Chapter 28 #2
He gives me another, harder, and then I feel the blunt, hot pressure of his cockhead against my soaked entrance. He pushes in, but slowly this time, an excruciating, inch-by-inch invasion that makes me whimper. He watches himself disappear into me, his grip on my hips iron-tight.
“I’m going to fuck you, dorogaya ,” he promises, his voice low and deadly. “Until all you know is me in your pussy.”
He starts to move again, a deep, rolling rhythm that hits a spot inside me that makes my toes curl. I’m moaning, a continuous, ragged sound I can’t control. My juices coat his length, the wet, filthy sounds of our joining filling the room.
“I’m gonna come,” I choke out. “Mikhail, I’m gonna?—”
“No,” he snarls. He stops, buried deep, and grinds his hips in a slow, cruel circle. “Not until I say. You take what I give you.”
He pulls almost all the way out, making me groan in loss, then slams back in, picking up a brutal, fast pace. My arms shake, struggling to hold me up. The pleasure is a coiled spring in my gut, wound too tight.
“Please, let me come. I need to come,” I beg, my hands clawing blindly at the smooth marble as tears of sheer frustration track through the sweat on my face.
His hand snakes around my hip, his thumb finding my clit and grinding down hard in tight, punishing circles, sending a massive wave of heat straight to my gut. I scream, my hips lifting to meet the friction, but just as the tension tightens to a breaking point—he stops.
He completely pulls his thumb away, his hips locking deep inside me.
"Mikhail, no!" I sob, a desperate, ruined sound echoing off the tiles. "Don't do this, please."
"Look at you," he growls in my ear, his breath scorching my skin as he slaps my right ass cheek again, the sharp sting triggering a fresh gush of wetness. "Begging a butcher for a break. You’re nothing but a greedy, desperate little addict for my hands, aren't you, Princess? Say it."
"Yes," I choke out, completely unraveled by the void he left behind. "Yes, I am."
"Good. You don't get a single thing until I say so," he murmurs, and then he picks up a brutal, snapping pace from behind, his cock ramming into me to rebuild the fire while keeping his thumb completely out of reach. I’m losing my mind, my body shaking so badly my arms can barely support my weight. Just as I’m hovering on that agonizing, broken edge for the third time, his hand returns, his fingers burying hard into my center as his thumb presses firm, merciless circles against my clit.
“Now,” he barks, a rough, dominant command. "Take it."
It completely wrecks me. My climax explodes, a convulsive wave that rips through my core, milking his cock.
I scream, my body seizing, my inner walls fluttering around him uncontrollably.
He groans, a deep, satisfied sound, and his rhythm falters.
I feel him pulse inside me, the hot, sudden flood of his release filling me up.
He thrusts through it, shallow and urgent, painting my insides with his cum.
We collapse forward, a heap of trembling limbs and ragged breaths.
His weight settles over me, a crushing, grounding anchor that keeps me from drifting off the edge of the world.
His face is buried in the crook of my neck, his hot breath ghosting over my damp skin.
His heartbeat thunders against my back—a frantic, uneven rhythm that matches my own.
The warmth of his spend begins to seep out of me, a sticky, intimate trickle down my thigh that feels like a mark of ownership.
For a long moment, there’s only the sound of our labored breathing and the rhythmic, mocking drip of the faucet.
The violence of before has melted into this heavy, spent warmth, but the air still feels charged, like a storm that hasn't fully passed.
His hand, which had been gripping my hip like a vise, begins to move.
He strokes my side, a faint, almost reluctant caress that makes my skin prickle.
"Look at you," he murmurs against my skin, his voice a low, vibrating rasp. "Completely wrecked."
A shaky, breathless laugh escapes me, half-sob and half-tease. "You’re one to talk. Your hands are shaking, Mikhail."
He huffs a dark, dry sound—not quite a laugh, but close.
He lifts his head just enough to look at me, his thumb catching a stray tear on my cheek and dragging it downward.
"Only because I had to work so hard to get a sound out of you. You’re stubborn, dorogaya .
Even when you’re coming apart, you try to hold back. "
"I didn't hold back," I whisper, my eyes fluttering shut as he nips gently at my shoulder.
"No?" He shifts, his softening cock slipping from my body with a wet, soft sound that makes me shiver. He doesn't pull away, though. He leans in, his lips brushing my ear. "Next time, I’ll make sure you’re screaming so loud the guards in the hall think I’m killing you. Or maybe I’ll just keep you right here on this desk until you beg me to stop. "
The dirty promise sends a fresh jolt of heat through me, but it’s followed immediately by a wave of something cold and terrifying.
I feel an overwhelming surge of emotion—love, terror, and a desperate, aching need to confess everything.
It’s a weight in my chest, a pressure that makes it hard to draw air.
I want to wrap my legs around him and never let go; I want to push him away before he sees how much of me he actually has.
He turns me in his arms, forcing me to face him. His eyes search mine, the fury from earlier replaced by something cloudy and unreadable. He looks at me as if I’m a puzzle he’s finally starting to solve.
He brushes his thumb over my bottom lip, his gaze dropping to the scar on my hip for a split second before returning to my eyes. The teasing is completely gone, replaced by a heavy, bone-deep exhaustion.
"Artyom is out of surgery and stable for the night," he rasps, his grip on my waist shifting to pull me down onto the mattress with him. "I’m not driving back to Manhattan in the dark when I can barely see straight. We’re sleeping. I’ll head back to the clinic at dawn."
"I know," I say, my voice sounding completely wrecked, mirroring the strange, hollow ache opening up in my stomach.
Before I can move or gather the scattered pieces of my pride, Mikhail pulls me flush against his side, his massive arm locking over my waist like a heavy iron band. He doesn't say another word. He just leans down and presses a slow, quiet kiss directly against my forehead.
It’s a gesture so unexpectedly sweet, so terrifyingly tender, that it hurts worse than the sting on my skin ever could. It makes me want to scream the truth to him...