Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Milana
Our faces are so close I can feel his warm breath on my lips.
My heart is hammering so hard I’m sure he can hear it. Just a fraction of an inch more and our mouths would meet.
I want it so badly it aches. I lean in, taking the chance, but right before my lips brush his, he turns his head to the side. My mouth lands on his cheek instead.
The rejection stings instantly. I pull back, heat flooding my face. So it wasn’t in my head. He really doesn’t want to kiss me.
He must see the flash of hurt on my face because his voice drops, low and rough. “I don’t kiss.”
“Oh.” The single word comes out small. I must be reading it wrong. Because it looks like he wants to kiss me.
“It isn’t about you,” he says, his voice low. “I just… don’t kiss.”
Before I can process his words, his large hand slides down my body and cups my sex possessively over my workout leggings. The sudden, firm pressure makes me gasp.
His palm grinds against me, heat radiating through the thin fabric.
“You’re soaked already,” he murmurs, voice dark with satisfaction.
“Yes,” I breathe.
For one fleeting moment, I forget all about his refusal to kiss me.
“Such a greedy little slut. Been wet for me since you were working out, haven’t you?”
I whimper, hips instinctively rolling against his hand. The degradation should offend me. Instead, it sends a fresh rush of arousal between my legs.
He leans in, lips brushing my ear. “Look at you. So desperate to be touched. You act all proper and quiet, but deep down you’re just a needy little whore who wants her tight cunt filled.”
His filthy words draw another helpless sound from me. No one has ever spoken to me like this before.
If they were coming from anyone else, I’d tell them to fuck off.
But from Ilya…
I like it far more than I probably should.
He yanks my top up and over my head, tossing it aside. My sports bra follows quickly. The cool gym air hits my bare breasts, nipples already tight and aching.
He groans at the sight, then lowers his head and captures one nipple between his teeth.
I cry out as he bites down, just hard enough to send sparks of pleasure-pain shooting through me.
He sucks hard, then moves to the other breast, leaving red marks and bites all over my soft flesh. His hand keeps working between my legs, rubbing firm circles over my clit through my leggings until I’m grinding shamelessly against his palm.
“Mine,” he growls against my skin, biting down again.
He drops to his knees and yanks my leggings and panties down in one rough motion. I step out of them on shaky legs.
The second I’m bare, he buries his face between my thighs, devouring me like a starving man.
His tongue is relentless. Licking, sucking, fucking into me while his fingers reach up to pinch and roll my nipples.
I moan loudly, one hand fisted in his hair, the other braced against the mirror behind me. He pulls back just enough to look up at me, chin glistening with my arousal.
“Such a dirty girl. Letting me eat this pussy in the middle of the gym where anyone could walk in and see what a desperate little slut you are.”
My gaze flicks to the door.
Any of Ilya’s neighbors could walk in at any moment.
The thought should terrify me. Instead, it sends another thrill racing through me, making my pulse pound even harder.
“You fucking like that, don't you?”
He dives back in, sucking hard on my clit while thrusting two thick fingers deep inside me. I come with a broken cry, thighs shaking around his head, my release flooding his mouth.
He doesn’t stop until I’m whimpering and oversensitive. Then he rises, towering over me again. He spins me around so I’m facing the mirror, my hands braced against it.
I can see us both, my flushed, marked body, his powerful frame behind me.
He kicks my legs apart and presses the thick head of his cock against my entrance.
“Are you still sore?”
I shake my head.
“Use your words, solnyshko.”
“No,” I gasp.
“Good.”
He brings his lips to my ear. “I need you to watch,” he orders, voice rough. “Watch me fuck you.”
He thrusts in hard in one smooth stroke, burying himself to the hilt. I cry out at the sudden fullness, the slight burn mixing with overwhelming pleasure.
He doesn’t give me time to adjust. He starts fucking me with deep, punishing strokes, one hand gripping my hip, the other reaching around to rub my clit.
“Look at yourself,” he growls against my ear. “Look how well you take my cock. Such a perfect little fucktoy.”
I moan loudly, unable to look away from our reflection. The sight of him pounding into me, the way my breasts bounce with every thrust, the way his hand works between my legs, it’s filthy and intoxicating.
He fucks me harder, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing through the gym. “This pussy belongs to me now. Say it.”
“It’s yours,” I gasp, barely able to form words. “Only yours.”
He groans, pace becoming almost brutal. “Good girl. Come for me again. I want to feel this tight cunt milking my cock.”
I shatter around him with a scream, my second orgasm crashing through me even harder than the first. My walls clamp down on him rhythmically as pleasure whites out my vision.
He lets out with a harsh groan coming hard inside me, and for a long moment, neither of us moves.
We’re both panting, sweaty, trembling.
He lowers his forehead to the back of my neck, his breathing ragged as he lingers there, holding me close.
“Mine,” he murmurs against my ear, the word barely more than a rough whisper as his lips brush the sensitive skin just below it.
Kirill
I walk into the kitchen and stop short.
Milana is bent over in front of the open refrigerator, reaching for something on the lower shelf.
Her perfect ass is pushed out toward me, barely covered by a pair of tiny jean shorts that have ridden up high enough to show the soft underside of her cheeks. The sight hits me like a drug, straight to the veins.
Since that first night I took her, I’ve been completely addicted.
Last night in the gym I fucked her against the mirror like an animal. Then I carried her to her bed and took her again, slower, deeper.
This morning I snuck back into her bedroom and woke her up with my face between her thighs and fucked her until she was crying for more.
I know this is reckless. Stupid as hell. Dangerous for both of us. But I can’t seem to stop.
And she’s not helping. The way she looks at me, the way she melts for me, the way she begs… it’s like she’s made for me.
I move quietly behind her and bring my hand down in a firm, possessive smack on her ass.
She startles, straightening up with a small gasp and turning to face me. The look in her eyes, surprised but unmistakably aroused, makes my cock twitch.
“What are you doing?”
She bites her lip, cheeks flushed. “We’re running out of groceries. I was just making a list of what we need.”
I step closer, crowding her against the counter, my hand still resting on the curve of her ass where I spanked her.
“You shouldn’t bend over like that unless you want me to fuck you right here on the kitchen floor.”
Her breath catches. That little reaction, the way her pupils dilate, tells me she wants that.
I’m playing a dangerous game. She almost went down to the basement yesterday. She said I look like a Kirill.
I still don’t know how she came about that, but I’ve been turning it over in my head for hours. I’ve been careful. I never stay the full night in her bed, so I know I didn’t talk in my sleep. So how the hell did she hear that name?
For now, I’m choosing deniability. If I ask her directly, it might confirm whatever suspicions she has. Better to stay quiet and watch.
I squeeze her ass once more before letting go and stepping back.
“Make the list,” I tell her. “I’ll go shopping later.”
She reaches behind her on the counter and hands me a neatly written list. “Here. I already made a list of everything we need.”
I take the paper from her, my brow furrowing as I scan the list.
“What the hell is ‘balsamic glaze’? And ‘cold pressed extra virgin olive oil’? Why do we need so many words for olive oil? ‘Chanterelles’?” I look up at her, genuinely confused. “I thought you said groceries.”
She blinks at me. “Those are groceries.”
I stare at the list again. “How am I supposed to find this stuff? I don’t even know what half of these things look like.”
She crosses her arms, trying not to smile. “If I can’t come with you, then you’ll have to figure it out. Maybe ask someone for help.”
I groan, rubbing the back of my neck. “Ask a stranger in the grocery store what the hell a chanterelle is? No.”
She just raises an eyebrow, waiting.
“Fine,” I mutter. “You can come. Put on a hoodie, disguise yourself like last time. We’ll go together.”
Her face lights up. “Really?”
“Yes. But you stay close to me the entire time.”
She nods excitedly, then pauses. “I don’t have a hoodie anymore. I gave the one you lent me back. Think I can borrow it again?”
Something tightens in my chest at that. I don’t like that she returned it. I wanted her to keep it. The idea of her wearing my clothes again, something that marks her as mine, sends a low pulse of satisfaction through me.
“I’ll get it,” I say.
I walk to my room, grab the black hoodie from the closet, and bring it back.
When I hand it to her, we’re standing close. Too close. Her scent, the warmth of her body, the way she looks up at me, it hits me hard.
I want to kiss her.
The realization is unexpected. Last night, when she leaned in, I turned my face away on instinct. But the truth is, I wanted it. I still want it.
I want to taste her mouth, bite her lower lip until I draw blood, claim every soft sound she makes.
Kissing has always felt too intimate. I’ve never wanted it with anyone. Until her.
I clear my throat and step back, forcing distance between us.
“Go get dressed,” I say, voice rougher than I intend. “We leave in ten minutes.”
She takes the hoodie, a small smile playing on her lips, and heads toward her room.