Chapter 22 #3
"You like it dirty, Anya. You just don't wanna admit it yet."
I’m half-tempted to push him away, to slap him, but the truth is I'm already soaking wet, aching for him. His hands slide up my hips, rough and deliberate, pushing my apron higher until it's bunched around my waist. Cool air meets my skin.
I arch my back, pushing against him. He groans low in his throat, a sound that goes straight between my legs, then cups my pussy with the heel of his palm, pressing to where I ache for him. I meet his gaze. This time, I don't look away from his ice-blue eyes.
"You still think you're in control?" He presses his palm harder, circling. I bite back a moan, aching for more.
"Maybe I am." I don't even recognize my voice. It's so low, so seductive.
Now he's moving again, trailing kisses and bites along my jawline, his stubble rasping against my skin. He shoves aside my panties, sliding his fingers into my wet cunt. I bite back a gasp. He doesn't rush—he's teasing me, ever the strategist, driving me insane. He knows just what moves to make.
"I want you begging," he whispers darkly. "By the time I'm finished with you, you'll forget you ever wanted control, Anya.”
His fingers dip beneath the fabric, and I cry out softly, clutching his shoulders as he swirls and strokes. He has me exactly where he wants me. With him, it doesn't feel like weakness. I feel wanted. Powerful.
He shoves his fingers back in my pussy, stroking in and out.
"Fucking hell." I breathe.
His lips curve into a wolfish grin that makes my sex pulse. "You like that, Anya, don't you? Admit it—you like it.”
I plant my hands on the flat of the steel table, spread my legs, and nod, beckoning him closer.
"I fucking love it. I want you, Semyon."
His control breaks. I want to touch him, but I'm holding onto the table for dear life. It gives me a sort of power when he slides between my legs, bringing his fingers to his mouth and licking them clean. Oh my god.
Neither one of us wants to yield, but right now, we're equals, giving and taking.
Then his mouth is on mine, devouring, and I lose myself in him.
He drags my butt to the edge of the table, keeps my legs spread apart, and unbuckles his belt.
I sit up, holding myself upright while I reach for his belt, helping him.
We can't move fast enough. I'm afraid if I don't let him take control right now, I might change my mind, and I can't do that. I won't.
It takes both of my hands to take his thick, hot cock from his pants and slide it between my legs. My head falls back at the first slow thrust, the tip of his cock at my center. "Semyon."
He pushes into me, and this time, it doesn't hurt as much as it did before. This time, it feels so good, so right, as if we're meant to be like this together. I feel like a woman. A full-fledged woman. Not Eli's little sister. Not Semyon’s best friend's sister.
Anya Kopolova.
The walls of my pussy tighten around the thick edges of his cock.
"Tell me you like it," he murmurs in my ear.
I bite my lip, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. He pulls almost all the way out, and I moan, reaching for him, arching toward him. I want him back.
"Tell me you want this," he whispers. "Tell me you fucking want this."
"Fine," I grit out. "I want this. I want you. I want us. I want all of it. Fuck me, Semyon."
"That's my girl," he growls. "That's my good girl."
He shoves into me again, and it feels so fucking right.
I swear that when his cock hits the back of my cervix, I feel a full-body shudder.
Again, he pulls almost all the way out before he slides back in again and again, building a rhythm with friction that makes me want to scream.
My fingers dig into his back—scratching, begging, pleading.
It's dirty and fulfilling. All I can think of is how much I want more.
He fucks me until I scream his name, until the walls of my pussy clench, and I come, and he comes inside me, his hot seed spilling. I lean back, sated, my clit still throbbing when he falls to his knees and removes his glasses.
Oh my god. He means business when he slides them off.
My mouth is open in a silent gasp as he drags his tongue, hard and flat, across my clit. It feels so wrong, so dirty.
"Semyon—" My fingers grip the edge of the table, white-knuckled. I’m panting, moaning.
He doesn't stop but eats me out, suckling me, and I’m on the cusp of another orgasm. I come again—harder—crying out, my hands diving into his hair, anchoring myself for support, screaming. Then I slump back on the table, spent and exhausted.
But he's not done yet.
I watch as he gets a wicked grin and walks slowly, fully clothed, to the refrigerator. I’m too drunk to ask what the fuck he’s doing, but I don’t trust that smile.
He opens it and takes out a bottle of whipped cream. Usually I make my own, but we keep this on hand for emergencies. I'm boneless, barely holding myself on the edge of the table, when he comes back over to me.
How is he still walking right now?
He kneels, removes my apron, and cleans me up. I watch him drizzling a line of cream across the top of my thighs. "Dessert time."
He sucks the cream off and licks my clit. I'm so sensitized, having just come, my hips jerk, and I shake my head.
"No. No, too much."
But then he slows his roll ever so slightly, touching the tip of his tongue to my swollen, sensitive clit. So softly, so gently. And I want more. So much more. I'm drunk on adrenaline and pheromones. All I can think of is more.
He laps at the cream again lazily, hungrily, sucking my clit into his mouth and then pushing me to the edge until I'm swollen, begging, needy.
"Semyon… I can't. I can't!" I scream against the edge of the table.
My thighs tremble as the aftershocks ripple through me.
I'm so sensitive it feels like every flick of his tongue shoots through me, but he's relentless, taking his time, savoring every inch of me like I'm the most delicious, most decadent dessert he's ever tasted.
"Yes, you can," he says, and I almost believe him because he's so confident, and it feels like he knows fucking everything. "And you will, Anya."
He draws another line of whipped cream along the inside of my other thigh. The cool sensation makes me shiver. The contrast of hot and cold, overwhelming pleasure, mingles. My head falls back. I want so much fucking more. I want him to stop. I don’t want him to stop. I’m confused and eager.
He draws a pattern with the whipped cream—a fucking pattern like a gridlock across my thighs. His eyes meet mine with molten intensity as he lazily drags his tongue across the cream, lapping me up. I stifle a scream when his tongue meets my swollen, sensitive clit again.
"God…" I whisper.
"Good girl," he whispers back, breaking into a wicked grin. "Are you still fighting me?" He chuckles softly.
I shake my head, biting my lip as another climax builds. "I can't do it again. I can't. It's too much."
"Lie to yourself all you want, sweetheart, but your body tells me the truth."
His voice is slow and taunting, full of knowing.
He presses a kiss to my other thigh before diving back between my legs.
This time, there’s no escape. His mouth is ravenous, hungry, alternating between sucking and soft flicks, keeping me teetering right on the edge.
It's building more powerfully than it was before.
My hips grind against his face as my fingers tangle in his hair, yanking him closer to me. I've lost all control, and I don't care. Right now, there's only one thing I want.
He drives me higher and higher until the pressure building inside is unbearable.
"Please, Semyon," I beg without shame. "Please don't stop."
He hums approvingly against my clit, the vibration sending waves of shock through me, before he adds two fingers, sliding into my slick heat with a rhythm that matches the strokes of his tongue. My whole body clenches as his curled fingers hit the spot that makes me cry out.
"I once read an article about a woman's ability to orgasm," he says quietly against my thigh.
Of course he fucking did.
"The women they tested got to sixty-five before they called it a day," he says with a dark chuckle. "We're nowhere near that, Anya. And the article explained how the women could've kept going."
“Looks like evolution got something right,” I breathe out.
He chuckles, his voice thick with desire. "Come for me, Anya." His tongue flicks again.
My body arches off the table, and I shatter, a scream tearing from my throat. The world tilts, and all I can feel are waves of pleasure. He doesn't stop until I'm sobbing his name.
“God, Semyon…”