23. Ana #2
It isn’t a question.
“Yes.”
The word settles between us and stays.
“How old is she?” he asks, looking up at me, his eyes narrowing.
“Mila is five,” I say. I swallow once. “I’m sorry I lied to you.”
He nods once. His face doesn’t change.
He stands and walks back to Mila’s door. He checks on her again without opening it any farther, then comes back to me. When he stops in front of me, there’s less space between us than there has been in days.
He steps close and puts his hand on my waist. He doesn’t pull me in, and he doesn’t hold me in place. He just leaves it there and waits. He gives me room to move, and he doesn’t say a word.
I lean into him on my own.
There’s nothing forced in the way he does it. He doesn’t try to prove anything. He just closes the space between us slowly, like it shouldn’t be there anymore.
His lips part mine, slow and deep, and when I moan against him, he doesn’t press harder. He waits again, giving me the room to ask for more.
So I do. I grip the back of his neck and kiss him again, pushing up on my toes, threading my fingers into his hair as I suck on his lower lip and pull it between my teeth. That’s when he groans deep in his chest and slides his other hand up my back.
I don’t think about moving to the bedroom. I just start walking backward, keeping us close, not breaking the kiss. He follows, matching each step, fingers spreading over my waist and guiding me until the backs of my knees hit the bed.
He lifts his head just enough to look me over. Then he peels my shirt off and drops it without ceremony.
My breasts rise with each breath, and when I go to unhook my bra, he brushes my hands away and does it himself, slow like he’s been waiting a long time to see me like this again.
When it comes off, he leans in and puts his mouth to my skin, kissing just above my nipple before dragging his tongue in a slow circle around it.
I arch toward him and he catches my sound with another kiss, deeper now. His hands work at my pants, pushing them down along with my underwear, and I step out of them without hesitation.
He pulls back just enough to look at me again.
“You’re sure?”
I nod once. “Are you?”
His jaw tics, but he smiles, faint and filthy. “I’ve been sure for years.”
Then he’s on his knees.
He kisses the inside of my thigh first, dragging his mouth up until I’m shifting my legs wider, holding on to his shoulders, already wet and aching for it. He doesn’t tease. He doesn’t take his time now. He licks me like he means to make me come fast and hard, and he does.
His tongue works steady circles, firm and consistent, and when I start rocking into his face, he hooks my thighs over his shoulders and drags me to the edge of the bed so he can get deeper.
“Dominik—” I gasp, already close, too close.
He groans into me like that’s what he wanted to hear, and then his fingers push into me slow and thick, two at once, curling just right, and it tips me straight into it.
I come with a cry, thighs shaking, nails digging into his back.
He doesn’t stop. He lets me ride it out on his mouth until I’m twitching from the overstimulation, and then he finally stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
His clothes come off in clean motions. Shirt first, then his belt, then his pants. I watch every inch of skin he reveals, every scar I remember, every one I don’t. His cock is already hard, flushed and heavy, and I reach for it, but he stops me.
“Your turn,” he says, voice rough. “Lie back.”
I do.
He tears open a condom, rolls it on, then climbs over me. He slides one arm under my waist to lift my hips and pushes into me in one long, steady thrust.
I gasp again, and he stills.
“Alright?”
“More than.”
He rocks into me again, and this time he doesn’t hold back. He sets a rhythm that’s strong and controlled, angling his hips to hit that spot that makes my whole body tighten. I grab his shoulders and hold on as he fucks me through the last edge of sensitivity and straight into another high.
My second orgasm hits harder than the first. I don’t even try to hold back.
He groans again, deep and guttural, and shifts me to my side, pulling one of my legs up over his and driving into me from behind.
The stretch feels deeper this way, hotter, and he holds me tight against his chest while his other hand finds my clit again.
“I want you to come again,” he says into my neck. “One more.”
I can’t answer. I just nod, panting, and it doesn’t take long.
He rubs slow circles, never easing the pace of his thrusts, and I break with a raw cry, shaking in his arms while he holds me through it.
He kisses my neck, my shoulder, the edge of my jaw, and then pulls out.
“I’m not done.”
I flip onto my hands and knees without needing to be told.
He thrusts back in from behind and this time it’s rougher. He grabs my hips and drives deep, the slap of skin loud in the room, and when I moan, he spanks my ass once, hard enough to make me jolt and clench around him.
“Fuck, Ana,” he growls. “You want me to come inside you?”
“Yes.”
“You sure?”
“I want all of you. Give me that too.”
He fucks me harder, deeper, and I reach between my legs and touch myself while he works into me.
That’s what does it.
I come again, loud and shaking, and a second later, he follows with a shuddering sound, spilling inside me as he buries himself to the hilt and holds me still.
For a second, everything stills.
Then he leans over, kisses my shoulder, and pulls out carefully.
“Come on,” he murmurs. “We’ll shower.”