CHAPTER 7 #2
I slow down my fingers and ease off her clit and she whines and her hips chase my mouth desperately seeking the friction I've taken away from her.
"Tell me what you need."
"I need to come. Please let me come. I'll do anything you want, I'll be anything you want, just please let me come."
"On my fingers? On my tongue? Tell me exactly how you want it."
"Both. Either. I don't care. Anything you want to give me. Please, Ilay, I'm begging you and I don't care how pathetic I sound because I need it so badly."
"What are you?"
"Your whore." The words spill out of her like she can't stop them, like she's too desperate to care about shame or dignity. "Your desperate little whore who needs to come on her husband's face. Please, Ilay, I'm begging you, I can't take anymore."
"Come."
She shatters beneath me.
Her scream echoes through the suite and bounces off the windows and I'm certain every guest on this floor knows exactly what's happening in the penthouse right now and I hope they choke on their jealousy.
Her back bows off the mattress so sharply I think she might snap in half.
Her thighs clamp around my head so tight I can barely breathe.
Her cunt pulses around my fingers in wave after wave of release that seems to go on forever while I lap at her and drink down everything she gives me.
I don't stop.
I work her through every tremor and every aftershock, my tongue on her clit and my fingers buried deep inside her, drawing out her orgasm until she's shaking and sobbing and babbling incoherently and begging me to stop because it's too much, too intense, too overwhelming.
And then something happens that I wasn't expecting.
I didn't touch myself, not once, not even a single stroke.
I've been hard since she turned around and let me unzip that dress, aching and leaking and desperate for relief, but I refused to give myself anything because tonight was supposed to be about her, about worshipping her, about showing her what she means to me.
But watching her fall apart beneath me, feeling her cunt squeeze my fingers like she never wants to let me go, tasting her release on my tongue, hearing my name ripped from her throat like it's a prayer and a curse and a benediction all at once—
It's enough.
My hips jerk against the mattress without my permission and a groan tears from my throat against her pussy as I come, spilling onto the sheets beneath me without a single touch, my whole body shuddering with the force of it while she's still trembling from her own release.
Her body goes limp against the mattress. Her breathing comes in ragged gasps. Her legs fall open and release my head from their grip.
"Did you just..."
"Shut up."
"You came." She lifts her head from the pillow to look at me and her expression is a mix of disbelief and absolute delight that makes me want to fuck that smug look right off her face. "I didn't even touch you."
"I said shut up."
"From eating me out? Just from tasting me and fingering me? You came on the mattress like that?"
I lift my head and my chin is wet and my eyes are dark and I know I should feel embarrassed but all I feel is hungry for more of her.
"You have no idea what you do to me, Iris."
"Apparently I do." A smile spreads across her face, slow and satisfied and insufferably smug. "My husband just came on the mattress like a teenager because I taste that good."
"Iris."
"I'm going to remember this forever. I'm going to think about this every time you try to act all dominant and in control."
"I will ruin you for that comment."
"Promise?"
I push myself up off the bed and stand over her while she's still sprawled across the sheets looking flushed and satisfied and entirely too pleased with herself.
It won't last.
"On your stomach. Now."
"I just came so hard I saw stars, I can't possibly—"
"You can. You will. I'm not done with you, not even close, and we have all night for me to take you apart and put you back together again."
"You just came too."
I grab her hip and flip her onto her stomach myself before she can protest any further and she yelps in surprise.
"And I'm already hard again." I press myself against her ass so she can feel the truth of it, my cock stiff and ready like I didn't just come thirty seconds ago. "That's what you do to me. That's what you've always done to me since the moment I first saw you."
"Ilay..."
"Hands above your head. Grab the headboard and don't let go."
She reaches up and her fingers wrap around the wooden slats and she grips them tight and waits for whatever I'm going to do to her next.
"Don't let go no matter what happens, no matter how good it feels, no matter how badly you want to touch me. If you let go, I stop."
Her grip tightens on the wood.
I drag my fingers down her spine and watch the goosebumps rise in their wake, following the curve of her back down to the dimples above her ass that I press my lips against before continuing lower.
"So wet." I push two fingers inside her just to hear her gasp and feel her clench around me. "You came that hard and you're still dripping for me like a desperate little thing who can't get enough."
"For you. Always for you. Only for you."
"Tell me what you want."
"You inside me. Please."
"Inside you where? Be specific."
"My pussy. Please, Ilay, I need it so badly."
"Need what? Say it properly, use your words."
"I need your cock inside me. I need you to fuck me until I can't walk. I need you to fill me up and ruin me for anyone else. Please."
I pull my fingers out of her and position myself at her entrance, the head of my cock pressing against her slick opening without pushing inside yet.
"Since you asked so nicely."
I push inside her in one long deep stroke that doesn't stop until I'm buried to the hilt and she cries out into the pillow beneath her, her back arching and her knuckles going white around the headboard as she struggles to keep her grip.
"Fuck," she breathes into the pillow and her voice is wrecked and desperate.
"That's the idea."
I pull back slowly, letting her feel every inch of me dragging against her walls, and then I slam back into her hard enough to make her scream.
"Who does this cunt belong to?"
"You."
"Say it properly, Iris. I want to hear you say the words."
"This cunt belongs to you. My pussy is yours. Every hole I have is yours to use however you want."
"And what are you?"
"Your whore. Your fucktoy. Your fuckdoll. Whatever you want me to be, that's what I am."
I set a brutal pace and drive into her over and over, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room along with her moans and my grunts and the creak of the headboard beneath her grip.
She takes it. She takes everything I give her, moaning into the pillow, pushing her hips back to meet each thrust, clenching around me like she wants to milk me dry.
"What do whores say when they want it harder?"
"Please. Please fuck me harder. Use me. Ruin me. Break me. I don't care what you do to me as long as you don't stop."
"Greedy little thing who can never get enough of her husband's cock."
I grab a fistful of her red hair and yank her head back and she gasps at the sharp sting and her pussy clenches around me so tight I have to grit my teeth to keep from coming on the spot.
"You love this, don't you? Being fucked like a whore by your husband while the whole city glitters outside the window."
"Yes."
"Admit it. Say it out loud so I can hear you."
"I love it. I love being used by you. I love being your whore. I think about it all day. I sit at my desk thinking about you bending me over and fucking me until I can't remember my own name and then sending me back to work with your cum dripping down my thighs."
"Filthy. My wife is absolutely filthy and I love every disgusting inch of her."
I release her hair and my hand finds her throat instead, wrapping around it from behind and pulling her up so her back is pressed against my chest while I fuck up into her from this new angle.
"This belongs to me too." I squeeze just enough to make her breath catch. "Every part of you is mine. Your mouth. Your cunt. Your throat. Your heart. Your soul. All of it belongs to me."
My hand tightens around her throat and her breath comes out in a strangled gasp.
"Say it."
"Y-yours." The word is barely a whisper, strained and desperate.
"Can't hear you, angel. Louder."
"Yours. I'm yours. All of me is yours."
"What are you?"
"Your... whore..."
"Good girl."
I release the pressure and she gasps and gulps air and I give her three seconds to catch her breath before I squeeze again.
"Color?"
"Green." She's panting and trembling and her voice is wrecked but her answer is immediate. "Green. Don't stop. Please don't stop."
I tighten my grip again, harder this time, and fuck her harder while I control her air and her pleasure and her entire existence in this moment.
"You like when I control whether you get to breathe?"
She nods frantically because she can't speak with my hand around her throat.
"Filthy girl. Getting off on being choked by her husband while he fucks her from behind."
I angle us toward the window and now we can both see our reflection in the dark glass, Moscow glittering below us like a carpet of stars while I hold her throat and pound into her from behind.
Her mouth is open. Her eyes are glazed. Tears are streaming down her face but she's smiling, she's actually smiling, because she loves this, she loves being used and owned and possessed by me.
She looks ruined.
She looks perfect.
She looks like mine.
"Tell me you love me."
"I... love... you..."
"Tell me you're mine."
"I'm... yours..."
"Forever?"
"Forever."
I release her throat and she collapses forward onto her hands, gasping for air, but I don't give her time to recover because I'm too far gone to show her any mercy now.
I flip her onto her back.
Her red hair is wild and tangled across the pillow. Her lips are swollen and bitten raw. Her eyes are swimming with tears but there's no fear in them, only trust, only love, only the absolute certainty that I would never actually hurt her no matter how rough I get.
"Who do you belong to?"
"You."
"Who?"
"You, Ilay. Only you. Always you."
"And what does that make you?"
"Yours."
"What else?"
"Your wife. Your whore. Your everything. Whatever you need me to be."
I tighten my grip on her throat and her eyes flutter and her pussy clenches around me like a vice.
"You want to come?"
She nods desperately because she can't speak.
"Beg for it. Use whatever air you have left to beg me to let you come."
"Please..." The word is barely audible, forced out past my grip. "Please let me come... please, Ilay... I need it... I need you... please..."
"Tell me what you are first. Tell me one more time."
"I'm your whore... I'm your desperate... pathetic... whore... who needs you... please let me come... I'll do anything..."
"Anything?"
"Anything... anything you want... forever... please..."
I release her throat and thrust deep and press my thumb to her clit and put my lips against her ear.
"Then come for me. Now. Come on my cock like the good little whore you are."
She screams.
Her whole body convulses beneath me and her cunt clamps down on me so tight I see stars exploding behind my eyes.
I fuck her through it, chasing my own release while she shakes apart in my arms, and when she gasps my name like it's the only word she knows, like it's the only thing tethering her to this earth, I follow her over the edge and come so hard I forget my own name too.
I spill inside her with a groan that sounds like it's ripped from somewhere deep in my chest, burying myself as deep as I can go, filling her up until she's overflowing while she trembles and cries and clings to me like I'm the only solid thing in the universe.
For a long moment we just breathe together, foreheads pressed together, hearts pounding against each other, neither of us capable of forming words.
Then I collapse beside her and pull her into my chest and she curls against me like a cat seeking warmth, boneless and satisfied and completely destroyed in the best possible way.
"I can't feel my legs," she mumbles against my skin.
"Good."
"I'm serious. I think you actually broke me this time. I may never walk again."
"I'll carry you everywhere tomorrow. I'll carry you for the rest of your life if I have to."
"You carried me out of my office today. People are going to talk."
"Let them talk. Let them say whatever they want. I don't care what anyone thinks as long as you're in my arms."
She laughs, weak and breathless and perfect. Her fingers trace lazy patterns on my chest.
"I love you," she says quietly, and even though she's said it a thousand times before, it still makes my chest ache every single time.
"I love you too."
She tilts her head up to look at me and her eyes are soft and warm and full of something I don't deserve but will spend the rest of my life trying to earn anyway.
"Best Valentine's Day ever."
"Wait until next year."
"I don't think you can top this. A building? A custom song? Skywriting? And then..." She gestures vaguely at the destroyed bed and the scattered rose petals and our tangled naked bodies. "This?"
"Is that a challenge?"
"Maybe."
I kiss her forehead and then her nose and then her lips, soft and slow and tender, nothing like the brutal way I was kissing her ten minutes ago.
"Get some sleep. We have dinner reservations in two hours."
"Two hours?" She groans and buries her face in my chest. "I can't move in two hours. I can't move ever again."
"Then I'll carry you to dinner too."
"You're insane."
"You married me."
She smiles against my chest and her body relaxes into mine and her breathing starts to slow and deepen.
"Yeah," she murmurs, already half asleep. "I did. Best decision I ever made."
Outside the window, the city lights of Moscow twinkle in the darkness like a million tiny stars laid out at our feet. The candles have burned down low, casting long shadows across the walls. Rose petals are scattered everywhere, crushed and ruined beneath us, but neither of us cares.
My wife is in my arms.
And I am the luckiest man alive.
The end.
Read .AN ANGEL FOR TSAR
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