Chapter Five #2
The meet and greet with the performers passes in a haze. I smile. I nod. I say the right things—but my mind is elsewhere. On him. On us. On the terrifying, exhilarating feeling that I'm falling and there's no going back.
Outside, the night feels brighter somehow. Alexei guides me through the park again until we stop by a tiny hot dog cart near the edge of the path.
I laugh, half from disbelief but mostly from the happiness that's been bubbling inside me all day. “Carnegie Hall and hot dogs?”
He smirks. “Balance.”
I take a bite, groaning softly as the flavor hits. “God, I missed these.”
His eyes darken at the sound. He lowers his gaze to my mouth. “Careful, Anya. You keep making noises like that, and I’ll forget we’re in public.”
The air between us becomes heavy with that familiar tension. He tosses his half-finished hot dog in the trash and takes my hand, leading me back toward the waiting car.
“You have some mustard right here,” he murmurs as he settles beside me in the car, and before I can make sense of what he means, he leans in and licks it away.
“Alexei…” I murmur breathlessly.
His eyes drift to my lips, lingering long enough to register his intention even before he claims my mouth. I close my eyes with a soft sigh, melting right into him. He slides his hand around my back, pressing me closer to him as he deepens the kiss with a low groan.
Then he pulls back and, without taking his eyes off me, raps his knuckles against the partition. “Home, Sergei. Now.”
The privacy screen rises with a soft hum.
His mouth finds my neck, my collarbone, then a spot behind my ear that makes me gasp. His hand slides up my thigh, pushing the hem of my dress higher, and heat pools low in my belly.
“Alexei,” I breathe, my fingers curling into his shirt.
“I’ve been thinking about touching you all night,” he murmurs against my throat. “Watching you in that dress, knowing what’s underneath... It’s been torture, zayka.”
His fingers trace higher, skimming along my inner thigh until they brush against the lace of my panties. I inhale sharply.
“Already wet for me.” His voice is dark, satisfied. He strokes me through the thin fabric, and my hips buck involuntarily. “So responsive.”
“Please,” I whimper, not even sure what I’m asking for.
He pushes the lace aside and slides one finger through my slick folds. I moan, my head falling back against the seat. He circles my clit slowly, teasingly, building the tension with maddening patience.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, watching my face. “Let me hear you.”
He slips one finger inside me, and I gasp at the intrusion. He pumps slowly, his thumb still working that sensitive bundle of nerves, and I feel the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter.
“Alexei, I’m going to—”
He withdraws his hand.
I make a sound of protest, my eyes flying open. “Why did you stop?”
He brings his glistening finger to his mouth and sucks it clean, his eyes never leaving mine. “Because when you come tonight, I want you underneath me.”
My entire body clenches at his words.
He pulls me against his side, his arm wrapped around me, and I can feel how hard he is through his trousers. His breathing is ragged, his body tense with restraint.
“We’re not doing this in a car,” he says, more to himself than to me. “Not your first time.”
“Alexei—”
“I meant what I said before.” He cups my face, his thumb tracing my lower lip. “You deserve better than a backseat. I’ve waited four years for you. I can wait ten more minutes.”
The drive feels like an eternity. Every nerve in my body is alight, aching for him to finish what he started.
***
When we finally step inside the mansion, he doesn’t give me time to think. He sweeps me into his arms and carries me up the stairs, his mouth devouring mine. By the time he lays me on his bed, I’m trembling—not from fear, but from the overwhelming need coursing through me.
He stands at the edge of the bed, staring down at me like I’m something precious. Something he wants to consume.
“Are you sure?” he asks quietly.
“Yes.” I reach for him, then hesitate as a question surfaces—one that’s been circling in the back of my mind for days. “Alexei...why have you waited so long?”
He goes still. “What do you mean?”
“We’ve been together for days now. In London, in the shower, you’ve touched me. I’ve touched you, but you’ve never...” I feel the blush creeping up my cheeks. “You always stop. Why?”
He sits on the edge of the bed, taking my hand in his. For a long moment, he just looks at our intertwined fingers.
“Because I didn’t want to rush you,” he says finally, his voice low. “I wanted you to be sure. To choose to stay with me first.” His jaw tightens. “Your first time should be your choice, Anya. Not something that happens in the heat of the moment. Not something you regret.”
My heart clenches. He’s been holding back—for me. All this time, despite how much he wanted me, he was waiting for me to choose him.
“Alexei.” I sit up, cupping his face in my hands so he has to look at me. “I’m sure. I choose you.” I hold his gaze, letting him see everything I feel. “I’ve always chosen you.”
Something shifts in his expression—relief, hunger, reverence, all tangled together. He kisses me, slow and deep, like he’s sealing a promise.
“Tell me if it hurts,” he murmurs against my lips. “Tell me if you need me to stop.”
“I will.”
He stands and undresses slowly, letting me look my fill. His shirt falls away, revealing the hard planes of his chest, the sculpted ridges of his abdomen. When his hands move to his belt, my breath catches. He holds my gaze as he unfastens it, pushing his trousers and boxers down together.
My eyes widen. I’ve touched him before, felt the size of him in my hand, but this feels like something else entirely. He’s beautiful—and intimidating.
“We’ll go slow,” he says, reading my expression. “I promise.”
He joins me on the bed, his hands gentle as he peels away my dress, my bra, my panties. He takes his time, pressing open-mouthed kisses to every inch of skin he reveals. My shoulder. The swell of my breasts. The curve of my waist.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs against my stomach.
“I’m nervous,” I admit.
He lifts his head, his ice-blue eyes soft. “We can stop anytime.”
“No.” I thread my fingers through his hair. “I don’t want to stop. I want you, Alexei. I’ve wanted you for so long.”
Something primal flickers in his gaze. He crawls up my body, settling his weight over me, and the feel of his skin against mine—hot, hard, everywhere—makes me moan.
He kisses me deeply as his hand slides between my thighs, picking up where he left off in the car. His fingers find me soaked, and he groans into my mouth.
“So wet,” he murmurs. “All for me.”
He strokes me with expert precision, his thumb circling my clit while one finger slides inside. I gasp at the sensation, my hips rising to meet his hand.
“More,” I breathe.
He adds a second finger, stretching me gently, preparing me for what’s to come. The fullness makes me whimper, but there’s no pain—only a building, aching pleasure.
“That’s it, zayka,” he murmurs, curling his fingers to hit a spot that makes me see stars. “Come for me first. I want you relaxed.”
He works me relentlessly, his thumb pressing harder, his fingers thrusting deeper into my pussy, until the tension snaps and I shatter with a cry. Waves of pleasure roll through me, my walls clenching around his fingers as I ride out the orgasm.
While I’m still trembling, he settles between my thighs. I feel him there, the broad head of his hard cock nudging my entrance, and my breath catches.
“Look at me,” he says softly.
I open my eyes, meeting his gaze.
“This is going to hurt at first,” he says honestly. “But I’ll go slow. And it will get better. I promise.”
I nod, pulling him down for a kiss. “I trust you.”
He reaches between us, positioning himself. “Hold onto me.”
I wrap my arms around his shoulders as he begins to push inside. The stretch is intense—a sharp, burning pressure that makes me gasp. He’s so much bigger than his fingers, and my body resists the intrusion.
He stills immediately. “Breathe, zayka. Relax for me.”
I force myself to exhale, willing my body to soften. He presses kisses to my forehead, my temple, the corner of my mouth—patient, tender, despite the tension I can feel coiled in his muscles.
“More,” I whisper when the burning eases.
He pushes deeper, inch by careful inch. I feel myself stretching to accommodate him, the discomfort sharp but bearable. When he finally sinks all the way in, we both exhale.
“Okay?” His voice is strained, his arms trembling with the effort of holding still.
“Yes.” The pain is already fading, replaced by an overwhelming fullness. I’ve never felt so...complete. “You can move. Please…move.”
He withdraws slowly, then pushes back in with agonizing control. The first few strokes sting, but with each one, the pleasure builds, overtaking the pain.
“More,” I say again, and this time it’s a demand.
His control slips. His thrusts come faster, deeper, and I rise to meet each one. He hooks one of my legs over his hip, changing the angle, and I cry out as he hits a spot deep inside me that sends lightning coursing through my veins.
“Right there?” he growls.
“Yes—God, yes—”
He drives into me harder, his hips snapping against mine, each thrust punching a moan from my throat. The sound of our bodies meeting fills the room—wet, obscene, intoxicating.
“You feel incredible,” he groans, his forehead pressed to mine. “So tight. So perfect. Like you were made for me.”
I can only whimper in response, lost to the sensation of him filling me, stretching me, claiming me.
He shifts, lifting my hips off the bed, and the new angle has me seeing stars. His thumb finds my clit, rubbing in tight circles as he pounds into me.
“Come for me, zayka,” he commands, his voice rough. “I want to feel you come on my cock.”
The words push me over the edge. The orgasm tears through me, more intense than anything I’ve ever felt. I scream his name, my nails raking down his back, my walls clenching around him like a vice.
“Fuck—” He thrusts once, twice more, then buries himself to the hilt as he finds his own release. I feel him pulsing inside me, hot and thick, and another wave of pleasure ripples through me.
He collapses on top of me, catching himself on his forearms to keep from crushing me. We’re both gasping, sweat-slicked, trembling.
For a long moment, neither of us moves. He’s still inside me, softening slowly, and I don’t want him to leave. I wrap my arms around him, holding him close.
“Are you okay?” he asks finally, lifting his head to look at me.
“More than okay.” I smile up at him, feeling tears prick my eyes for reasons I can’t quite name. “That was...”
“Just the beginning,” he promises, brushing the hair from my face. “I’m nowhere near done with you tonight.”
A thrill runs through me. “Is that so?”
He pulls out slowly, and I wince at the sensitivity. He notices immediately, his expression softening.
“Sore?”
“A little.”
He presses a kiss to my forehead, then rolls off the bed. “Don’t move.”
He disappears into the bathroom and returns with a warm, damp cloth. Gently, reverently, he cleans me up, his touch tender despite the roughness of what we just shared.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He tosses the cloth aside and climbs back into bed, pulling me against his chest. His hand strokes lazily down my spine.
Alexei brushes his thumb across my lower lip, a tender smile tugging at his lips as he whispers, “Welcome home, Anya.”