Vadim
She smelled just right.
Those subtle floral notes—not strong enough to overpower, not weak enough to dissolve into everything else. Unique. Entirely hers. The scent that had been wrong on every other pillow for three weeks and was only right here.
Her sharp little claws dug into my neck.
I ground my cock against her harder.
She would never know.
Never.
No one compared. Not the women in the club. Not the ones Bogdan sourced. Not any of them, regardless of what I told myself in cold showers at dawn with a head full of vodka and a plan that was dissolving faster than I was willing to admit.
No one compared to her pussy.
With or without a condom.
No matter what I tried.
And here I was. At her door. In her room. In the dark where her scent was right and her claws were in my neck and the plan had entirely ceased to matter.
She dragged her nails down the back of my neck and across my shoulders, breaking skin—the viciousness of her temper made physical and entirely present.
I placed my hand on her throat to keep her pinned and fumbled beneath me until I found the waistband of her shorts. I yanked them down the curve of her ass, lifting my hips just long enough to toss them somewhere into the dark.
“Get that diseased dick away from me, mudak,” she growled, claws finding my biceps.
“But this is what you signed up for,” I taunted, pushing her legs down as she tried to kick me. “I love a good fight.”
The more she fought the more everything worked against her—her movements bringing her closer rather than creating distance, her heat connecting against my cock with every shift of her hips, her chest inches from my face with every jerked attempt to free herself.
The alcohol had slowed me down. The haze of it sitting behind my eyes, making everything slightly later than it should have been.
But it hit me anyway.
She wasn’t only producing heat.
She was wet.
I gripped her wrists and pinned them to the bed. She lunged forward with her head and I moved just enough for it to miss.
“Good technique,” I said, settling my weight more deliberately. “Always use your forehead. If you use the top of your head you risk a serious injury.”
She screamed.
Started rocking side to side, trying to find the leverage that wasn’t there.
Her pale nipples were barely visible in the dark but I noticed everything about her. I ducked down and clamped my mouth around her breast—soft, warm, the bud beginning to peak beneath my tongue. Slowly.
Her ragged pants began when my hips kept connecting with hers. Involuntary. Entirely honest.
I traced my tongue around her areola.
Her muffled curse didn’t stop me.
I circled again.
And again.
Then sucked hard.
Yeah, I fucking own this ass.
I hooked each leg over my arm, one by one, before clamping my hands back down on her wrists. Here she lay, spread open for me once again. I moved to her other breast. No cursing this time. Just a whimper. A soft mewling sound that made my cock jerk against her wet pussy.
I glanced up.
Her eyes were closed. Her face looked pained.
Days. Weeks. Months without her beneath me.
Enough was enough.
I spread my knees and nudged them beneath her before reaching for my cock. The moment I positioned myself at her opening I tugged her wrists, dragging them up to the pillows, towering over her to watch.
When I drew my hips down I felt her resistance before she encased the head of my cock. I didn’t stop. Inch by inch she swallowed me up, taking me the way she was supposed to.
Her head moved from side to side. She pushed against my hands.
My thighs met hers just as my balls came to rest against her pussy.
I drew back and powered into her until we both groaned. That incredible tight heat wrapped around my cock—all I needed, all I’d needed for three weeks of wrong pillows and cold showers—was right here.
I began to huff with each thrust, rocking my hips upward as I pulled back, forcing her to feel every inch drag before I slammed back inside.
Long deep strokes.
Short sharp stabs.
Alternating until I released her hands and reached down to rub her messy little cunt.
Her hips twitched beneath me. I stuffed two pussy-coated fingers into her mouth and watched her taste herself. Smeared the saliva over her lips and cheek.
She tried to turn her face into the pillow. There was nowhere to go. I gripped the backs of her legs and folded her the way I liked, fingers pressing into her soft flesh as I began to saw in and out.
Each heavy thrust landed with a steady wet slap.
Lecherous.
Wet.
Deep.
And us.
The familiar ache building in my balls.
I held back.
Waited until I felt her insides begin to grow taut. The way she squeezed around my entire length. Hungry. So hungry for my seed despite everything she’d told herself, and me.
The contract. The weeks of wrong women.
The slaps grew louder.
Faster.
Her cries filled the room.
I grinned at the ceiling.
Then she dragged me under.
I flung my hips down one final time and buried myself in my wife as her cunt milked me dry.
And just for a moment there was peace.
My cock pulsated. Hot load after load.
Shot deep inside where it was always supposed to go.
??
??
??
I woke up with the right scent.
The golden hair fanned out across the deep red pillow.
I shuffled behind her and placed her leg over mine until her thighs parted. I traced the tip of my cock between her pussy lips, preparing to ease into her heat just as the sun was rising. I slid inside, arm curling around her breasts.
Perfect.