Chapter 15 - Yulia #2
And the next thing I know? My wildest desire is coming true.
His mouth is on mine, and it’s so soft at first, so achingly gentle that I feel it in my knees. His hands cradle my face, one on my cheek, the other sliding into my hair, tugging just enough to tilt my head back.
God help me, I want more.
I press into him, hungry now, reckless. My fingers knot in his shirt as his kiss deepens, as his tongue sweeps into my mouth and sets fire to every cell in my body. He tastes like mint, delicious to the core. I want him so badly I can barely think.
Kissing him is like drowning. His hands move to my waist, pulling me flush against him. I can feel every hard plane of his body, the unmistakable length of his cock pressing into me.
I gasp into his mouth as his hands slide down to cup my ass, lifting me slightly. My arms wind around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. It’s desperate, urgent, like we’ve been starving for this.
“Not here,” I manage to say when he starts to push me back against the desk.
He doesn’t argue. Just takes my hand and pulls me toward the door. We move quickly down the hallway, past the reception area, to the last examination room—the one farthest from the entrance, rarely used.
The door slams behind us. Trifon crowds me against it, caging me in with his body. His mouth finds mine again, hungrier now, more demanding. My hands work at his tie, yanking it loose, then move to the buttons of his shirt.
“Too many clothes,” I mutter against his lips.
He chuckles, low and dark. “Agreed.”
His hands find the zipper of my dress, dragging it down with agonizing slowness. The fabric pools at my feet, leaving me in just my bra and panties. His eyes devour me, taking in every inch of naked skin.
“Fuck, look at you,” he growls, hands skimming my sides. “Perfect.”
God, even the way he looks at me feels novel. Like I’m being seen for the first time. I thought the older me would have felt self-conscious. I find myself arching my back, leaning toward him, giving him access to angles and curves meant for no one but him.
I reach for his belt, tugging it open with impatient fingers while he slowly flicks a finger over the breasts spilling out of my bra, like he can’t believe the sight in front of him. His trousers follow next, and then he’s just in his boxer briefs, his cock straining under my gaze.
He growls—a low, primal sound that makes every nerve ending in my body light up like it’s been waiting for this exact frequency. Then he kisses me again. Harder, without any soft edges, and I can’t help but nip at his lower lip.
“Jeez, Yulia.” He bites right back, his hands sliding under my ass, and I gasp as he lifts me clean off the floor like I weigh nothing at all.
My legs wrap around his waist instinctively, his cock pressing between my legs, sending a delicious shiver down my spine, and the moment my ass hits the cold edge of the exam table, a breathy moan escapes my lips.
He sits me down on it and parts my legs, my arms still curled around his shoulders.
His grip tightens, fingers digging into the soft flesh of my waist as he grinds into me, his hips pressing forward like he can’t get close enough.
The friction makes me gasp. My body arches, desperate for more, for all of him.
His control is terrifying and beautiful at once—like being caught in a riptide you don’t want to escape.
“God, Yulia,” he mutters against my mouth. “You drive me insane.”
I feel drunk on him. On his voice, his body, his scent.
He kisses gentler now, but there’s nothing gentle about the way he pulls my bra down, exposing my breasts to the cool air and his greedy mouth. He groans as he takes one nipple between his lips, sucking hard, and I cry out, fingers tangling in his hair.
Every touch, every movement, is possessive.
Like he’s claiming me.
And the terrifying part? I want to be claimed. My mind shuts down, all logic drowned beneath the press of his mouth, the graze of his teeth, the way his body cages mine like I belong to him.
Because maybe for this moment? I do.
“I’ve been thinking about this,” he confesses, pulling back. His voice is rough as he now traces the edge of my panties. “About you. Like this.”
“Show me,” I challenge, surprising myself with my boldness.
His smile is wicked. He then begins to trail his mouth along my jaw, down my neck. His mouth finds my breast again, tongue circling my nipple until it pebbles hard against his lips.
I moan, arching into him, my hands clutching at his shoulders. He lavishes attention on one breast, then the other, until I’m squirming beneath him, desperate for more.
“Trifon,” I gasp, “please.”
He kisses lower, across my stomach, his stubble scraping deliciously against the landing between my legs. His hands hook into my panties, dragging them slowly down my legs. And then I’m naked, spread out for him on the examination table like some kind of offering.
He drops to his knees.
“I’ve been dreaming about tasting you again,” he murmurs, pressing kisses to my inner thighs. “Waking up hard, wanting you.”
My breath catches as his mouth moves higher, closer to where I’m already embarrassingly wet for him. When his tongue finally makes contact with my clit, I cry out, hips bucking involuntarily.
He grips my thighs, holding me open for him as he licks into me like he’s painting a masterpiece. It’s like he’s memorized every spot that makes me gasp, every rhythm that makes me moan. His tongue circles my clit, then flattens against it, the pressure perfect.
My hands find his hair, fingers tangling in the thick strands as I hold him against me. The sight of his dark head between my thighs, his broad shoulders, his hands gripping me—it’s almost too much.
“Oh God,” I moan as he slides a finger inside me, curling it just right. “Don’t stop.”
He adds a second finger, stretching me deliciously as his tongue continues its relentless assault on my clit. My thighs begin to tremble. Heat builds low in my belly, tightening, coiling.
I’m close—so close—but I want more.
“Trifon,” I pant, tugging at his hair. “I need you. Please. Fuck me.”
He looks up, his mouth glistening with my arousal, eyes dark with desire. “You sure?”
“Yes,” I nod frantically. “Now.”
He rises, hooking an arm around my waist to pull me to the edge of the table. I wrap my legs around him as he pushes his boxers down, freeing his cock. It’s thick and hard, the head already glistening with pre-cum.
My mouth goes dry at the sight of him. He’s larger than I expected—than I’ve experienced before—and for a second, I wonder if he’ll fit.
He must see the hesitation in my eyes because he pauses, one hand cupping my face. “We can stop.”
“No,” I shake my head. “I want you.”
What I don’t say is that if he made me cum with his mouth the way he did that night, I can’t wait for the main show.
He kisses me again, softer this time. I taste myself on his lips as his hand slides between us, positioning himself at my entrance. He rubs the head of his cock through my folds, coating himself in my wetness.
And then he pushes in—just the tip at first, giving me time to adjust to his size.
“Fuck,” he grits out, his jaw tight with restraint. “You’re so tight.”
I cling to his shoulders, breathing through the initial stretch. It burns slightly, but not painfully. More like my body is waking up to a new kind of pleasure, recalibrating to accommodate him.
“More,” I whisper, pulling him closer with my legs.
He pushes deeper, inch by exquisite inch, until he’s fully seated inside me. We both groan at the sensation. He feels incredible—filling me completely, stretching me in all the right ways.
“You okay?” he asks, holding still, giving me time.
I nod, rocking my hips experimentally. “Mm-hmm.” I reach over and squeeze his ass, pulling myself closer.
He looks surprised, then exuberant.
He starts slow. Torturously slow.
Each thrust is shallow, almost teasing—just enough to make me feel the stretch, the pressure, the aching promise of what’s to come. My breath catches, every nerve on edge, every muscle coiled tight as he moves inside me with infuriating control.
Ripples of pleasure begin to build, delicate at first, like silk dragging across skin. But they don’t stay delicate. With each slow slide, the tension climbs. My body begins to open around him, welcome him, crave him.
And then he changes.
The rhythm shifts. Deepens.
He draws back, then drives in hard—and suddenly the ripples become rivers, wild and fast and consuming. Sparks shoot up my spine. My hands scramble for purchase—his shoulders, the table, anything—because my body is no longer my own.
“God, Yulia,” he groans, voice wrecked against my neck. “You feel… fuck, you feel like heaven. So fucking perfect.”
The words are a spark to gasoline.
I whimper, raw and breathless, and roll my hips to meet his next thrust. I want to feel all of him, every inch, every pulse, buried so deep inside me that I can’t tell where I end and he begins. His name tumbles from my lips like a prayer, like a plea.
But it’s not enough.
I want more of the man who makes me forget the world outside this room.
As if reading my mind, Trifon suddenly pulls out completely. I make a noise of protest, but he silences me with a quick, hard kiss.
“Turn around. Bend over the table.”
My pulse jumps at his tone, turns me on even more, if possible. I slide off the table on shaky legs and turn, bending forward until my breasts squeeze against the cool surface.
Trifon’s hand skims up my spine, then back down to cup my ass. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, squeezing appreciatively. “I’ve wanted you like this since the first fucking moment I saw you.”
The confession burns through me. Before I can even catch my breath, his fingers tangle in my hair, tugging gently but firmly, tilting my head back just enough to expose my throat.
The stretch sends a violent shiver down my spine.
I’m completely bared—offered up and opened in ways that feel more emotional than physical.
His other hand moves between us, guiding his cock to my entrance—just the tip, nudging against me, circling, teasing. I rock back, desperate, but he stays maddeningly still.
“Tell me you want this,” he rasps against my ear, voice dark and demanding.
“I want it,” I gasp, breath ragged. “Please, Trifon. Please—”
He doesn’t wait another second.
He thrusts into me in one hard, smooth stroke, filling me to the hilt in a single, brutal glide. I cry out, the sound torn from my throat as the deeper angle slams into a place that makes my knees nearly buckle. His grip in my hair tightens as he begins to move—fast, punishing, relentless.
“Fuck, Yulia,” he growls, rutting into me like he can’t get deep enough. “You feel like a fucking dream. Like you were made for me.”
I can’t think. Can’t breathe. All I know is the friction, the stretch, the obscene sounds of skin meeting skin and his breath hot against my neck. His hand snakes around my waist, down between my legs—and then I feel his fingers on my clit, circling with brutal precision.
My body jerks.
The dual sensation is too much. His cock pounding into me, his fingers working me in tight, merciless circles—it’s overwhelming. My orgasm coils fast and sharp, dragging me toward the edge so quickly I can’t stop it.
“Come for me,” he snarls, fucking me harder, deeper. “Let me feel you fall apart around my cock.”
His words detonate something inside me.
“Fuck, Trif—” I shatter, and my body clamps down around him, pulsing in wave after wave as I cry out, nails digging into the table for balance. The pleasure is incandescent, searing through every nerve as I tremble in his arms.
He follows with a guttural curse, hips jerking a few times before he groans, spilling inside me with a force that feels like surrender.
For a moment, everything is still.
Just his breathing, harsh and ragged against my ear. Just the aftershocks rippling through me. Just the weight of him inside me, and the way he doesn’t let go.
I should still hate him.
But right now, all I feel is full.
Of him. Of this moment. Of everything I swore I didn’t want.