Chapter 23 Micah #3
“Oh, does my little Mishka have ideas?” Ilya releases my cock, and I whine in protest. Before I can complain more, he scoops me up into his arms.
I cry out and press my torso against his chest. With my arms bound, I can’t even wrap my arms around his shoulders to stabilize myself. “Ilya!”
“It’s okay, Mishka. I have you,” Ilya says as he carries me to the bed. “I won’t drop you.”
“I’m not that light!” I complain. “And you’re not that young—”
“If you finish that thought, I might realize I’m too old to continue,” Ilya says, but his tone is light and joking. He isn’t actually insulted.
I grumble anyway. “Someone has to look out for you,” I tell him. “The last thing you need to do is hurt your back.”
“My back is fine. I know how to lift with my knees.” Ilya sets me down on the bed and crawls on top of me.
I can barely move at all, not with Ilya boxing me in and the ropes keeping my arms bound and my chest wonderfully snug.
Ilya pushes my hair out of my face and smiles down at me. “Now, do you want to tell me how old I am, or do you want me to fuck you while you’re all pretty for me?”
I squirm beneath his touch, feeling warmth spread through me as I gaze up at him. “I want you to fuck me senseless.” And I do. I don’t care that he’s older than me, or what people might think about our relationship. I only know that I want this, that I want him.
That I love him.
The thought strikes me all at once, making my heart feel full.
I know it’s early to say the words, but I want to.
“I will gladly fuck you,” Ilya answers.
He kisses my jaw, then my throat, then whatever skin is visible through the rope. He sucks on my nipples, and I gasp and arch for him. Ilya doesn’t let my movement or wriggling deter him or even change his course of action.
“Please,” I beg, attempting to lift my hips despite his weight on my thighs. My cock is still straining in its rope confines.
“Please what?” Ilya murmurs. He softly nips at one nipple while he flicks the head of my cock.
I whine, both out of frustration and desperation, wishing I could reach up and pull him down even at the same time I love that I can’t. I love that he’s made me beautiful and helpless for him. “Please touch me. I need you to touch me.”
“Hmm. Touch you where?” Ilya teases, moving his hand to the inside of my thigh. “You have to use simple English, Mishka. My English, it’s not so good.”
I scoff at him. “Fuck me,” I demand, and while I have a split second of uncertainty that I think is always going to be there when I assert myself, I dismiss it just as fast. “I need you to fuck me.”
“But you aren’t ready,” Ilya argues. I know he’s teasing me, but he’s serious too.
He has never taken me without prepping me first.
I let out another whine. “I would be ready if you weren’t teasing me so much.” I squirm beneath him, trying to spread my legs, but he has me thoroughly pinned down. “Please, Ilya!”
“I like hearing you,” Ilya murmurs.
He finally eases up, and I immediately spread my legs wide for him.
Ilya laughs and gives my hole a light slap. “My desperate Mishka.” He reaches for the lube we keep on the bedside table and drips a generous amount on my hole. “I need to go slow, because I am the old man. An old man.” He curses in Russian. “Stupid articles.”
“You really don’t have to worry about grammar with me,” I tell him, my smile soft as I watch him. “Ever.” I try to lift my ass up. “I have other things to complain about right now, and that’s that you aren’t inside of me already.”
Ilya pushes two fingers inside me at once. “There. I am inside you.”
I huff out a laugh, which cuts off when he thrusts in smoothly thanks to all the lube. It doesn’t take him long at all to find my prostate.
But instead of hammering at it, he only gently caresses it. I whine, desperate for more pleasure.
“Please, Ilya, please,” I beg.
“If I do this now, you’ll come immediately.” Ilya smirks at me. “Don’t say you won’t. We both know you would.”
“Mean,” I accuse him, but my pout isn’t real. I love that he takes his time with me and always makes sure I’m ready before he takes me. It makes me feel special.
It makes me feel loved.
I close my eyes and focus on the sensations. The rope holding me snug. The knots against my cock and taint, pressing into me every time anything gets jostled. Ilya’s large fingers slowly opening me for him.
I relax into it instead of thrusting my hips up, letting the soft, pleased sounds escape me. As much as I want to hurry him along, I also want to prolong this moment. It’s a memory being made, a good one, and it’s not one I want to ruin by being too impatient.
“There you go,” Ilya murmurs. “Much better. You’re finally relaxing.”
I would grumble at him, but it feels too much like effort.
Instead, I luxuriate in the feeling of his fingers inside of me, the way he takes his time to make sure every second is better than the last. Down and down I go, into that space inside of myself where I could linger forever and never come back.
But that’s not true. I’d always want to come back for Ilya.
Only when my cock is straining so hard against the ropes that it’s painful do I finally whisper, “Ilya…”
“I’ve got you, my lovely Mishka,” Ilya whispers. He places one kiss to the tip of my cock, then sits back. He strips his shirt off, revealing that beautiful chest, and undoes his fly so he can push his slacks and underwear down.
His cock, so familiar to me by now, is straining as much as mine. Ilya slicks it up and presses it against my hole.
Without a condom.
I sigh happily. I love feeling him bare, to know that he’s going to spill into me when he reaches the apex of his pleasure. He’s going to mark me from the inside, then I get to have that reminder for the rest of the day.
My arms twitch with the need to reach up and wrap around him, and I make a murmured sound of protest when I realize that I can’t.
But that becomes less important when he starts to ease inside of me, thoroughly lubed up and able to penetrate me with ease.
I squirm, lifting my hips for him the best I can.
The first thrust in is slow and deliberate. Ilya’s eyes flutter shut, and I want to say something, but my throat is dry and all I can do is accept him. I relax into the penetration, until Ilya’s cock pushes against my prostate and he bottoms out inside me.
I’m so close.
I won’t be able to last for more than a few thrusts.
“Tight,” Ilya says with a groan. “Every time. So perfect for me, Mishka.”
I hum in appreciation, falling relaxed and languid against the bed once more even as Ilya pulls back so he can thrust back into me.
I try to hold back as long as I can, but I’m already quivering with need, and the entire experience has become so intense that I can’t. I don’t have the ability to form words, only to listen as he praises me and thrusts into me.
I love you.
I want to say it. I’m so close to blurting it out. But I want it to be special, too, and I keep the words to myself a little longer.
When I come, my cry is soft as the pleasure washes over me. It doesn’t ebb, not as Ilya continues to thrust into me, not until he’s groaning with his own release. He spills deep inside of me, and I arch, satisfied from feeling both my own release and his.
Ilya bends forward and kisses me, over and over, through his orgasm.
“Mishka, Mishka, Mishka,” he repeats, and his kisses grow sloppier, just our lips rubbing against each other.
His beard rubs against my chin, and I love that sensation too, this reminder that it’s Ilya and not some other man kissing me.
I cry out when he pulls away, attempting to lift my arms and failing.
“Shh,” Ilya says. “One second. I’ll untie you.”
I shake my head. “Don’t. I need you.”
“You need me to untie you,” Ilya corrects. He starts with my cock, where the ropes are less snug thanks to my cock no longer being hard. He still takes his time untying the rope and setting it aside.
“Ilya…” I mumble.
He moves on to my wrists, carefully untying and uncoiling the rope so my arms can finally separate. As soon as my hands are free, I reach for Ilya. I don’t know what I want, but I know I want him close.
Ilya indulges me, kissing me again and petting my hair.
“Do you need me to make you come again?” Ilya asks softly. “I really am too old to go again, but you…” He lays a warm hand around my cock.
I shake my head. “No. I just want you, Ilya.”
“You have me,” Ilya answers with a smile. “But it’s still my job to take care of you. So sit up, pretty boy, so I can untie the rest of you.”
It takes me a moment, languid as I am, to sit up completely, and he ends up having to help me. He carefully unties the ropes, and he rubs his hands over my chest where the ropes had been.
It’s sensitive, but not overly so, and I hum in pleasure at the feeling of his hands on me.
“I could stay like this forever,” I whisper. “Here, with you.”
“Me too,” Ilya answers. He helps me lie down again and smooths his hand over my chest. “That was amazing, Mishka. You look so good with rope.”
“You’re so good with it,” I tell him with a soft sigh. “You’re so good with everything.” I pause, watching him as we share a comfortable silence for several beats. Then I reach out, touching his hand. “Ilya?”
“Mishka?” he replies.
I smile at him, take a deep breath, then whisper, “I love you.”
Ilya’s mouth drops open.
He stares at me.
And he doesn’t respond.
The deep languor that had gripped me begins to dissipate.
“Ilya?” I whisper. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“No!” Ilya grabs my hand and kisses it. “You should have. You caught me by surprise. Because I am a violent man, and I never thought I could ever find love. It is not meant for men like me.” He smiles at me, his eyes shimmering.
“I am so happy, Mishka. I love you too. I think I have loved you since the day I heard your sad music. I knew I wanted you then. I knew if your music was happy, it would be the most glorious thing in the world.”
My own eyes tear up. “I wouldn’t call it glorious,” I tell him. But I love that he loves it.
I love that he loves me.
I wrap my arms around him, forming myself against his body. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” I say, because once isn’t enough. “Just like you are.”
“You have changed my life so much,” Ilya says as he returns the embrace. “You made me see I was still stuck. You gave me a reason to change myself.”
I shake my head. “It wasn’t because of me,” I tell him. “But… I won’t lie and say I’m not happy you decided to make some changes around you.”
It isn’t that I wouldn’t have stayed with him if he’d remained with the bratva in other capacities — I would have — but knowing he only has the restaurants to contend with eases something inside of me.
Ilya twines his fingers with mine and kisses my knuckles. “For you. My beautiful Mishka.” He lets go so he can stroke my hair. I close my eyes and sight with contentment.
I’m halfway to dozing when Ilya says, “The sheets. And cleanup. You’ll be sad if you wake up with cum in your pubic hair.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I mumble, clinging more tightly to him. “Need you to stay right here.”
“Okay.” Ilya sits up enough to grab the comforter from the foot of the bed and pull it over us. “You’ll also be sad when the big blanket has cum stains,” he mumbles. “But this is why—”
“—detergent exists,” I finish with him. It’s a familiar line, one he’d had to repeat for me every time I’d panicked about the sheets being dirty or something else staining.
I’ve come so far, and while I have a long way to go, I’ll have Ilya by my side.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.