Chapter 13 Dmitri #2
She turns her face toward mine. There is no snap or storm, only the small tilt of a woman deciding to find out whether a mouth can be a home.
I stop playing with my right hand and let my left hand hold the last chord open until it fades.
Then I take her chin gently. Violence has taught me two kinds of strength, and the second is the one she wants.
I kiss her slowly, with the certainty of a man who knows the floor will hold.
She makes a sound that lives somewhere between a prayer and a call to war.
I answer it with my mouth, not with my hands.
She tastes of clove and clean winter air and leans closer and doesn't flinch.
I wait, and waiting turns into permission.
My cross is a cool weight under my shirt, a reminder that reverence is a better teacher than desire ever was.
I rise, bring her with me, and don't break the kiss.
The room beyond the music room is ours because I hold it so.
The door stays open because secrecy is for strategy, not for love.
I let her set the pace, and I keep it. When she steps back, I stop.
When she comes forward, I meet her without taking the distance for free. Her fingers find the edge of my collar.
We cross a short stretch of shadow and lamplight toward the room that has a bed in it and no need for it to be an altar to anything except consent.
I place my hand at the small of her back, light and steady, asking only.
Yes, she answers with her body leaning into mine.
Cloth yields. Skin finds air. I peel her blouse open, buttons scattering against the floorboards, and her breasts rise into my hands as if they were meant to be claimed there.
Her breath stutters when my thumbs brush over her nipples, hard already, a sound catching in her throat that makes my cock ache.
She drags my shirt up and over, lips breaking from mine only long enough to tear it off me.
Her nails trace the scars across my chest, sharp little reminders that I'm still flesh and not just steel.
When her mouth follows her fingers, teeth grazing my skin, I growl low, the sound vibrating against her cheek.
I hook my hands under her thighs and lift her, pressing her back to the wall. Her skirt rides high, and I grind against the damp heat of her through lace, the friction making her moan into my mouth.
"Off," I mutter, yanking the panties aside until they tear, the sound loud in the quiet room. She gasps, half laugh, half outrage.
"You'll answer for that," she whispers, but she's already rolling her hips into me, already wet and open.
I sink to my knees again, this time not for patience but for hunger.
My mouth seals over her, tongue driving deep, then dragging hard up to her clit.
She cries out, hands flying to my hair, her thighs trembling around my ears.
I lap at her, suck her, make her sob my name until her hips jerk and her slick runs down my chin.
Before she can fall apart completely, I stand, grip her ass, and line myself up.
Her eyes fly wide as I thrust into her in one stroke, burying myself to the hilt.
Her cry tears through me, nails digging into my shoulders as her body clutches me tightly, hot, wet, greedy.
"Dmitri—oh, God," she gasps, back arching.
"Not God," I growl, pounding into her hard enough that the wall rattles. "Me."
Each thrust drives her higher, her cries turning ragged, wet sounds marking the rhythm of our bodies. I slam her down onto my cock, again and again, her cunt gripping me like a fist, dragging me deeper. "You feel that?" I rasp, teeth biting her throat, marking her. "That's mine. Say it."
She gasps my name, over and over, brokenly, her voice sharp with need. Her pussy clenches tightly, milking me, and I know she's close. I angle my hips, grind against her clit, and she shatters, screaming into my mouth, convulsing around me, every squeeze dragging me closer to the edge.
I push away from the wall and carry her toward the bed. She clings to me, legs locked around my waist, our bodies still joined, every step a drag of friction that makes her moan into my throat.
I lay her down, but I don't let go. I keep driving into her, slow and deep, savoring the way her body flutters around me after that first violent climax. She whimpers, biting her lip, and I catch her wrists, pinning them above her head against the mattress.
"You're not done," I murmur, rocking into her, drawing out another soft gasp. "I'll take you until you can't say his name even in your dreams."
She arches under me, eyes blazing even through her shivers. "Then don't stop."
I don't. I pound her into the bed. Her cries rise higher, each thrust dragging her closer, until she's trembling again, clenching around me.
I release her wrists, and she grabs my shoulders, pulling me down for a kiss that's more teeth than lips.
Then she flips me. I don't resist. She straddles me, hair falling like a curtain, breasts bouncing as she rides me hard, her hands braced on my chest. The sight makes me snarl, my hands gripping her hips tight as she slams herself down, taking me to the root with each stroke.
"You look at me," I rasp, staring up at her, sweat slicking her skin. "Don't close your eyes."
She doesn't. She rides me harder, faster, until she's crying out again, grinding her clit against me, chasing her own release.
I thrust up into her in rhythm, and when she breaks, screaming my name, I grab her and roll us, keeping inside her as I take control back.
This time, I put her on her hands and knees, fist in her hair, yanking her back onto me.
Her scream muffles into the pillow as I slam into her from behind, the angle brutal, my balls slapping against her with each stroke.
Her slick gushes around me, dripping down her thighs, her ass slamming back into me in rhythm with my thrusts.
"Tell me," I growl, tugging her hair so her back arches. "Tell me who you belong to."
"You," she gasps, breath hitching with every thrust. "Only you."
Her cunt clenches, spasming again, and I feel her gush around me, soaking the sheets as another orgasm rips through her. The sight nearly undoes me, but I'm not finished.
I drag her down flat onto her stomach, still buried deep, my weight crushing her into the bed as I fuck her slowly and grindingly, forcing her to feel every inch.
She sobs into the sheets, overstimulated, shaking, but she doesn't tell me to stop.
Her nails claw weakly at the mattress, her body quivering under mine as I keep her pinned and full.
Then I pull out, flip her onto her side, hook her leg over my hip, and slide back in.
She gasps, eyes wide, the new angle hitting deeper, sharper, dragging another strangled cry from her.
I pound into her like that, my hand around her throat, thumb brushing her pulse, and I feel her tighten again, unbelievably, ready to break one more time.
"Come with me," I snarl, thrusts growing ragged. "Now."
Her orgasm milks me mercilessly, and when her teeth sink into my shoulder, I lose it.
With a roar, I slam into her one final time and spill inside her, hot, violent pulses filling her until it runs down her thighs.
Her head drops against my chest, both of us shaking, breaths ragged, sweat slick between us.
I stay inside her, holding her pinned to the wall, her heartbeat hammering against mine.
"Valentina," I murmur against her hair, voice hoarse, "I meant it. To guard your life with my own."
She looks up at me, eyes glassy, lips swollen, and for the first time tonight, she doesn't argue. She just holds my face in both hands and kisses me like trust.