Chapter 22 Kazimir
KAZIMIR
Iwatch her dash toward the bedroom, and something in me snaps.
Not anger or frustration. Something deeper, more primal. The need to make her understand, to make her see what she means to me, before she disappears behind that door again and convinces herself that none of this is real.
I've been patient. I've tried to give her space, to let her come to terms with everything in her own time. But patience has its limits, and I've reached mine.
She’s locked the door before I get to it, and I grab the doorknob, rattling it. “Svetlana, let me in.”
If she hears the double meaning in the words, she doesn’t let on. I can hear her crying, and I rattle the knob again. “Svetlana, you can’t just keep running away and locking me out. Let me in.”
When she doesn’t respond, still crying, I make a low noise deep in my throat, my frustration bubbling over. Fine. I know how to pick a lock.
By the time I get it open, she’s sitting on the edge of the bed instead of where it sounded like she was before, in front of the door.
She looks at me with tear-stained eyes, still wearing her robe from the pampering session Irina gave her.
I can’t help but think, even right now, about what she might or might not be wearing under it.
Her eyes go wide when I step inside and shut the door, locking it again behind me. “You can’t just—”
"I need an answer."
She looks immediately defensive. "I told you I need time—"
"I know what you told me." I stop a few feet away, close enough that she can't ignore me but far enough that she doesn't feel trapped. "But I think we both know that's not really what this is about."
Her jaw tightens. "You don't know what this is about."
"Don't I?" I take another step closer. "You don't believe me. That's what this is. You think I'm doing all of this out of obligation because of what happened before, or out of possessiveness, or because I just can’t stand to lose."
“And it’s not that? You want me to believe that?” Her voice cracks. “You let me go. You chose your job, Ilya, duty, over me. And now suddenly you can't let me go?”
"Fuck duty." The words come out harsher than I intend, and she flinches. I force myself to breathe, to gentle my voice. "And fuck biology. You think I care about any of that?"
"You should. This baby might not be yours—"
"I've wanted you for years, Svetlana."
The confession comes out raw, my voice rasping. Her lips part in surprise, but I don't give her a chance to interrupt.
"Years," I repeat, moving closer. "Long before that night. Long before any of this happened. You being on Ilya’s arm was torture. I touched myself a hundred different nights thinking about you. Imagining peeling those dresses off your body—the ones you wore on those dates. Wishing I were him. That I could have you. Knowing I was betraying a man I was loyal to, that I love—in my mind and heart if not in reality. And now I’ve done it for real. For you."
"Kazimir—"
“I stayed away because you were his. Because I had no right to you. I know I still don’t.
I know having you could destroy me… destroy us both, maybe.
” I'm close enough now that I can see the pulse fluttering at her throat, the way her breath has quickened.
"But I wanted you. I've always wanted you. "
She shakes her head, her hands clutching the edge of the bed. "You're just saying that—"
"I'm not. And now that I've had you, now that I know what it's like to touch you, to be inside you, to hear you say my name when you come—" I have to stop, swallowing hard against the surge of need that threatens to overwhelm me.
"Now that you're carrying my child, you think I'm going to let you go?
You think I'm going to let either of you go? "
"This isn't real," she whispers, but there's less conviction in her voice now.
"It's the most real thing I've ever felt." I reach out slowly, giving her time to pull away, and cup her face in my hands. "I still want you, Svetlana. Not because of duty or the past. And I'm doing everything I can to prove that I care about you."
She looks up at me, and I see the war in her eyes—the desire to believe me fighting against years of being told she wasn't enough, wasn't wanted, wasn't worth fighting for. Against the past… our past, and everything that’s happened that’s telling her that this isn’t real.
"I don't believe you," she says, but her voice wavers.
"Then let me prove it."
"You can't just—"
"I can." I slide my hands down to her shoulders, feeling the tension in her body. "Right now. Let me prove it to you."
She blinks, confused. "What?"
"Take off your robe." My voice drops, rough with need. "And lie back on the bed."
Her eyes widen. "Kazimir, I don't think—"
"I'm going to make you come." I hold her gaze, letting her see the hunger in my eyes, the desperate need to show her what she does to me. "I'm going to touch you. Taste you. Make you fall apart on my tongue. And I won't touch myself. Not once."
"What?" She looks genuinely shocked now.
"No matter how hard I get—and I will get hard, dorogoy, I'm already half-hard just thinking about it—I won't touch myself. I won't make myself come. This will be entirely about you. Your pleasure. Nothing else."
She stares at me like I've lost my mind. "Why would you—"
"Because I need you to understand." I lean in, my lips brushing her ear. "I need you to feel how much I want you. How much I want to give you pleasure just for the sake of it. No expectations. No reciprocation. Just you, coming apart for me."
I feel her shiver, feel the way her body responds even as her mind tries to resist.
"I don't..." she trails off, uncertain.
"Say yes, Svetlana." I pull back enough to look at her. "Let me worship you the way you deserve."
For a long moment, she just looks at me. Then, slowly, her hands move to the tie of her robe.
"Okay," she whispers.
The word sends a bolt of pure need through me.
I help her with the robe, sliding it off her shoulders and letting it pool on the floor.
Underneath, she's wearing nothing but a pale blue lace bralette and matching panties, and my cock instantly strains at the front of my zipper, aching with a need that’s nearly painful.
But I meant what I said. I don’t care if my balls ache for a week—I won’t touch myself. Only her.
"Lie back," I repeat gently.
She does, and I take a moment just to look at her—her pale hair spread across the pillow, her body slender and taut and willowy, her chest rising and falling with quick, nervous breaths.
"You're so beautiful," I murmur, moving to kneel on the bed at her feet. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"
She doesn't answer, just watches as I run my hands up her calves, over her knees, up to the edge of her panties on her hips. The sight of her bare skin, like silk under my hands, makes my cock throb.
I'm going to keep my promise. I'm not going to touch myself. But fuck, it's going to be torture.
I reach up, hands gliding up her waist, her ribs, until I reach her bra. I unhook it deftly, sliding it down her arms and tossing it aside, and I lean in to brush my lips over her pale pink nipples.
A shudder runs through her entire body, and she gasps. I slide my tongue over them, teasing them to hard peaks as she shivers and lets out a small whimper, and then I reach down, tugging her panties down her hips until she’s completely bare for me.
Between her thighs, there’s a soft dusting of pale blonde hair. She sees my gaze drop to her pussy, and she flushes.
“I didn’t… They used to make me shave, I didn’t want to…”
“I don’t care,” I tell her firmly. “I’ll eat your pussy bare or not, and I’ll be hard as hell while I do it. But don’t think about anything else, Svetlana. Just this. Focus on me. On what I’m doing to you right now.”
I spread her legs gently, settling between them, and press a kiss to the inside of her knee. She gasps, her hands fisting in the sheets.
"Relax," I tell her, kissing higher. "Let me take care of you."
I take my time, trailing kisses up her inner thigh, savoring the way she trembles beneath my touch. When I reach the apex of her thighs, I pause, breathing in the scent of her arousal.
"Already wet for me," I murmur approvingly. "Good girl."
I don't give her time to respond before I lower my mouth to her, dragging my tongue through her folds in one long, slow stroke.
She’s so fucking wet, already drenched, her arousal sweet and musky on my lips as I slide my tongue up her slit. My cock is aching, leaking its own pre-cum at a rate guaranteed to soak my boxer briefs through, but all my focus is on her.
She cries out, her hips jerking off the bed, and I have to hold her down with one hand on her lower belly.
I eat her like a man starving, like she's the only thing that can satisfy the hunger that's been gnawing at me for years.
I use my tongue to circle her clit, then dip it inside of her, before dragging it back up to trace patterns that make her writhe and moan.
I add my fingers, sliding two inside her and curling them to find that spot that makes her see stars.
As she grips my fingers, pulling me deeper, all I can think of is what she felt like wrapped around my cock, and the need to touch myself feels like the most exquisite torment.
"Kazimir," she gasps, her hands flying to my hair, gripping tight. "Oh God, Kazimir—"
I hum against her, the vibration making her shudder, and I feel my cock straining against my pants, hard and aching and desperate for friction.
I ignore it, focusing entirely on her—on the way she tastes, the way she sounds, the way her body responds to every touch.
I can feel her getting close, her thighs trembling, her pussy clenching around my fingers.
I double my efforts, sucking her clit into my mouth and flicking it with my tongue while I pump my fingers faster.
"Come for me," I growl against her. "Let me feel it."