Chapter 23 Aleksei #3
She’s clawing at my shoulders now, completely gone, and I’m not much better. We’re a mess of skin and breath and half-removed clothes, and the whole room feels too small to contain how fast this is escalating.
“Aleksei,” she says, wrecked. “Please.”
I look at her, my hand still between her thighs, and know with total clarity that there is no stopping this now. I push her back against the cushions and drop to my knees between her thighs before she can say another word.
Her breath catches. The look on her face nearly ruins me all by itself.
“You have no idea,” I murmur, hands sliding up her stockings, spreading her wider, “how long I’ve wanted to do this properly.”
Then I put my mouth on her.
She jolts with a sharp cry, fingers flying into my hair as my tongue drags through her slow and deep, tasting her exactly the way I’ve been imagining for days. She’s hot and wet and already trembling, and I take my time with the first few strokes just to feel her react. Just to hear her.
“Aleksei…”
I groan against her, the vibration making her shudder.
I lick her again, then circle her clit with the tip of my tongue until her hips start moving on their own, chasing me.
My hands grip her thighs harder, holding her exactly where I want her while I suck her clit into my mouth and give her the pressure she’s been begging for.
Her whole body arches. “Oh God—”
“Not him,” I say roughly against her. “Me.”
She laughs and moans at the same time, half-dazed already, and that sound goes straight to my cock. I keep going, tongue working her in slow, filthy strokes, then harder when she starts panting and clutching at my head like she’s losing the ability to think.
I look up once.
She’s spread out on the sofa, hair a mess, breasts bare and flushed, nipples tight and aching from my mouth.
I can’t leave them alone for long. I rise just enough to drag one into my hand, then bend to kiss and suck there too, alternating between licking her wet cunt and closing my mouth over her nipple, teasing one while devouring the other.
She’s a wreck instantly.
The combination makes her shake. Her thighs quiver around my shoulders, her fingers tugging my hair, then sliding down to cup the back of my neck as if she can’t decide whether to hold me there or pull me closer.
“Too much?” I ask, though I know damn well it isn’t.
“No,” she gasps. “No, don’t you dare stop.”
I smile against her skin and take the other breast, sucking hard enough to leave her whimpering while my tongue circles back to her clit. She’s dripping over my chin now, soaking my mouth, and every little jerk of her body tells me how close she’s getting.
I push two fingers into her again, curling them exactly where she needs, and she cries out, hips grinding helplessly against my hand and mouth.
“That’s it,” I murmur, then lick her harder. “Come for me.”
She does. Her orgasm tears through her with a sharp, broken moan, her body tightening under me as she comes around my fingers and on my tongue. I keep licking her through it, greedy, drawing every tremor out until she’s oversensitive and writhing.
Only then do I lift my head.
Her eyes are glassy. Her lips are parted. She looks dazed and wrecked and so fucking pretty that my restraint snaps completely.
I stand, drag her up by the wrists, and kiss her hard. She tastes herself on my mouth and moans into me, licking deeper, greedier, her hands already fumbling with my belt and zipper.
“You’re overdressed,” she whispers.
“That can be fixed.”
I shove my trousers and briefs down enough to free my cock, and her eyes drop. The sound she makes is pure want. Then she does something that nearly takes my knees out from under me.
She sinks down onto the carpet in front of me, looking up through dark lashes as she wraps one hand around me.
“Zatanna—”
She licks the tip slowly.
I swear.
Her mouth opens and she takes me in, warm and wet and obscene, and I have to brace one hand on the back of the sofa to keep from fucking straight into her throat.
She hums around me, lips sliding down, then back up, tongue circling as if she’s determined to make me lose what little control I have left.
“Christ.”
I fist a hand gently in her hair, not forcing, just holding, guiding. She sucks harder, eyes on mine, and I know instantly she likes what she’s doing to me. Likes the way my stomach tightens. Likes the way my breathing goes uneven.
My free hand slides over her shoulder, down her back, then lower until I’m stroking between her thighs while she sucks me. Her moan around my cock makes my whole body tense.
“Get up,” I say.
She does, reluctantly, mouth pink and wet, and I turn her around in one smooth movement so she’s bent over the sofa, her dress pooled at her waist, stockings still on, cunt still slick and swollen from my mouth.
The sight is enough to make me groan.
I press a kiss between her shoulder blades, then lower my hand between her thighs and spread her again.
“You’re gorgeous like this.”
She looks back over her shoulder, flushed and breathless. “You say that now.”
“I said it before too.”
Then I kneel behind her and put my mouth on her again from this angle, tongue dragging through her while one hand braces on her hip. She cries out, back arching beautifully, and at the same time her hand reaches between her legs and back toward me, fingers wrapping around my cock.
“Fuck—”
Now it’s my turn to lose my mind.
She strokes me while I eat her out from behind, her hand slick and tight and perfectly timed with every lick of my tongue. The room fills with wet sounds and broken breathing and the occasional helpless curse when she squeezes me just right.
I drag my tongue over her clit and feel her hand tighten on me.
“Aleksei, I’m—”
I suck her clit hard and she shatters again, trembling violently, her body clenching while her hand jerks on my cock and almost sends me over with her.
I rise immediately, pulling her up against me, one arm around her waist. She’s boneless in my hands, shaking, still trying to catch her breath.
I kiss the side of her throat and line myself up between her thighs. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
She turns her head just enough that our mouths almost meet. “If you stop now,” she says, wrecked and honest, “I’ll kill you.”
I laugh once, dark and low. Then I slide into her.
She gasps and grabs at my forearm, her body opening for me inch by inch until I’m fully inside and both of us are shaking from the feel of it.
“Jesus,” I mutter.
She presses back into me. “Move.”
So I do. The first thrust knocks a sound out of her that nearly strips the skin from my bones. It’s not the polished little moans she pours into a microphone for strangers. Not the practiced, honeyed sounds that started this whole disaster.
This is different. This is real.
Raw. Breathless. Shaky in places she probably wishes it wasn’t. Her voice breaks on my name like she’s not in control of it at all, and that alone is enough to make my grip tighten on her hips.
“Again,” she gasps, pushing back against me. “Please, again—”
I give it to her harder this time, my mouth at her throat, my hand sliding up to cup her breast as I move inside her in deep, relentless strokes. The suite fills with the sounds of it, skin against skin, her moans, my curses, the wet drag of her body taking me over and over.
And every little sound she makes drives me closer.
Because this isn’t performance. This isn’t some dark, silky voice spun through a speaker.
This is Zatanna, shaking in my arms and falling apart for me.
Mine.
The thought comes fast and vicious and far too honest.
She’s clinging to me now, one hand reaching back to grip my hip, the other tangled with mine where I’ve braced it against the sofa. Her body opens more with every thrust, hotter and slicker, and when I angle just right she cries out and goes rigid.
“There,” she whimpers. “Aleksei, right there—”
I nearly lose it. “Fuck,” I groan, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck, then biting lightly when she clenches around me.
She turns her face toward mine, flushed and wrecked and impossibly beautiful. I catch her mouth in a savage kiss while I keep driving into her, swallowing every broken moan she gives me.
“Don’t stop,” she begs into my mouth.
I wouldn’t if the world were ending.
I slide a hand between us, finding her clit, and the second I touch her she breaks. Her whole body arches hard against me, her cry sharp and helpless, the sound tipping me so close to the edge I can barely think through it.
That sound. God. Nothing she’s ever recorded compares to this.
The rough catch in her voice. The way she says my name like she can’t hold it in. The way her moans turn desperate and uneven because this is not scripted, not polished, not meant for anyone but us.
It feels real in the most dangerous way possible.
And I’m gone.
I thrust deep and hold there as release tears through me, a low, broken sound dragged out of my chest while I come inside her, pulse after pulse, my forehead dropping to her shoulder as I fight for breath.
She’s still trembling around me, her own aftershocks running through her body and into mine, making the whole thing feel even deeper, even more intimate, even more impossible to walk back.
For a long moment, neither of us moves.
I stay inside her, my arms around her, both of us breathing like we’ve just outrun something huge and terrible.
Then she lets out the softest little laugh, dazed and spent. “Well,” she whispers.
I kiss the side of her neck, still trying to slow my heartbeat. “Well,” I echo.
She goes limp against me for a moment, still catching her breath, and then, in a dazed little voice, she says, “That’s better than anything I’ve ever produced. Holy shit.”
I still. My hands stay on her hips, my mouth still near her shoulder, but everything else in me goes rigid. “What?”
She blinks, clearly still floating somewhere between orgasm and shock. “What?”