Chapter 9 Lily #2
The heat of his lips is shocking, a soft, lingering kiss to a place I didn’t even know could make me feel like this. My entire body jerks, a shiver running straight up my spine. Sparks exploding beneath my skin.
And then he does it again.
Another kiss, higher this time, just above my knee. His other hand settles on my opposite thigh, fingers splayed wide, steadying me, while his gaze lifts and pins me in place from beneath his lashes. That look is fire and gravity at once, and I feel my stomach flip over at how dangerous it is.
“You never answered me, Moya,” he murmurs against my skin. His lips brush as he speaks, warm, relentless.
“I-I can’t think,” I manage, breath shaking. My grip on the table edge is white-knuckled, because my legs can’t hold me steady, not with his mouth this close, not with his voice sounding like that.
Aleksandr smiles against my skin—a soft, devastating curve of lips that burns against the tender flesh of my thigh. “You think too much,” he says quietly. “Always letting your mind run wild. Beautiful. Frustrating. Let me show you something else.”
His mouth trails another kiss, higher this time, so close to the slit in my dress that the fabric brushes against his cheek. The room tilts; my world narrows to nothing but his mouth.
“W-what do you want to s-show me?” I stammer, my voice breaking.
“How to clear your head,” he says, the words vibrating against my skin. “And I think I know how.”
My breath comes faster, heat pooling low in my stomach as the weight of his body between my knees and the burn of his mouth climbing higher become everything.
Instinct takes over. Without thinking, I let my knees fall open, a silent surrender, the motion tugging the skirt of my dress higher over my thighs.
His hand slides up with it, his palm firm on the inside of my thigh now, and the press of his fingers makes me jolt. The air between us grows thick, and his lips move higher, kissing just above where his hand rests.
“Because the second I touch you,” he murmurs, his mouth brushing over skin that’s never been kissed before, “you forget every word you know.”
The smirk that curls against my inner thigh is the last thing I register before I tilt my head back and forget entirely how to breathe.
“Like this wedding tradition,” he says, voice low and deep. When I look down, those piercing grey eyes are locked on me from between my thighs. I freeze. My entire body has been caught in a snare—heart hammering, lungs too tight to breathe.
His fingertips trace the garter, following the delicate band of lace like he has all the time in the world. Once. Twice. The slow, careful drag makes my ears burn so hot I know they’ve turned red.
“Is this for me?” he asks, his voice more like a caress than a question.
I nod, mute.
His hands push my dress higher, bunching the silk and tulle around my hips until the fabric pools in folds at my waist. The motion is unhurried but so purposeful that my whole body leans back, giving him space. Every graze of his knuckles, every brush of his fingertips, makes my breath shorten.
When the garter is fully revealed, he sets his hands on the outside of my thighs. Big. Warm. Anchoring. “You’re so good to me, Moya,” he murmurs, eyes flicking down, then back up to me, “giving me a bow to unwrap on our wedding day, how kind of you.”
My heart stutters. A soft, desperate sound escapes my throat. “Yeah-”
Then he leans in. His lips touch the edge of the garter first, warm and unbearably soft. I jolt, and before I can recover, he opens his mouth, his teeth catching the lace.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, gripping the table so hard my fingertips hurt.
He looks up at me as he bites, the stormy grey of his eyes holding mine, and the intensity in them makes every thought scatter.
With slow, controlled precision, he tugs. The lace stretches, then slides down my leg, inch by inch, his mouth following. My pulse pounds everywhere—neck, wrists, the inside of my thighs. His breath fans over my skin, the faint scrape of his teeth burning into me.
“You’re blushing,” he says around the fabric, voice muffled, teasing. “Your ears always give you away.”
“I—” My voice cracks, words dying on my tongue.
The garter slides past my knee, and he adjusts his grip, flicking his tongue briefly against the inside of my leg as he does. The sudden contact rips a gasp from my chest, my knees twitching to close, but his hands are firm on my thighs, keeping me open.
“Keep them right there,” he says, tone calm, commanding, filthy. “I’m not finished with you yet.”
His words slam into me, and my entire chest goes tight.
By the time he drags the garter to my toes, I’m shaking. My head tips back as he drops the lace from his teeth, catches it in his hand, and lets it fall to the floor like it means nothing.
He presses a kiss to the inside of my knee, slow and lingering, his lips hot against my skin.
“You are… so unfair,” I manage, voice breaking.
He looks up, mouth still brushing my skin, and smirks. “I think,” he says, voice like a promise, “I think I’ll keep it.”
His gaze drops lower. Then back up, hotter this time. He tilts his head, his mouth curving into something dangerous.
“There,” he murmurs, his voice roughening as his thumb presses higher on my thigh. “Looks like you’ve got something else for me.”
I try to force words out, but nothing comes.
Aleksandr’s cool grey eyes aren’t even on my face anymore—they’re fixed lower, locked on the lacy white panties I put on this morning, the ones Nadia insisted I wear as a confidence booster for the tailor session.
Heat rushes up my neck, and I can feel my pulse everywhere.
A reckless, traitorous part of me wants to tilt my hips, open my legs and say the words I shouldn’t: yes, everything you’re looking at is yours—take it.
But instead I just stare at him, mute, my chest rising and falling too fast, my heart a wild, hammering thing trapped inside me.
“You’re going to have to use your words, Moya.” Aleksandr teases, his breath brushing against the wetness of my panties, cooling my center.
My mouth opens and closes, no words coming out.
“I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me, Moya.” He starts to pull away, and I grab his hand so fast I feel myself going dizzy. He just smiles. That pearly white, rare, earth-shattering smile, and before I can stop myself, I say it. “Are you mine to do anything I want with?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?” Aleksandr says, with a rueful smile.
“It’s yours,” I whisper. “I’m yours.”
“Fuck, don’t be so nervous, when you say it Moya.” He growls between my legs and I whimper.
“I-I’ve never had anyone-”
“Eat you out?” His smile deepens, and I feel his fingers slide under the lace of my white panties, tugging them down slowly.
“Yes…I mean I think only a doctor has seen my-” my breath catches as I watch the satin of my wedding dress pool around my hips as he exposes me completely. His eyes darken as he takes me in, and I shiver under his gaze.
“Are you a virgin, Moya?”
For a moment, I can’t breathe. The question hits me low in my stomach, and the answer sits heavy on my tongue, raw and unspoken.
This was never supposed to be me, I think, panic and heat twisting together in a way that feels dangerous. Being a virgin at twenty-five was never part of the plan. I wasn’t saving myself for some fairytale moment. I wasn’t waiting for a ring or a promise. It just… happened.
Every time before this, the guys I dated said the wrong thing, pushed too far, touched me in a way that made my skin crawl instead of spark.
Every single one left me cold. And I never realized why until now, with him on his knees in front of me, until his voice makes me feel like my entire body has turned into one long, aching nerve.
I have never been comfortable with anyone like I am with Aleksandr. And that realization terrifies me, because I know if I open my mouth and tell him the truth, he’ll know just how much power he has over me.
And how embarrassing is that? Twenty-five years old and untouched—like some heroine from an old book, not a girl who has lived in the real world.
I start to shake my head, small, frantic motions, hoping he’ll just let it go. My lips part, trying to shape a casual denial, something that will keep me from falling apart completely in front of him.
“Don’t,” he says softly, and the single word stills me.
His hand comes up, fingers pressing just under my chin, tilting my face so I have no choice but to look at him.
His eyes, that impossible grey, hold me there, unblinking.
“Don’t lie to me, Moya,” he murmurs, a swift hand cracking against my pussy and I jump back but his arm wrapped around my leg keeps me there two inches from his lips. “Not about this.”
Heat floods my face so fast I’m sure he can feel it radiating off me. My heart is pounding so loud it drowns out the room, the walls, the world.
“I—” The word comes out thin, broken, and I close my mouth again because I don’t know how to say the truth without crumbling into pieces at his feet. I shake my head quickly, my cheeks burning. “Yes, I’m a virgin. There’s been no one.”
“Good,” he says, his voice like velvet, and my eyes widen as I look at him. “Because it’s mine now.”
He leans down, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, and I whimper. His tongue flicks over my clit, and I jerk, my hands flying to his hair. He chuckles against me, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure through my body.
“Tell me how long you’ve waited for this,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my folds.
“F-forever,” I stammer, my hips lifting instinctively toward his mouth.
“Forever?” he repeats, his tongue sliding between my lips, and rolling over the bud between my thighs. “All this time, you’ve been saving yourself for me?”
“Y-yes,” I gasp, my fingers tightening in his hair.
He hums in approval, his tongue circling my clit in lazy, maddening circles. I writhe beneath him, the satin of my dress sliding against my skin as I squirm.
“Such a good girl,” he murmurs, his voice thick with praise. “Keeping this sweet little pussy just for me.”
He pulls the top of my wedding dress down, exposing my breasts, leaving the bodice hanging around my torso, and his free hand finds one of my nipples, pinching lightly. I cry out, the dual sensations overwhelming me.
“Aleksandr…” I moan, my back arching as he sucks on my clit, his tongue pressing firmly against the sensitive bud.
“Say it again,” he orders, his teeth grazing my clit lightly.
“I-I saved it for you,” I whimper, my legs trembling. “Only for you.”
His tongue flicks over my clit faster now, and I feel the tension building in my core, coiling tighter and tighter. His fingers twist my nipple, and I cry out, my hips jerking uncontrollably.
“That’s it, Moya,” he growls against me. “Come for me.”
The sound of his voice, low and commanding, pushes me over the edge. My orgasm crashes over me like a wave, and I scream his name, my body convulsing as pleasure rips through me. He doesn’t stop, licking and sucking through every spasm until I’m a trembling mess.
When he finally pulls away, I collapse back against the table, my chest heaving. He leans over me, sliding my dress back into place with a satisfied smirk before cupping my face in his hands.
“Good girl,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss me deeply. Our tongues tangle, and I can taste myself on his lips. He pulls back just enough to look into my eyes, his thumb brushing over my lower lip.
“Moya,” he says softly, and I nod, still breathless.