Katerina #2
The second orgasm builds slower than the first, heavier, curling low in my belly until I’m shaking with the effort of holding it back. Roman slides two fingers inside me, and that breaks whatever control I have left.
I come again around his fingers, my back arching off the bed, his mouth still on my clit, dragging it out until pleasure turns almost too sharp.
I’m still trembling when he rises over me.
His trousers are open now, his cock hard and thick in his hand. The sight of him makes my whole body tighten again, even exhausted, even raw with pleasure.
“Come here,” I say.
His eyes flash.
I push myself up on shaking arms and reach for him. This time, he lets me. I wrap my hand around his cock, feeling the heat and weight of him, and his breath leaves him in a rough exhale.
I love that.
I love seeing his control fracture.
I lower my mouth over the tip of his already wet cock, it’s practically throbbing under me.
Roman’s hand goes to my hair, not pushing, only holding, but the restraint in his fingers makes me bolder. I lick him first, slowly, tasting him, feeling him pulse against my tongue. His hips shift once before he stops himself.
“Katerina.”
I take him deeper.
His curse is low and vicious. The sound makes me ache.
I want more of it.
He lets me learn him, lets me find the rhythm that changes his breathing and tightens his grip in my hair. I’m clumsy at first, but he guides me with murmured words and a hand that never forces, only teaches. When he pulls back suddenly, I look up, confused and breathless.
He’s staring at me like I have done something terrible to him.
“On top,” he says.
My stomach flips. “What?”
“Come here.”
He lies back against the pillows and pulls me with him, turning me until I’m above him, knees on either side of his head, my hands braced near his hips. It takes me a second to understand.
Then I do.
Heat floods my face. “Roman.”
His hands close around my thighs. “You were so brave a minute ago.”
“I was not expecting this.”
“You wanted to touch me.”
“Yes, but—”
His mouth presses to the inside of my thigh.
The argument dies.
Then his tongue touches me again, and I nearly collapse forward over him.
My mouth finds his cock at the same time, and the position turns everything messy and intimate and overwhelming.
His hands grip my hips, holding me over his mouth while I take him with mine.
The first stroke of his tongue makes me moan around him, and he answers with a sound that vibrates through my whole body.
I lose track of where I end and he begins. My mouth on him, his mouth on me, my hips trembling above his face, his cock sliding over my tongue, his hands keeping me steady as pleasure gathers again even though I thought I had nothing left.
When I falter, he slows.
When I recover, he ruins me again.
The third time I start to come, he pulls me off him and flips me onto my back so quickly I gasp.
“No more,” he says, voice rough.
I blink up at him, dazed. “No more?”
“I need to be inside you.”
The words go straight through me.
“Yes,” I whisper.
He settles between my thighs, but he does not enter me yet. His cock slides through my wetness once, twice, dragging over my clit, making me shiver. I grip his shoulders, nails digging in.
“Roman, please.”
He looks down at me.
There’s a darkness in his face now that should scare me. Maybe it does. Maybe that’s part of why I open wider for him.
“You’re sure?” he asks.
I’m not drunk. I’m not heartbroken enough to mistake desire for escape. I’m not obeying anyone.
For once, I know exactly what I’m choosing. “I’m sure.”
He pushes into me. Slowly. Deeply.
I feel every inch of him stretch me open, and my breath breaks into a sound I don’t recognize. He stops halfway, forehead dropping to mine, jaw clenched so hard I can see the muscle jumping.
“You feel too good,” he says.
I wrap my legs around him. “Then don’t stop.”
His control snaps.
Roman thrusts the rest of the way in, and I cry out, clutching him as he fills me completely. He gives me a moment, only one, then begins to move.
This is different from the plane.
There is no cramped space, no fear of being heard, no need to swallow every sound. His bed is huge beneath us, the sheets cool against my overheated skin, the city glowing beyond the windows while he fucks me like he has been holding himself back all day and now intends to make up for every second.
His mouth is everywhere.
My lips. My neck. My breasts.
He sucks my nipples as he drives into me, hard and steady, and each pull of his mouth makes my pussy clench around his cock. He groans when he feels it, then thrusts deeper, one hand under my hip to angle me exactly how he wants.
I’m loud now.
I cannot help it.
His name comes out of me again and again, broken between gasps, and Roman seems to like it too much. Every time I say it, he gives me more. Harder. Slower. Deeper. Until I’m no longer thinking in words, only sensation.
His body over mine. His cock inside me. His mouth on my breast. His hand gripping my thigh. The rough sound of his breathing. The way he watches my face when pleasure begins to overwhelm me again.
“There,” he says, voice low. “That’s it.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“I’m too sensitive.”
“I know.” He slides a hand between us and touches my clit.
I nearly come off the bed. “Roman!”
He covers my mouth with his, kissing me through it, fingers working me while his cock moves deep and relentless inside me. The orgasm rises brutally, impossible to stop. I cling to him as it hits, my whole body tightening around him, pleasure tearing through me until I’m shaking under his weight.
Roman curses against my mouth.
His rhythm falters.
Then he drives into me hard, once, twice, and comes with a low groan that seems to come from somewhere deep in his chest. I feel him pulse inside me, hot and intimate, his body locked over mine as if he cannot make himself pull away.
For a long time, neither of us moves.
The room is quiet except for our breathing.
His forehead rests against mine. My fingers trace the damp skin between his shoulder blades. I can feel his heartbeat where his chest presses to mine, heavy and fast.
I should say something.
Maybe I should laugh. Maybe I should panic. Maybe I should ask what this means, because surely a woman who has fled her family and slept with a stranger twice in one day should have some kind of plan.
But I don’t want a plan.
Not tonight.