Chapter 2 #2
His warm, powerful, possessive hands were holding me tightly against his chest as I writhed, my dick hard against another man for the first time in so, so fucking long.
My hands trailed down his chest, feeling the soft curves of his pecs, the fleshy bits over his ribs, his thick waist, then back up to his neck and shoulders.
He had a slight beard, rough against my palms. When I moved upward, I felt thick hair cut short, lying in soft waves that hung over his ears.
His jawline was strong, lips full, breath warm and sweet.
“Micah,” he groaned. His hips shifted beneath me, and I could feel his own hardness throbbing under my ass.
I wanted to take him, and god, it had been too fucking long since I’d thought about bottoming for anyone.
“I need,” I murmured, but I couldn’t finish my sentence.
One hand wrapped around the back of my neck, holding me carefully but firmly. His nose rubbed along my cheek. “Tell me. Tell me, pretty goalie.”
“I don’t…I don’t know.” But I did. I absolutely fucking knew. “Kiss me. Touch me. Just—”
I didn’t need to finish begging. His arms came around me, yanking me tight against him. My cock dragged over his stomach as he used his jaw to turn my head, and then his lips were on mine.
He tasted sweet too—and maybe a little minty. I searched for even a hint of alcohol, but there was nothing as his tongue dragged along mine.
And that was when I lost myself to him. Heat rushed through me, and my cock throbbed harder, my back bowing slightly as I thrust up against him. He grunted, then took me by the hip with one hand and began to bounce me on his stiff dick.
“Yes. Like watching you feel good,” he grunted. “You want, I give.” And then he lost English, which was fine.
I had no idea what he was saying, but it didn’t matter. His tone spoke volumes. He was hot, horny, as desperate as I was. He dragged me into another kiss as his hand plunged down between us, frantically ripping at the button on my jeans.
It gave with a pop, and his thick fingers rammed the zipper down before searching and finding exactly what he was looking for. My cock was small—it always had been.
It always would be.
And it fit into his palm like it was made for Vanya’s grip and nothing else. He stroked me hard and fast, the car filled with a heavy fapping sound as he all but yanked my orgasm straight out of me.
“Vanya, Vanya, Van—uhg fuck fuck,” I hissed. My entire body trembled, and then I was shooting all over his stomach. Heat surrounded me as I gasped into his neck, my lips searching and eventually finding his.
He kissed me through the aftershocks as he rocked his hips up into me, his cock still hard, still throbbing, probably aching. I rubbed my ass down against him, and he groaned.
“Want to come on you, pretty goalie.”
“Yeah. Please,” I begged him in a ragged whisper. I shoved my face into his neck, mouthing at his pulse as he lifted me off him, pulling his dick out from his pants and setting it between us.
He lowered me down again, taking me by both ass cheeks, and he began to rock me against him. My teeth sank into his shoulder, biting as he thrust up against my skin, getting off on my body, making me feel like a fucking god with how much I turned him on.
I was sure, in that moment, I had never felt anything like it.
Maybe I was dead. Maybe Hunter had killed me in the club, and this was my heaven.
Or my hell.
I couldn’t be sure.
And then he swore in Russian, right up against my ear, and I felt him let go. My shirt had rucked up, and he spilled right against my lower stomach, his come hot and wet, thick ropes splattering across the wiry hair I’d managed to grow.
He groaned, then took his big hand and turned my chin, taking my mouth in a filthy, deep, overwhelming kiss.
“Micah,” he murmured as he pulled his tongue from my mouth.
My forehead knocked against his, and I took a breath and waited. Surely it was going to come: the shame. The panic. The fear.
The black void of the unknown threatening to swallow me.
The terror that I’d given him a power I swore I’d never give another person ever again.
Except all that was left was his mouth, stealing little pecking kisses and pressing them into my jaw. His hands had softened on me, drawing his nonsense lines over my overheated skin.
And then he was rocking me again, that gentle soothing motion that I could have lost myself in for a literal eternity.
That was what scared me the most. That’s what had me pulling back and frantically tucking myself away.
“I need to go.”
“Yes,” he murmured. “Curfew.”
Not what I meant at all, but the least I could do was not hurt his feelings by telling him that I needed to get the fuck away from him. That I couldn’t be around him like this ever again.
He didn’t protest when I scrambled back into the passenger seat and began to feel around for my things. Everything was still in its place, and when I opened the door, I heard him do the same.
“I can walk you.”
I almost said no, but I also had no idea where the fuck I was, and I probably looked like a fucked-out mess, so calling someone to fetch me was out of the question.
“Just to the elevators,” I told him.
“Yes, okay.” No protest, no argument, no attempting to guilt me into more.
He just offered me his arm and kept his steps careful and practiced as he guided me to the front of the hotel and into the lobby. It was late, so it was quiet, something I appreciated because god forbid anyone see us together like this.
Vanya stopped in front of the elevators, and I heard the little tap as he pushed the button, and that’s when another wave of panic hit me.
“We just…in the parking lot,” I said.
He hummed. “Is big problem?”
“Cameras,” I gasped.
He laughed and lifted my hand by the wrist, pressing a fucking devastating kiss to my palm. “No, no. No problem. Alexio have his windows tinted too dark to see anything.”
“Are…are you sure?”
“Mm, yes. He get at least ten tickets every year from police for windows too dark. Can’t see anything. He just pay them and never change it. You are safe.”
I was safe?
Yes, I was safe. Because I was with him.
Before I could do something foolish like leap into his arms, kiss him until I was senseless, then invite him to my room for the night, the elevator doors dinged open.
I shoved my cane forward until the tip passed the entrance, and then I turned to him as I let go. “Um. Thank you.”
“Strange, pretty little goalie,” he said softly.
I had no idea what to do with that, so instead of asking him to explain himself, I walked into the elevator, found the button for the sixth floor, then let the door close between us.
It was over.
And it had to stay over.
This could never happen again.