Chapter 7 Zakhar
Zakhar
The second kiss is different.
The first was me claiming her, marking her, making sure she understood exactly what this is.
This one is her kissing me back.
Her hands slide from my shoulders up the back of my neck and into my hair, fingers tangling, pulling me closer even though I'm already as close as I can get without crushing her. She makes a desperate, needy sound, and it goes straight to my cock.
I've wanted this woman since the moment she opened the door. Since she looked at my blood-soaked body and didn't flinch. Since she patched me up with steady hands and told me I was an idiot for refusing a hospital.
But I need to be careful. My wounds are healing, but they're not healed. The one at my shoulder pulls when I move wrong, and the one at my side is a constant reminder that I'm not at full strength.
Lily doesn't seem to care.
She deepens the kiss, her tongue sliding against mine, and her hips shift forward, seeking friction. I can feel the heat of her through the thin fabric of her sleep shorts, can smell her arousal mixing with the cherry scent of her skin.
Fuck.
I pull back slightly, just enough to look at her. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, lips parted from kissing. She looks wrecked, and we've barely started.
Her hands slide down from my hair to my chest, careful around the bandages. I can see it in her eyes. That desperate need for control. For agency. For one moment where she gets to decide instead of everything being decided for her.
She's been drowning for months. Struggling alone. Making impossible choices with no good options.
She needs this.
And I can give it to her.
I cup her jaw, thumb stroking her cheek. "Tonight, you take what you need."
She searches my face for a moment, looking for the catch, the trick. Finding none.
Then she takes my hand. "Come with me."
I follow her to her bedroom. It’s the first time I’ve been in here since I arrived. It's small, simple. A double bed with mismatched sheets, a dresser with more photos, a window that overlooks the street.
She turns to face me, and I can see the nervousness mixing with determination in her eyes.
"Sit on the bed," she says.
I sit.
She stands between my knees, hands coming up to my shoulders. "Tell me if anything hurts."
Her fingers trace the edge of the bandage on my shoulder, feather-light. Then lower, to the one at my side. She's memorized where every wound is, catalogued them the way a nurse would. The way someone who cares would.
"I don't want to hurt you," she whispers.
"You won't." I catch her wrist gently, bringing her hand to my mouth. Kiss her palm, her wrist, the inside of her forearm. "I trust you."
The words land heavy between us. She swallows hard, then nods.
Her hands go to the hem of her vest, and she pulls it off in one smooth motion. No bra underneath. Just soft skin and perfect breasts that make my mouth water.
"Fuck," I breathe.
A small smile curves her lips. "Like what you see?"
"You know I do."
She pushes me back gently, careful of my wounds, until I'm lying on the bed. Then she hooks her thumbs into her sleep shorts and panties, sliding them down in one go.
And she's perfect. Every inch of her. Soft curves and pale skin and that determined look in her eyes that says she's done being afraid.
She climbs onto the bed, straddling my hips carefully. I can feel her heat against me through my jeans, can feel how wet she is already.
"Lily—"
"Let me," she says. "Please. Let me have this."
I nod, hands settling on her hips. Light pressure, just enough to ground her, and remind her I'm here.
She reaches for the waistband of my jeans, eyes meeting mine for permission. I lift my hips carefully as she undoes the fly, then help her slide them down. My cock springs free, hard and heavy against my stomach.
She reaches down, wrapping her hand around me. The touch is tentative at first, exploratory. Like she's learning me. Mapping me.
"Fuck," I grit out. "Lily—"
"Tell me what you like."
"Everything you're doing," I grunt, my voice lowered to gravelly restraint.
She strokes me slowly, base to tip, thumb swiping over the head. I'm leaking already, desperate for her despite my best efforts to stay controlled.
"I want you inside me," she whispers.
"Then take what you want."
She positions herself over me, the head of my cock pressing against her entrance. She's so wet I can feel it, can feel how ready she is despite the nervousness in her eyes.
“Take your time," I suggest, more for my sake than her own.
She nods, then begins to sink down.
The sensation is overwhelming. Tight, hot, perfect. She gasps, hands bracing on my chest as she takes me inch by inch.
"Just like that," I murmur. "You feel so good, Lily."
She whimpers, continuing to lower herself. Halfway. Three-quarters. Then she's fully seated, my cock buried deep inside her, both of us breathing hard.
"You okay?" I ask, hands flexing on her hips.
"Yes. God, yes." She rocks slightly, testing, and we both groan.
"Move when you're ready. However you need."
She lifts up slowly, then sinks back down. Then again. Finding her rhythm. Taking what she needs. And I let her. I let her set the pace, let her control the depth, let her take her pleasure however she wants it.
Because she needs this. Needs to feel powerful, needs to feel in control, needs to remember that she can take what she wants instead of always being the one who gives.
Her pace increases as she braces herself with her hands on her calves. Her head falls back, her thighs flex, those round tits bounce lightly with each movement. But the view, fuck… The view of her pussy sliding up and down my shaft is enough to make me come undone.
She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
"Zakhar," she gasps. "I'm—I can't—"
I lick my index and middle finger and press them against her clit, her movements becoming jerky and desperate as she rides me harder.
"Take it Lily. Take everything, Lily."
She cries out, body clenching around me as she comes. The sensation is almost too much, her pussy gripping me like a vice, milking me.
I hold her hips, helping her through it, fighting my own release as long as possible because this is about her.
"Please, Zakhar,” she manages to say, her voice high-pitched and needy as she rides out her orgasm. “I want to feel you come inside me."
The words shatter my control.
I grip her hips tighter, careful of my wounds but no longer holding back completely. Start guiding her movements, faster, harder, taking what I need now.
She moans as the last shiver runs through her, leaving her sensitive and overwhelmed but giving me this.
"Fuck, Lily. You feel so perfect. Say you’re mine." My teeth are clenched, my eyes glued to the space between her thighs and the way my cock is slicked with her juices.
"Yours," she gasps. "All yours."
That does it. I come hard, arching my back as I spill deep inside her, marking her from the inside out. Making sure she knows exactly who she belongs to.
She collapses carefully onto my chest, both of us breathing hard, sweat-slicked and satisfied.
I wrap my arms around her, one hand stroking her hair, the other spread across her lower back.
"You okay?" I ask quietly.
"More than okay." Her voice is muffled against my chest.
We lie there in silence, her body soft and pliant against mine. My wounds ache, but I don't care. Every twinge of pain is worth it to feel her like this.
She's mine now. Completely. All that's left is making it official.