3. Igor
3
IGOR
I t’s the most beautiful order I’ve ever been given.
Even though I hate orders, I learned to follow them.
But now, being asked to please a beautiful woman—one I already know will blow my mind—it’s not hard to obey.
Whatever she asks me to do, I will.
If she doesn’t want me to talk about the case, I won’t mention it until she’s had so many orgasms she can’t even remember her own name.
Then I’ll remind her. Though I’m putting her first right now, I won’t completely forsake my duty.
She doesn’t waste any time. She tears the rest of my buttons off and exposes me completely. Licking her puffy lips as if I’m a feast, she wraps her hands around my wrists and pushes me to the bed, on my back.
She cages me in with her body, an angel, then leans forward to take my nipple into her mouth.
I let her have a semblance of control. I want to make her come over and over. Fuck, I need to taste her lips, to imprint my own flavor upon hers, make sure she hasn’t forgotten it.
After I flip us over, she playfully bites my shoulder. “I was having fun, you know,” she pouts in a voice completely unlike her. Then she gives me a wide-eyed look, batting her dark, thick lashes at me, and bites her lower lip. When her hands run over my pecs to travel to my length, my entire frame convulses, a primal instinct taking over.
Push and pull is what we’ll do tonight. Katya will make me get close, then push me away just when I’m about to combust.
I can’t say I hate it.
Ever since Katya walked into my life six years ago, I haven’t thought of another woman the same way. Even when I was fucking someone else, it was the image of her face that was on my mind, the phantom feel of her pussy wrapped around my cock. But as time went by, the memories of her became fuzzier
And now I want to create a new memory. After seeing her again, I realized I can’t escape the pull she has on me. Right now, there’s nothing I want more than to make her mine.
“Either you take that dress off, or I’ll tear it off, and you’ll have to go home naked,” I growl, my patience wearing thin.
She chuckles, throwing her head back, strands of silky hair falling over the side of the bed. Her hands go to the hem, and she languidly pulls the material up her long, slender legs and curves.
By the time she discards the fabric completely, I’ve got my belt unbuckled, pushed my pants down, and shucked the boxer briefs.
I pump my dick slowly as I admire her. Now that I have all the time in the world to savor her. I will taste every inch of her, bare her soul to me, and I will take my time.
She looks even better than I remember. Full breasts, long torso, defined muscles in the places I know will tremble under my touch. There’s a faded scar across her bikini area, but it only makes her look even more sexy and bold. She wears a tiny set of underwear in a shade of blood orange.
“Is that for me?” I ask, my voice even. For every pull of my dick, my desire peaks, and I’m seconds away from letting control slip through my fingers.
Her breasts shake as she releases a burst of laughter.
I love the sound.
But then her throaty laughter transitions into a slow moan. I climb over her, pushing the lace of her underwear aside. I lick her slit, burying my tongue against her. With her lower lips trapped between mine, I eat her slowly. I switch my gaze from the space between her thighs, to my dick that’s throbbing for release, and her haze-covered eyes.
My balls grow painfully tight, and I look up at her face. My own orgasm is a breath away as I watch her eyes roll back, her spine arching, pushing her needy pussy closer to my lips. I hungrily accept the offer. She doesn’t complain when I tear apart her underwear.
Fuck, she’s beautiful.
Six years later, I’m as hungry for her as I was back then, though now she’s even sexier, with full tits and an ass that kills all rational thought. I’ve always loved a good challenge, and she’s as sassy as they get.
Fuck it.
I climb on top of her and claim her mouth, forcing her to taste herself on my tongue. Her nimble hands are on my neck, running through my hair and then resting on my pecs, nails lightly grazing the hard planes of them.
“Fuck me, Igor. Fuck me hard.”
If I was a lesser man, her words would be my undoing.
She grabs my cock and positions it at her slick opening. When I still don’t do anything but push gently, only my tip snug inside her, she wraps her hands around my neck and pushes her mouth against mine, our teeth clanking as her nails dig into my skin.
With a silent vow to savor every inch of her body another time, I thrust into her heat. I fuck her fast, hard, and deep. We’re twisting and grinding, looking for the perfect angle.
“I got you,” I growl as she lets out a needy moan, rolling her eyes to the back of her head. Every time she gets a fraction closer to the edge, I pull out. My control is wound as tight as a string. When the tension in her muscles becomes so unbearable that she yanks on my hair, tugging it hard, I know she’s ready.
Sensing the beginning of her orgasm, I pull out, grab my length, and plunge myself back to the hilt inside her. She rocks her hips against mine, rising to meet me, matching my every movement and sway. We’re both coming in waves, so long and powerful that I lose track of time as I collapse on top of her. Sweat glistens on both of our skins, and I’m not one hundred percent certain whether we can be pulled apart, not even by a crowbar. No force in the world could separate us right now. Not the police, not the government.
And especially not her brothers.
Somehow, I’m confident that I have plenty of time with her.
But my hopes are crushed the moment I roll to the side, and she escapes the arm I extend to wrap around her. With her back turned toward me, she gets off the bed and picks up her dress.
Her panties are ripped to shreds, giving her no choice but to completely discard them.
She slides the dress on, turning to blow me a flirtatious kiss before walking out of the bedroom.
What the fuck?
I bolt after her, running across the living room in a second to lean against the door, holding it closed.
“Where do you think you’re going?” I challenge her. We had amazing sex, and I want more.
“I’m done here.” She shakes her head, reaching for the knob, but I put my hand on hers to stop her. The fun part might be over, but there’s still business to discuss.
“What’s the rush? Are you married or something?”
“No.”
“Then I suggest you sit your gorgeous ass down and keep me company,” I tell her. “I’ll order us room service.”
“I’m leaving.”
“Seriously though, what’s the rush?” I pull her to me, her palm resting on my chest.
“I just...” She stalls, struggling to come up with a believable explanation, but what’s a woman to do when she’s trapped and knows it? With my arm against the door, she can’t open it wide enough to squeeze through it.
“I’m not done with you. Let’s discuss business, then I’ll rail you again.”
“Oh, fuck off, Igor.” She scoffs, tilting her head back to look up at me. “I warned you what would happen if you try to talk about the trial. Just in case you think I’m joking, let me make it clear. Don’t try to pressure me, or my brothers will make your life a living hell.”
Before I can come up with a reply, her phone rings. A wave of annoyance washes over me, and without thinking, I grab her bag out of her hands and take her phone with the full intention to tell the bastard who’s interrupting us to go to hell.
“Igor, back off!” she hisses, but it’s too late because I already have the phone against my ear.
But there is silence from the other side, broken only by small, childlike sobs.
Katya tears the phone from my grasp, and a stab of icy pain slices through me. She turns the phone to FaceTime and turns her back to me.
“Did you have a nightmare again?” She uses a calm tone, gesturing with her hands. I take a step back to give her the space she needs.
Katya uses the opportunity to push past me and go to the bathroom. I stay in the living room, waiting for her to be done. My mind is in overdrive, and there is only one explanation.
Damn, I feel like an idiot. I should’ve figured it out when I saw the scar on her belly.
I turn to Katya the moment I hear her coming out. Correctly predicting her next move, I position myself between her and the door.
"Let me go, Igor. My daughter needs me," she orders weakly. Her eyes look everywhere except at me.
"What's her name?" I ask, my mind racing
"We're not discussing this. You know as well as I do that today was a one-time deal. How about we follow our original plan, go our separate ways, and pretend none of this ever happened?"
"How old is she?" The question comes out as a growl. The way she's refusing to meet my eyes, the slight tremor in her hands—tells me everything. She's hiding something bigger than just having a kid.
"Back off, Igor," she hisses, trying to push past me.
"Is she mine?" The words scrape out of my throat. The timing, her desperate attempts to keep me away from any mention of her personal life during our encounter—it all adds up to one gut-wrenching conclusion.
"Sofiya's mine," she mutters, and I can't help but notice how desperate she is to escape. Only when I grab her by the shoulders and make her look at me do I realize she's shaking. She won't meet my eyes, and that's the final confirmation I need.
"Let me go," she pleads, dropping her brave facade.
"No," I say through gritted teeth. "You're going to sit down and tell me about my daughter."