Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Milana
It was all too much.
Tonight, I found out that the man I’ve been living with, the man I’ve been falling for, has been lying to me the entire time.
The real Ilya was chained in the basement like an animal. The man I let inside me, the man who held me while I cried, the man whose arms I’m currently in… has been working against me. Against my family.
Nothing makes sense anymore. The book I found in his room. The name Kirill. The contradictions piling up. And then being dragged to the police station, questioned for hours, feeling like my whole world was crumbling.
I just want this day to be over.
I wipe my tears and stop crying, but I stay in his arms. He holds me tightly, one hand slowly threading through my hair in soothing strokes.
The truth is, as stupid and reckless as it sounds, I don’t hate him. Even after everything I’ve learned, I don’t. And what’s even more confusing is that I still want him. Badly.
I shift on his lap, pressing closer, feeling the growing hardness beneath me. He tenses, but doesn’t push me away.
I raise my head slowly and look at him. His eyes are dark, intense, filled with something raw and genuine that makes my heart stutter.
This is all fucked up. It doesn’t make any sense. But right now, I don’t care. I just want him. I need him to make me feel something. Anything other than this empty, hollow ache inside me.
I lean in. He meets me halfway.
The moment our lips touch, it’s electric. This isn’t the soft brush from earlier. This is deep, hungry, exploratory.
His mouth moves against mine like he’s been starving for it, tongue sliding in to taste me, claiming me in a way that makes my toes curl. I moan into the kiss, fingers threading through his hair as I kiss him back just as desperately.
I start to slowly grind against him, feeling his cock harden fully beneath me. He groans into my mouth, hands gripping my waist tighter.
He pulls back slightly, breathing hard. “Milana, baby… you’ve been through a lot tonight. You need rest.”
“No,” I whisper, kissing him again, rolling my hips more insistently. “I need you. I want you inside me. Please.”
He groans, the sound low and tortured, but I can feel how much he wants this too. His hands slide under my shirt, gripping my bare skin as I continue to grind against him.
“Are you sure?” he rasps against my lips.
I answer by kissing him harder, pouring everything I feel into it. The confusion, the hurt, the desire, the need.
“Fuck me,” I breathe against his mouth. “Please.”
He responds with a deep, guttural growl that vibrates against my lips, and then he’s kissing me again, rougher this time, more desperate.
Like he’s pouring every ounce of pent-up need and frustration into it. I kiss him back just as hungrily, my hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer as our tongues tangle.
His hands are everywhere. He helps me out of my clothes with impatient tugs, and I do the same to him, fingers fumbling with buttons and zippers until we’re both naked, skin against skin.
We explore each other with greedy hands and mouths. His lips on my neck, my breasts, my stomach, while my hands trace the hard planes of his chest, his abs, the V of his hips.
He lifts me off his lap and lays me down on the couch, spreading my legs wide. He settles between them, eyes dark with hunger as he looks at me. Then he lowers his head and devours me.
His tongue is relentless. He licks broad stripes up my slit, savoring me like I’m the best thing he’s ever tasted.
When he reaches my clit, he sucks it into his mouth, flicking it with the tip of his tongue while one hand comes up to knead my breast, pinching and rolling my nipple. I moan loudly, hips bucking against his face.
He doesn’t use his fingers. Just his mouth. He licks and sucks and fucks me with his tongue, alternating between long, slow strokes and fast, precise flicks that make my thighs shake.
I’m riding his face before I even realize it, grinding against his mouth, chasing the pleasure as it builds higher and higher.
“Oh God—” I cry out, fingers tightening in his hair.
He growls against me, the vibration pushing me over the edge. I come hard, back arching off the couch, thighs clamping around his head as waves of intense pleasure crash through me.
He keeps licking me through it, drawing out every last tremor until I’m a trembling, whimpering mess.
When I finally come down, I sit up, still breathing hard. I slide off the couch and drop to my knees between his legs, looking up at him as I wrap my hand around his thick cock.
I’ve watched videos. I know the basics. But I’ve never done this before.
“Will you show me?” I ask, voice shy but eager. “I want to make you feel good too.”
“You don't have to, baby—”
“I want to. Show me?”
He brings his hand to my face, gently tucking my hair behind my ear. His voice is rough when he speaks. “Just like this. Slow at first. Use your tongue.”
I lean in, licking a long stripe up the underside of his cock before taking the head into my mouth. He groans, hand gently guiding the back of my head. I take more of him, sucking softly, and he hisses through his teeth.
“Fuck, just like that,” he murmurs. “Deeper, solnyshko. Relax your throat.”
I try, taking him deeper, but I gag a little when he hits the back of my throat. He pulls back slightly, giving me room to breathe, but I don’t stop. I want this. I want to make him feel as good as he made me feel.
I bob my head, finding a rhythm, using my hand on the part I can’t take. His groans and curses spur me on.
The power I feel, knowing I’m the one making him lose control like this, is intoxicating. It makes me wetter, more aroused.
When he starts to tense, hips bucking slightly, he tries to pull me off. “Milana, I’m going to—”
I don’t let him. I take him as deep as I can and swallow every drop as he comes with a deep, guttural groan, his hand tightening in my hair.
When he finally relaxes, I pull back, licking my lips as I look up at him.
He stares down at me with dark, satisfied eyes, breathing hard.
“Fuck,” he rasps. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
A slow, satisfied smile curves my lips as we hold each other’s gaze for a long moment.
His fingers move gently through my hair, like he’s memorizing the feel of it. Then he bends down, brushing his lips just behind my ear before sealing them over mine.
I expected him to be disgusted after what I just did. But he isn’t. He kisses me deeply, tongue sliding against mine like he can’t get enough. The taste we share only makes me wetter.
He lifts me effortlessly, laying me down on the couch. Then he stands, stripping out of the rest of his clothes until he’s completely naked, just like me.
His cock is hard and heavy again, curving up against his stomach. He settles between my legs, eyes never leaving mine.
He teases me first. The thick head of his cock taps against my pussy, rubbing up and down my slit, coating himself in my wetness.
Every tap against my clit makes me jolt, a soft whimper escaping my lips. He presses the tip against my entrance like he’s going to push in, then pulls back, repeating the motion until I’m squirming beneath him, desperate.
“Please…”
Smirking, he finally sinks into me, slow and deep, eyes locked on mine the entire time. This feels different. Not the frantic, desperate fucking from before.
This is slower. Deeper. Like he’s making love to me. Like he’s trying to memorize every inch of me from the inside.
We hold each other’s gaze as he moves, pulling out almost completely before sliding back in, filling me so perfectly it steals my breath.
His hand comes to my throat, not squeezing hard, just holding me there with that perfect pressure that makes everything sharper. Even that feels different tonight. Possessive, but tender.
He bends down, kissing my breasts, sucking and biting my nipples until I’m arching into him. Then he moves to my neck, leaving more marks as he continues to thrust slowly, deliberately.
When he raises his head again, our eyes meet once more, and he kisses my lips, deep, consuming, swallowing every moan as he rides me.
The pleasure builds differently this time. Slower. Deeper. Like it’s coming from my soul. When I come, it’s with a broken cry against his mouth, my walls pulsing around him as waves of intense pleasure wash over me.
He keeps kissing me through it, swallowing every sound, every gasp.
Only when I start to come down does he let himself go. He thrusts a little deeper, a little harder, and comes with a low groan, spilling inside me as he kisses me like he never wants to stop.
We stay like that for a long moment, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other in.
This feels different. And it terrifies me how much I want it to mean something.
Still breathless, he stands up and lifts me off the couch. I wrap my legs around his waist instinctively, arms around his neck as he carries me through the penthouse to his bedroom.
He doesn’t stop there, he takes me straight into his bathroom, turning on the shower and adjusting the temperature until it’s perfectly warm.
We step in together, water cascading over us. He doesn’t speak much. He just takes care of me. His hands are gentle as he washes my body, soaping every inch of me with slow, reverent strokes.
When he reaches my hair, he massages shampoo into my scalp, fingers working through the strands with so much tenderness. I close my eyes, leaning into his touch.
When we’re both clean, he turns me around, pressing my front against the cool glass wall of the shower. The contrast between the cold glass and the hot water makes me gasp.
He steps up behind me, hands on my hips, and slides into me in one smooth thrust, making me gasp.
This time it’s rougher. Deeper. He fucks me against the glass with powerful strokes, one hand circling my clit while the other grabs my breast, squeezing and pinching my nipple.
Then that hand moves up to my neck, wrapping around it with just enough pressure to make my head spin in the best way.
It’s like he knows exactly what I need without me having to say a word. Like he knows my body better than I do.
He bites my ear, nibbling on the lobe as he thrusts harder. “Such a good little slut,” he growls against my ear. “Taking my cock so deep. My perfect fucktoy. You love being used by me, don’t you?”
I moan loudly, the sound echoing off the tiles. “Yes… God, yes…”
He keeps going, pounding into me, fingers working my clit in tight circles while his hand tightens slightly around my throat. The pleasure builds fast and overwhelming.
When I come, it’s so hard my whole body shakes, legs nearly giving out beneath me. I cry out, pressing my forehead against the glass as waves of intense pleasure crash through me.
He holds me up, strong arms wrapped around me, not letting me fall. He fucks me through it, groaning my name as he finally comes deep inside me, filling me with heat.
We stay like that for a long moment, water still raining down on us, his body pressed against mine, holding me together.
As the pleasure slowly fades, reality creeps back in. I’ve fallen so deep for this man. Even after everything I’ve learned, the lies, his connection to Michael, I still want him. I still need him.
Is this even healthy? Am I okay?
I don’t know anymore. But right now, in his arms, I don’t want to think about it.