Chapter Twenty #3
There’s the scrape of chair legs across the floor as Alexei shoves his chair back again.
He hisses a curse as he rises, yanking at the button of his jeans and wrenching down his zipper.
He doesn’t even take them off; he just shoves them down as if they’re nothing more than an annoyance, an obstacle to be conquered.
And then he’s wedging his hips between my splayed thighs. He braces one hand on the table as he leans over me, and with the other…he feeds his cock inside me. So slowly, and the burning stretch makes me whimper. He watches himself take me, his chest heaving like a bellows.
Somehow I manage to lever myself up onto my elbows. “Wait! A condom…” He’s got like a million of them in the drawer in his nightstand.
“Nyet.” He delivers the refusal with a punch of his hips, forcing himself deeper. “I want to feel you, to come inside you.” The fingers of his free hand hook around the string of the bikini between my breasts and yank it up. His palm covers my right breast, the callused skin abrading my nipple.
Thank God for birth control. At least the plentiful assortment of condoms stored so close to the bed suggests he doesn’t generally engage in unprotected sex.
Still, though. “Alex—ah!” Another brutal stab of his hips forces a cry from my lungs. My arms tremble beneath me. His rough hand squeezes my breast and glides up my throat. His fingers are gentler than I expect as they slide into my hair, fisting there.
This is something more than sex. This is domination. Possession.
His grip pulls my head up and to the side, baring my throat. And then his mouth is there, in that place he loves to mark. I feel the scrape of his teeth, the fleeting, stinging pinch of pain I’ve perversely come to associate with pleasure instead.
“Alyosha.” It sounds so weak, so needy. A mewling plea.
“So fucking tight,” he growls against my throat.
He’s still driving into me, a little deeper each time, forcing my resisting, swollen flesh to take more of him.
I feel stretched, opened—conquered. It’s not comfortable, but it feels…
necessary. Like I’m being remade, becoming something entirely new.
Burning and melting and sweltering hot as he comes to rest over me, so deep I feel impaled.
My fingers slip in the sweat that mists his back, nails digging into his flesh. At some point I pulled my legs up, bracing my feet flat on the table to lift my hips into the vicious thrust of his. There’s a deep ache inside me, and it pulses with every breath I draw into my starved lungs.
I should be scared of Alexei. I know, now, what kind of man he is. Obsessive, domineering, amoral. A man who has killed without remorse at least once that I know of. A man who has drugged me, kidnapped me, and kept me prisoner. I should be terrified.
I’m not. Maybe tomorrow I’ll go back to being argumentative and scornful and openly contemptuous.
But tonight all I can think of is how he let me cry on his shoulder when every hope I had crumbled to ash.
How good the scrape of his teeth feels on my neck.
How, against all reason, somehow I still feel safe.
“You want to come again, koshechka?” It’s a gritty rumble against my throat.
“Yes.” My knees nip around his hips. “Yes.” I scrape my nails down the length of his back in a silent demand.
Alexei gasps, shuddering. And then he moves.
A long, slow glide out, as if he doesn’t want to pull away.
Followed by a fast, sharp plunge in, as if he’s coming home again.
There’s a rhythm to it, one I can’t quite catch.
Maybe one I’m not supposed to catch. Maybe I’m just supposed to endure.
Each stroke reaches the deepest part of me, rubbing sensitive tissues, sending electric little shocks of pleasure careening up my spine.
“Fuck,” he rasps between hard, desperate plunges, his voice so thick it barely sounds human.
“You feel like a fucking fist. It almost hurts to leave you.”
It hurts to be left. I feel empty when he’s not inside me. And when he is, I don’t feel anything but him.
One more slick slide makes it all too much. That tension that has been coiling in my belly abruptly bursts free. Every muscle tightens, and I scream his name as I come, digging my fingernails into his shoulders so deeply I’m sure I’ve left marks of my own.
“Fuck, Katya,” he says again in a visceral hiss, and he pounds into me, fighting the clutch of my body to get deeper still.
“I feel you coming on my cock.” An abbreviated grunt as he thrusts deep and holds, his chest heaving.
There’s a flood of liquid warmth as he comes inside me. Deliberately. Because he wants to.
And I’m still pinned to the table, helpless to do anything but let him.
His heart pounds against my breasts. After several long minutes, at last he stirs himself enough to brace himself on one arm and brush his lips across mine.
“If not for your birth control,” he muses, “probably you would be pregnant now.”
I shove at his shoulders, even though his weight is impossible to move. “Don’t even joke about that,” I snap.
And Alexei laughs. “Ah, Katya,” he says on a condescending sigh. “I think we eat zakuski again tomorrow, yes?”