feel him shatter right after me.
He groans into my neck. I can’t be sure, but it sounds like my name. My real name.
Something about that makes me moan louder.
I feel the hot spill of his cum inside me. I never thought something like that could feel good, but fuck it, what does a virgin know?
I lock my legs tighter around him, take all of it inside. Keep it there, like it would be a sin to spill a single drop.
Which would make sense if I was thinking about the baby.
But all I can think about is how badly I want it again.
And soon, it’s happening. Soon, Petyr is moving again, hard as a rock inside me. “Fuck,” he growls. “Sima…”
I lose count of how many times I cum. How many times he cums, filling me to the brim, driving me crazy.
Safe to say I’m ruined for anyone else.