Chapter 22 Kazimir #2
She shatters with a cry, her whole body going taut as her orgasm crashes through her. I work her through it, lapping up her release, groaning at the taste of her on my tongue.
But I don't stop.
"Kazimir, wait—" She tries to push my head away, oversensitive, but I slide my hand free of her, catch her wrists, and pin them to her sides.
"I'm not done with you yet," I growl, looking up to meet her eyes, and then I bend down, starting slow again as I run my tongue over her outer and inner lips, then up to graze her clit until she can take more again.
She's more sensitive now, every touch magnified, and she writhes beneath me, caught between pleasure and the feeling that she can’t take more.
I build up my pace, alternating between her clit and running my tongue over the rest of her, and I can feel how swollen it is, pulsing as I lap at her again.
"I can't—" she gasps. "It's too much—"
"You can," I assure her, my voice rough. "You will. Give me another one, kotenok."
My hips jerk, shuddering against the bed as I roll my tongue over her. I’m slick with my own pre-cum now, my boxer briefs clinging to my length, soaked through. The urge to reach down and touch myself is almost overwhelming, but I resist. This isn't about me. This is about her.
I focus on her clit, circling it with my tongue in a rhythm I know will drive her crazy, and I slide my fingers into her again, this time adding a third finger, stretching her, filling her. She's so wet that they slide in easily, and I curl them, rubbing that spot inside her that makes her scream.
"Kazimir!" Her second orgasm hits her harder than the first, her back arching off the bed, her thighs clamping around my head. I don't let up, working her through it until she's trembling and gasping for breath.
When she finally goes limp, I pull back just enough to look at her. Her face is flushed, her eyes glazed, her lips parted as she pants.
"One more," I tell her, brushing my mouth against her knee. My lips and chin are soaked from her, and all I can smell is her arousal. It’s maddening, my entire body throbbing with lust, desperate to fuck her. But all I’m going to do is this.
I’m going to make her come until she can’t come any longer.
Her eyes widen. "I can't—"
"You can." I press a kiss to her inner thigh, then another, working my way back to her center. "Trust me."
She whimpers, but she doesn't stop me. I can see the conflict in her eyes—the exhaustion warring with the need for more, the disbelief that I'm doing this just for her.
I'm going to make her believe it.
I lower my mouth to her again, and this time I'm gentler, more deliberate.
I know she's sensitive, so I avoid her clit at first, focusing on the softer touches—licking around her entrance, dipping my tongue inside her, kissing her folds.
I do it longer this time, easing her back into desire until I can feel her shifting and breathing hard, wanting another orgasm.
Slowly, I feel her relax, her body opening to me again. I slide my fingers back inside her, moving them slowly, and I finally return to her clit, circling it with the flat of my tongue.
She moans, her hands finding my hair again, and I can feel her building toward another peak.
Every sound she makes, every clench of her pussy around my fingers, sends another jolt of arousal through me.
I’ve never been so hard in my life. My cock feels like it could snap off, my hips moving restlessly in search of some friction.
I increase the pressure, sucking her clit into my mouth and flicking it rapidly with my tongue while I pump my fingers faster, harder.
She's close—I can feel it in the way her body tenses, in the way her breathing becomes erratic. I want it so badly, to feel her lose control again. I’m becoming addicted to her climax, to the sounds she makes, to the scent of her, the taste of her. I could fucking do this forever.
I want her forever.
"Come for me," I growl against her. "One more time, kotenok. Let me feel you."
She breaks with a sob, her third orgasm tearing through her with an intensity that makes her whole body shake. I feel her pussy clamp down on my fingers, feel the flood of her release on my tongue, and it's too much when I hear her scream: “Kazimir!”
The taste of her, the sound of her crying out my name, the feel of her coming apart beneath me again—it all crashes over me at once, and I groan against her pussy, still lapping at her clit as my own orgasm hits me like a freight train.
I haven't touched myself. Not once. But I come anyway, my cock pulsing, spilling into my underwear as wave after wave of pleasure rolls through me. It's intense and overwhelming and almost painful in its intensity, and I have to grip her thighs to keep myself grounded as I ride it out.
When it finally subsides, I'm left trembling, my forehead pressed against her thigh, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Kazimir?" Her voice is soft and uncertain.
I look up at her, and I know she can see it in my eyes—the raw vulnerability, the desperate need, the proof that this isn't about duty or obligation.
"That's what you do to me," I tell her, my voice hoarse. "That's how much I want you. I didn't even touch myself, and you made me come just from tasting you."
She stares at me, her eyes wide and shining with unshed tears.
"Do you believe me now?" I ask, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh. "Do you understand?"
She doesn't answer with words. Instead, she reaches down and cups my face in her hands, pulling me up to her. When I settle beside her on the bed, she buries her face in my chest, and I feel the dampness of her tears against my shirt.
I wrap my arms around her, holding her close, and for the first time since this all began, I feel like maybe, just maybe, she's starting to believe.