14. Chapter 14 #2
The pressure inside me builds impossibly fast, Viktor’s hitting that perfect spot with every brutal thrust, his filthy Russian praise pouring into my ear like liquid heat.
I don’t even need a hand on me. Nobody has ever made me come untouched before — not once in four fucking years — but Viktor does it like it’s effortless.
My whole body locks up suddenly, back arching violently off the bed as the orgasm crashes through me like a freight train.
The scream rips out of me, loud enough to wake the dead.
Viktor’s hand slams over my mouth instantly, muffling the noise as he keeps fucking me through it, never slowing.
I bite down hard on his palm, teeth sinking into the meat of his hand, and the sick bastard moans, clearly getting off on the pain.
He twitches hard inside me as he growls something appreciative in Russian against my neck.
Before I can even come down, he pulls out suddenly, leaving me empty and whimpering.
He flips me onto my stomach, yanks my hips up, and slams back inside so deep I see stars.
His hand fists in my hair immediately, wrenching my head back at a brutal angle until my back is arched and I can barely breathe.
The new position makes everything deeper, overwhelming.
I’m smiling like a complete madman, pushing back onto him desperately, moaning curses between gasping breaths.
“Fuck— yes— harder, you bastard— don’t you dare hold back now—”
Viktor keeps praising me in Russian, low and relentless, his voice wrecked as he pounds into me. “Good boy… so fucking perfect for me… my loud, beautiful bird…” Every word pushes me higher even though I just came, my body trembling and oversensitive but still greedy for more.
Russian words start spilling out of me between gasps.
My pronunciation is probably terrible — years of learning from the internet and half-drunk Duolingo sessions don’t exactly make me fluent — but I don’t care.
I tell him how fucking good he feels, how I’ve dreamed about his thick cock ruining me for years, how I want him to fill me up and leave me dripping with his cum.
The words come out butchered and messy, but they hit their mark.
Viktor’s rhythm stutters. A wrecked groan tears out of his chest as he loses whatever was left of his control.
“Soroka—” he chokes out, his hips slamming into me even harder, more erratic.
My awful Russian seems to drive him fucking feral, like hearing me try to talk dirty in his language is more than he can handle.
He snakes one strong arm under my body, wrapping his big hand around my cock and starting to pump me in perfect rhythm with his thrusts. The dual sensation is too much. I’m shaking, moaning, cursing in a mix of English and broken Russian as pleasure coils tighter and tighter in my gut.
“Viktor— fuck— I’m gonna— don’t stop—” I gasp, pushing back onto him desperately.
He growls something filthy and possessive in Russian right against my ear and snaps his hips forward one last time. We come together — me spilling over his fist with a broken shout, him burying himself deep inside me as he groans my name.
We stay like that for a long time, locked together and trembling in the aftermath.
Viktor’s heavy body covers mine completely, still buried deep inside me as we both try to catch our breath.
I can feel his heart hammering against my back, matching the wild rhythm of my own.
Slowly, his grip on my hair loosens, and his hand slides down to stroke along my side, my ribs, my hip — gentle, reverent touches that feel like worship after the way he just fucked me.
His mouth finds the back of my neck, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along my skin, then across my shoulders, licking and sucking lightly over the fresh marks he left earlier.
“Moya soroka,” he whispers against my ear.
“My loud, beautiful magpie. You have no idea how long I have wanted this. How many nights I lay awake thinking about you.” His fingers thread gently through my hair as he continues murmuring, switching between Russian and English like he can’t decide which language can hold everything he feels.
“You’re mine. I was so scared… but I’m here now.
I’m not leaving you again. Never again, Cole. ”
I shiver under the gentle onslaught, my eyes fluttering shut as his hands keep roaming — soothing over my chest, my stomach, my spent cock, like he needs to touch every inch of me to convince himself this is real.
His lips press another kiss behind my ear, warm and lingering.
“You feel so perfect. So good for me. I love how loud you are… how you take everything I give you.”
After weeks of silence and hurt, the tenderness is almost harder to handle than the rough fucking. But I don’t pull away. I just melt back into him, letting him hold me, kiss me, whisper all the sweet, quiet things I never thought I’d hear from Viktor Petrov.
Then, slowly and carefully, he pulls out.
I whimper at the loss, already missing the stretch and fullness, but before I can complain he’s moving.
So fucking gentle it makes my chest ache.
He disappears for just a second and returns with a warm, damp cloth from the bathroom, wiping me down with slow, tender strokes — between my thighs, over my stomach, across the mess we made.
His hands are careful on my oversensitive skin, like I’m something precious he’s afraid of breaking now that the storm has passed.
When he’s done, he tosses the cloth aside and pulls me into his arms, rolling us so I’m curled against his chest. His massive frame wraps around me completely, one thick arm banded across my waist, the other hand sliding into my hair, stroking gently.
I press my face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in — sweat, cologne, and that familiar scent that’s always been just Viktor.
For the first time in weeks, the constant ache in my chest feels a little lighter.
“You learned Russian,” he murmurs after a while, amused.
I can feel the rumble of it against my cheek.
“All by yourself. Off the internet.” He lets out a soft huff that might actually be a laugh.
“Russian is not an easy language. Most people give up after a few months. You… you sound terrible, by the way. Your pronunciation is awful.”
I snort against his skin, too exhausted and happy to be properly offended. “Fuck you. I was trying.”
“I know,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of my head, his fingers still carding gently through my hair. “And I am genuinely impressed. No one has ever done something like that for me.” His voice drops softer, more serious. “Thank you for learning my language just so you could reach me.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I just press closer, letting the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart settle something deep inside me that’s been raw for far too long.