15. Ana
ANA
The room is spare, barely more than a mattress and two folded blankets, but it’s clean, dark, and the only place in this temporary safehouse with a lock. I twist it shut behind us and press my back to the door, chest rising fast.
Dominik doesn’t move at first. He watches me like he’s not sure if I’ll run again or if I’ll come undone right here in front of him. That hesitation loosens something tight inside me, something I didn’t realize I was still carrying.
“I don’t want careful,” I say. “Not from you. Not now.”
That’s all it takes.
He crosses the room in two strides and cages me in with his arms, pressing me to the door with the weight of his body.
His mouth crashes into mine, hard and hungry, and I meet him with equal force.
There’s no rhythm yet, just heat and need and too many years we didn’t get to touch.
I reach for his shirt, dragging it up, baring the lines of his torso, the lean muscle I remember and the new scars I don’t.
He lifts my blouse over my head, peeling it off slowly like he wants to memorize what’s beneath. My nipples peak instantly in the cold, the thin lace of my bra doing nothing to hide it. He looks down, then up, and I swear I feel his gaze like a physical touch.
“Off,” I say, voice rough.
He doesn’t argue. The bra joins the blouse on the floor, and before I can take another breath, his mouth is on me.
He takes one nipple into his mouth and sucks hard, then licks the ache away while his hand closes over the other breast and squeezes. I arch into him, fingers threading into his hair, dragging him closer as I moan into the dark.
His teeth scrape, just enough to make me gasp, and he does it again, switching sides, mouth hot and greedy. I grind against him, desperate for friction, but he keeps control, one hand moving to pin my hip to the door while he devours my chest like he’s starving.
“Dominik,” I pant, “get the fucking rest of it off.”
He groans, deep and savage, and lifts me effortlessly.
My legs wrap around his waist, and I feel the thick press of him between my thighs, even through the layers.
He carries me to the bed and lays me down gently, then peels off my pants and underwear in one slow pull that leaves me naked, wanting, already slick with need.
I spread my legs without shame. I want him to see. I want him wrecked.
“Fuck, Ana,” he murmurs, eyes burning as he kneels between my thighs.
His hands grip my knees and push them open wider, exposing me completely. He doesn’t start slow. His mouth covers me like a vow.
He licks long and deep, then circles my clit with obscene precision, sucking it between his lips until my hips buck and I sob his name. His fingers dig into my thighs to hold me down, but his mouth never stops moving—tongue stroking, teasing, then plunging deeper as I grind into his face.
I come fast, helpless and breathless, thighs clamping around his head as the orgasm rips through me. He doesn’t stop. He keeps licking, keeps tasting, keeps dragging his tongue through the mess he made until I’m twitching and moaning and trying to pull away.
“Too much,” I gasp.
He looks up, face wet, eyes dark. “Not yet.”
He sucks my clit again, slow and relentless, and I scream when the second orgasm hits, deeper than the first, hot and uncontrollable. My vision blurs. My fingers clutch the blanket beneath me like it’ll save me from being pulled under.
Only when I’m shaking, body limp and oversensitive, does he finally rise, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Still think this doesn’t mean anything?” he asks, voice hoarse.
I don’t answer. I reach for his waistband and tug his pants down.
He kicks them off, hard and fast, then opens his wallet and pulls out a condom. He tears it open with his teeth, rolls it on without looking away from me, and moves between my legs.
He doesn’t rush. He lines up, rubs the thick head through my slick folds, and sinks in slow.
My breath catches at the stretch, the perfect fullness of him sliding deep until he bottoms out. He stays there, eyes locked on mine, hands braced on either side of my head. Then he starts to move.
Slow, deep thrusts that drag every inch of him through me, thick and stretching and devastatingly steady. I can’t breathe right with the way he fills me—every slow stroke like he’s carving his name into my body, reminding me that I said yes, that I opened this door, that I want this.
His eyes stay on mine, his jaw tight with restraint, his pace controlled like he’s daring me to ask for more. I hook my legs around his waist and lift my hips into him, needing friction, needing pressure, needing to lose my mind properly this time.
He lowers enough that I feel his breath at my ear. “You’re still fucking tight,” he says, voice gravel and heat. “Even after all that. You need it again?”
I nod, throat dry. “Yes.”
He groans, pulls almost all the way out, and thrusts back in with a slow grind that makes me cry out.
It’s not rough yet—just thorough, focused, maddening in its precision.
I clutch at his back, nails dragging down muscle, needing to mark something because the way he’s taking me apart deserves proof.
His mouth finds my neck, his teeth grazing the skin just below my ear as he thrusts again. “You’re dripping,” he murmurs. “You came so hard for me, and now you’re still fucking wet.”
I moan, loud and breathless, and he starts moving a little faster—still deep, still slow, but with more weight behind every thrust. Each one pushes me into the mattress, each one builds something hot in my belly that won’t stay caged much longer. I arch under him, chasing it.
But just when I’m about to fall, he pulls out.
I gasp, body clenching around nothing, thighs trembling with the loss of him. “Dominik—”
“Shh,” he says, voice rough. “I’m not done.”
He slides down the bed and spreads my thighs again, his hands firm and warm on my hips. I can’t even protest. I’m too wrecked, too ready, too undone by how good he’s already made me feel. And then his mouth is on me again.
This time, it’s slower. Messier. He licks through the wetness he left behind, groaning like he’s starving for it.
His tongue circles my clit, soft and lazy at first, like he wants to stretch me out over the edge instead of shoving me there.
I try to lift my hips—he presses them down, tongue flicking harder now, lips sucking gently until I can’t hold still.
I cry out, louder this time, and he moans against me. The vibration makes my thighs twitch. He licks lower, fucks me with his tongue in slow, deep strokes, then pulls back just enough to spit on me before licking it up like it’s dessert.
I can’t breathe. I can’t think. My hands fly to his hair, pulling, shaking, grounding myself against the drag of his mouth as he sucks my clit again.
“You taste like sex and salt,” he says, voice muffled between my legs. “I could do this all night.”
And he does. He keeps me right there, hovering, trembling, unable to come down or climb higher. He licks the exact same spot over and over until I’m babbling, moaning his name like it’s the only thing I know.
I snap.
The orgasm hits like a whip—sudden and hard, punching the wind out of my lungs. I scream and shake and come so hard I feel like I’ve blacked out for a second. He keeps licking through it, gentle now, slow little strokes as he lets me come apart in his mouth.
When I finally collapse, boneless and soaked, he kisses the inside of my thigh and looks up. His lips are wet, his jaw rough with stubble, his eyes dark and pleased.
“You said you didn’t want careful,” he murmurs. “I’m giving you everything else.”
I reach for him, tugging him up by the shoulders until his weight covers me again. His cock is still hard, thick against my thigh, and I need him back inside now. I bite his lip when he kisses me, and I taste myself on his tongue.
“Condom’s still on?” I manage.
He nods.
“Then fuck me, Dominik. No more teasing.”
His smile is quick and wicked.
He pushes back in, harder this time, no more slow rhythm, no more control.
Just raw need and friction and the kind of thrusts that shake the bed against the wall.
He fucks me like he’s trying to erase every year we spent apart, like he’s trying to put his name in every nerve ending I’ve ever ignored.
I take it, moaning louder now, biting his shoulder, clutching his ass as he slams into me again and again.
I’m close. So close. And he knows.
“You gonna come again for me?” he asks, voice wrecked. “One more time, Ana. Let me feel it.”
I do. I fall with his name on my lips, clenching around him, gasping as he fucks me through it. He groans ragged and loud—still holding back, still not done.
And I’m already aching for more.
I’m still trembling from the last orgasm, thighs slick and body heavy, but I want him again. My nerves feel flayed open and every part of me is raw, but I don’t want it to end. Not yet. Not with him still hard and staring at me like he’s not close to done either.
He brushes my hair back with one hand, then runs his palm down the length of my spine.
His touch is slow and grounding, not gentle—just intentional.
He grips my hips and pulls back, just enough to shift me where he wants me.
His hands tilt me forward until my chest presses against the mattress and my ass is high, and I feel the stretch in my legs as he steadies me, his body looming close behind mine.
I don’t resist. I want this.
I glance back over my shoulder, hair falling into my face, and his eyes meet mine—dark, hungry, entirely focused.
His fingers tighten slightly on my hips, then he nudges the head of his cock against my entrance and pushes back in, thick and slow, sinking into me inch by inch until he bottoms out with a groan.
I moan at the fullness, at the depth, at the way this angle lets him reach places that make my vision blur.
He doesn’t move right away. He stays buried deep, both hands gripping my hips while I pulse around him, already needing more. I start to shift, but he holds me still.
“Slow this time,” he murmurs. “You’re going to take every second.”
Then he moves.
Long, deep strokes that drag through me so slowly it feels like torture.
He pulls out almost completely, then slides back in just as unhurried, watching the way my body takes him again and again.
My arms shake from holding myself up, so I lower until my cheek’s pressed against the sheet, my hands gripping the mattress, my breath breaking apart.
He fucks me like he has all night. Like he’s memorizing the way I feel from the inside. Each thrust is steady, measured, obscene in its intimacy. I feel everything—every pulse, every stretch, every slow grind against the spot that makes my breath catch.
I whimper and he leans forward, his chest against my back, his mouth at my ear.
“You still want it slow?” he growls, his voice like gravel dragged across skin. “You want me to fuck you like I never let you go?”
“Yes,” I breathe, barely able to speak. “Just like that. Don’t stop.”
He kisses the back of my neck, then bites just hard enough to make me shiver, and he keeps fucking me slow and deep, one hand slipping between my thighs to rub my clit in slow circles that match his thrusts.
It builds again, faster this time, more urgent, like my body already knows the path and wants to take it quicker. I try to swallow the sounds, but they keep spilling out—breathy, broken, helpless.
He hears it. He feels it. His hand moves faster and his hips grind deeper.
“I want to feel you come again,” he says, almost snarling the words. “So fucking tight when you come. I want you to come on my cock one more time before I fill you.”
I can’t stop it.
It crashes through me hard and fast, the kind of orgasm that shreds through muscle and leaves me gasping into the sheets. I shake all over, convulsing around him, moaning his name like I’ve lost my mind. I hear him groan—loud and wrecked—and he thrusts harder, finally chasing his own release.
His hands grip tight and he fucks me rough now, just for a few final strokes, and then I feel him lock deep inside and go still as he comes.
His body shakes. His breath hits the back of my neck. I hear the soft grunt in his throat as he spills into the condom, holding himself there, still buried in me, still keeping me exactly where he wants me.
We stay like that for a long second—sweaty, tangled, pressed together while our bodies cool from the fire they just burned through. I feel him kiss my spine once, lower and soft.
Then he pulls out slowly and leans forward, hands bracing on either side of me.
“You good?” he asks, voice rough with what’s left of him.
I nod, unable to speak yet. He brushes my hair back again and presses a kiss to my shoulder. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because I’m only getting started.”