Chapter 3 Pyotr #2
But I won't. Not yet. I'll have her properly—in my bed, on our wedding night, when she's legally mine in every way. And I'm saving every drop for that moment. Every bit of need, every ounce of cum, all of it for when I finally bury myself inside her and breed her properly.
No more jerking off in the shower. No more touching myself thinking about her. I'm going to be so fucking desperate by our wedding night that I'll probably fill her three times before I can even think straight.
But, God forgive me, I can give us both a taste.
I hoist her up against the doorframe, her legs wrapping instinctively around my waist. The shirt rides up, exposing her bare thighs, her panties. I grind against her once and the heat of her pussy through the thin cotton nearly breaks me.
"Pyotr!" She gasps my name, hands flying to my shoulders.
"Feel that?" I grind again, slower this time, deliberate. "That's what you do to me. That's how hard I get thinking about claiming you. About ruining you for anyone else. About putting my baby in your belly."
I can feel her trembling. Feel the dampness spreading through her panties where we're pressed together. She's getting wetter by the second, and I'm so fucking hard it hurts.
"You're soaked," I growl against her throat, punctuating each word with another roll of my hips. "Dripping. Your body knows what it wants even if your mind won't admit it."
She makes a sound and I bite down on the tender skin of her neck. Hard enough to mark. Hard enough that she'll see it tomorrow and remember this moment. Remember who she belongs to.
My hips move faster now, grinding my cock against her pussy through our clothes. The friction is maddening. Not nearly enough. Too much. I can feel every ridge of her through the fabric, imagine how hot and tight she'll be wrapped around me.
We're rutting against each other like desperate animals. Feral. Uncontrolled. Two years of obsession and denial combusting in this moment.
"Two days," I manage, voice wrecked. "Two days and this is mine. This pussy. This body. Everything."
"Please!" She's panting now, hips starting to move with mine. Seeking friction. Chasing something she probably doesn't even understand.
"Please what?" I angle my hips differently, finding her clit through the layers and grinding directly against it. She jerks, crying out. "Please fuck you now? Please make you come? Please stop because you're scared how much you want this?"
Her head thrashes against the doorframe.
I grab her ass with both hands, holding her in place while I thrust against her. Hard. Desperate. Dry humping her like an animal. "Come for me, malyshka. Show me what a good girl you are. Show me this pussy knows who it belongs to."
She's close. I can tell by the way her thighs are shaking, by the little gasping sounds she's making, by how she's grinding back against me now without even realizing it.
"That's it," I encourage roughly. "Take what you need. Use my cock. Even through our clothes you need it, don't you? Need me."
The wet spot on her panties is growing, soaking through to dampen my pants where we're pressed together. The evidence of her arousal, her surrender, nearly undoes me. My cock is throbbing, balls drawn up tight. I'm seconds from coming and I haven't even gotten inside her yet.
No. Not like this. Not wasted in my fucking pants.
Every drop is for her. For filling her. For breeding her.
Save it. Control it. Make her wait worth it.
She falls apart in my arms with a broken cry, pussy spasming against my cock even through the barriers between us. And feeling her come—because of me, for me—destroys what little control I have left.
I barely hold it back. Every muscle locks up, cock pulsing dangerously in my pants as I fight not to spill. It's excruciating. Pleasure-pain that has me groaning against her throat, shaking with the effort of not letting go.
Not yet. Not wasted. Every drop goes inside her where it belongs.
On our wedding night, I will flood her pussy. Breed her properly. Make her take every fucking drop I've been saving.
It takes everything I have. Every scrap of discipline from twenty-five years in the Bratva. When I finally pull back, I'm sweating, trembling, and so close to the edge I can taste it.
But I didn't break. Didn't waste a single drop that belongs inside her.
She's staring at me with dazed eyes, chest heaving. Marked and disheveled and thoroughly debauched. And she has no idea how close I came to taking her virginity right here, right now, against the nursery door.
I lower her carefully, making sure her legs will hold her. "Next time, there won't be any clothes between us. Next time, I'll be buried inside you. Breeding you. Making you mine for real."
I step back before I change my mind. Before I drag her to the floor and fuck her anyway, consequences be damned.
"Get cleaned up," I tell her, voice still strained. "Rest. Tonight we're having dinner together, and tomorrow Anya is taking you dress shopping."
"Anya?"
"Dimitri's wife. She'll help you find a wedding dress." My eyes drag down her body, taking in the wet spot visible on her panties, the marks blooming on her throat.
Her face flushes red.
I turn to leave before I do something I'll regret. Or won't regret, which is the real problem.
"Oh, and Vera?" I pause in the doorway without looking back. "You can try to clean yourself up. Try to wash away what we just did. But it won't change anything. You're mine. Your body knows it. And soon, the rest of you will accept it too."
I make it to my office before I have to brace against the desk, cock still rock-hard and aching in my pants. The wet spot where her pussy soaked through is a reminder of what almost happened.
What will happen in forty-eight hours.
I could jerk off right now. Relieve some of this pressure. But I won't.
Every drop. Every ounce of need. Every bit of cum I've got—it's all going inside her on our wedding night. I'm going to be so desperate, so full, that I'll breed her three times before dawn. Fill her so completely there's no way she won't be pregnant.