Ava
I kiss him like he’s the only thing that can save me. Even though I don’t believe he can.
It's not rational. It's not smart. But I'm choosing this.
Choosing him.
Even if it's wrong. Even if it makes me broken or twisted or crazy. In this moment, I need to feel something other than fear and guilt.
Renat goes still against me, and for a heartbeat I think he's going to push me away. Tell me I'm confused, that I don't know what I'm doing.
But then he groans this low, desperate sound that vibrates through his chest, and his hands tighten on my waist. The kiss deepens, and suddenly I'm not leading anymore. He is.
His tongue slides against mine, hot and demanding, and heat floods my body. His hands move from my waist to my hips, then up my back, pulling me closer until I'm practically in his lap.
I don’t think about what this means, about consequences or complications. Instead, I think about how good he feels. How solid. How alive.
I break the kiss, breathing hard. "I want—" The words stick in my throat.
"What, Ava?" His voice is rough, strained. "Tell me."
"I want to feel something other than afraid." I meet his eyes in the darkness. "I want to choose something for myself, even if it's stupid. Even if I regret it tomorrow."
His jaw clenches. "You'll regret this."
"Probably." I reach up and trace his lips with my finger. "But right now, it's my choice. Not my father's. Not the Fed’s. Not even yours. Mine."
A darkness flickers in his eyes.
"If we do this," he says carefully, "there's no going back. You understand that?"
"Nothing about tonight can be taken back. You already took me. Already claimed me." I slide my hands up his chest, feeling his heart hammering beneath my palms. "This is the only thing I get to control. Let me have it."
He's silent for a long moment, studying my face like he's searching for doubt. For hesitation. He won't find it. Not about this.
"Once," he finally says. "We do this once, and you're mine completely. No more questions. No more doubts. You'll belong to me in every way."
"I already belong to you." The words surprise me, but they feel like truth. "You decided that the moment you walked into my apartment. This just makes it my decision too."
His control snaps.
He kisses me again, harder this time, his hands fisting in my hair as he angles my head exactly where he wants it. I make a sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan, and he swallows it, his tongue claiming my mouth the way his words claimed my future.
"Say it," he demands against my lips. "Say you're mine."
"I'm yours."
"Again."
"I'm yours, Renat." My hands find the hem of his shirt, tugging it up. I need to feel his skin, need to prove to myself that he's real, that this is real. "I'm yours."
He pulls back just long enough to yank his shirt over his head and toss it aside. Then his hands are on me, sliding under my t-shirt, his palms hot against my ribs.
I arch into his touch, and he makes that sound again, that desperate, hungry groan that makes me feel powerful despite everything.
"You're so soft," he murmurs, his thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts. "So perfect."
I reach for my shirt, but his hands stop me.
"No." His eyes are molten in the soft glow of the room. "I want to do it. I want to unwrap you like a gift."
He takes his time, sliding the fabric up inch by inch, his fingers trailing over my skin as he goes. By the time he pulls the shirt over my head, I'm trembling.
I'm wearing a plain cotton bra, nothing sexy or special. But the way he looks at me, you'd think I was wearing the sexiest lingerie.
"Bozhe," he breathes. "You're going to destroy me."
I reach behind myself and unhook the bra, pulling it off. "Then we'll be even."
His eyes go impossibly darker, and before I can process what's happening, he's moving. He lifts me like I weigh nothing, positioning me so I'm straddling his lap, my chest pressed against his.
I gasp at the contact, and he captures the sound with another kiss. His hands roam my back, my sides, everywhere he can reach, like he's trying to memorize the shape of me.
When his fingers brush over my nipples, I break the kiss with a whimper.
"Sensitive," he observes, doing it again. Deliberately. Watching my face as pleasure shoots through me.
"Renat—"
"Say it again."
"I'm yours." The words come easier now. Like truth. Like prayer. "I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm yours."
He captures one nipple in his mouth, sucking hard, and I arch against him with a moan. His hand finds my other breast, pinching and rolling until I'm writhing in his lap, grinding against the hard length of him through his jeans.
"Please," I gasp. "Please, I need—"
He switches to my other breast, his teeth grazing sensitive flesh. "Tell me what you need. Let me hear it."
"You. I need you."
He pulls back, his breathing ragged. "I don’t think I can be gentle. I'll try, but..."
"I don't want gentle." And it's true. I want him to make me forget. Want him to consume me until there's no room for guilt or fear or anything but this. "I want you to make me yours."
Something feral crosses his face. "Lie back."
I do, my head hitting the pillow as he looms over me. He makes quick work of my panties, sliding them down my legs until I'm completely bare beneath him.
He sits back on his heels, just looking at me. Then he lifts my knees and parts my legs. I should feel exposed. Vulnerable. Instead, I feel desired in a way I've never experienced before.
"Beautiful," he says, his voice reverent. "So fucking beautiful."
Then he's leaning forward between my thighs, bracing himself on his hands either side of my body, his mouth trailing down my stomach, my hip, my inner thigh. When he settles between my legs, I realize what he's about to do.
"Wait, you don't have to—"
He looks up at me, and the hunger in his eyes makes my words die. "I know I don't have to. I want to. I want to taste every part of you, milaya. I want you to come on my tongue before I fuck you full of my cum."
"Okay," I whisper.
He smiles, the first real smile I've seen from him, and then his mouth is on me.
I cry out, my hands flying to his hair as pleasure crashes through me. He's relentless, his tongue working me with devastating precision, like he already knows exactly what I need, exactly how to get me there.
My hips rise off the bed, seeking more, and he holds me down with one strong hand splayed across my stomach. The other hand joins his mouth, his fingers sliding into me, curling, finding a spot that makes me see stars.
"Renat, oh God, Renat—"
"That's it," he murmurs against me. "Say my name. Let me hear you."
The pleasure builds and builds, tighter and tighter, until I'm trembling on the edge. His fingers move faster, his tongue more insistent, and then—
I shatter.
The orgasm rips through me, so intense I actually scream. He works me through it, drawing out every last shudder until I'm boneless and gasping.
When he finally pulls back, his lips are wet and his eyes are wild.
"Mine," he growls, crawling up my body. "Every sound you just made. Mine."
I can only nod, still trying to remember how to breathe.
He stands just long enough to strip off his jeans and boxer briefs, and my breath catches at the sight of him. Every part of him is huge.
"I'll go slow," he promises, settling between my thighs again. "I'll make it good for you."
"It's already good." I reach up and cup his face. "I chose this. I chose you. Now show me what that means."
His jaw clenches, and then he's pushing into me. Slow, like he promised, giving me time to adjust to his size.
It burns. It's too much. It's perfect.
"Breathe," he coaches, leaning back and watching my face. "Just breathe, milaya."
I do, and gradually the burn fades into something else. Something that makes me need more.
"More," I beg. "Please more."
He pulls almost all the way out before pushing back in. Slow, deep strokes that make me feel every, thick inch of him.
"You feel like heaven," he groans. "Like you were made for me."
Maybe I was. Maybe this is what I've been running toward all along.
He increases his pace, and I wrap my legs around his waist, meeting him thrust for thrust with every rock of my hips. The pleasure builds again, different this time. Deeper. More intense.
"Look at me," he demands. "When you come, I want you looking right at me."
I force my eyes open, meeting that black gaze. He's beautiful like this, lost in pleasure, in me, his control finally shattering piece by piece.
"Say it one more time," he demands, his rhythm turning desperate. "Tell me."
"I'm yours," I gasp. "Yours, Renat, only yours—"
He captures my mouth in a brutal kiss as we both fall over the edge together, pleasure crashing through us in waves. Our bodies shuddering against one another.
For a moment, we're not captor and captive. Not Devil and lost soul. Just two broken people finding something whole in each other.
Even if it can't last and tomorrow brings consequences. Right now, in this moment, I chose him. And that makes all the difference.