Chapter 12 Kiren #3
“I need more,” she whispers, her voice husky. It’s not a question. It’s a statement of fact, a raw, honest admission that mirrors the desperate ache in my own soul.
I don’t answer with words. Instead, I pull out of her with agonizing slowness.
Every inch of the retreat is a sweet torment, the drag of her sensitive flesh against mine a promise of what’s to come.
I watch her face as I withdraw, her lips parting, her brow furrowing in a mix of pleasure and loss.
When the head of my cock finally pops free, she lets out a soft whimper.
I shuffle down the bed, my stubble rasping against the soft skin of her inner thighs.
I press open-mouthed kisses there, tasting the salt of her skin, and the faint scent of our combined arousal.
My hands push her legs wider, opening her completely to me.
Her pussy is flushed and swollen, glistening with my cum and her own slick wetness.
It’s the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
I look up at her, holding her gaze as I lower my mouth.
The first touch of my tongue against her clit is deliberate, a slow, firm swipe.
Her hips buck off the bed, a sharp gasp tearing from her throat.
I do it again, and again, setting a consistent pace.
I want to worship her. I want to erase every trace of the hands that hurt her and replace the memory of pain with an overwhelming tide of pleasure.
My tongue circles the sensitive bundle of nerves, teasing and probing.
I flatten it, lapping at her from her leaking hole to her clit, gathering her taste on my lips.
She’s tangy and sweet, a flavor that is uniquely Rowan.
My hands grip her hips, holding her steady as she starts to writhe, her fingers tangling in my hair, pressing me closer, demanding more.
I suck her clit into my mouth, flicking it with the tip of my tongue. Her back arches, a broken moan filling the quiet room.
“Kiren… God, Kiren…” My name is a prayer on her lips. I redouble my efforts, my tongue working faster, harder. I slide two fingers inside her, curving them to find that rough, sensitive spot. The moment I press against it, she cries out, her whole body tensing.
I fuck her with my fingers while I devour her with my mouth, a relentless, driving combination.
Her thighs begin to tremble, her breath coming in sharp, ragged pants.
I can feel her getting close, the muscles in her pussy beginning to flutter around my fingers.
I suck harder, my tongue a blur of motion against her clit.
“Don’t stop,” she begs, her voice high and thin. “Please, don’t stop…”
I have no intention of stopping. I want to feel her fall apart. I want to feel her fall apart. I want to be the one to shatter her into a million pieces, so that I can have the honor of putting her back together.
With a final, sharp cry, she comes. Her pussy clamps down on my fingers like a vise, a wave of her hot release washing over my hand and chin. I ride out her orgasm, my tongue gentling, and my fingers stilling deep inside her as she shudders and gasps, her body slowly releasing its tension.
I kiss her trembling thighs, her pussy, her belly, making my way back up her body. By the time I’m hovering over her again, her breathing has evened out, but her eyes are still dark with a lingering fire. I line my cock up with her entrance, still slick and ready.
“Again,” she murmurs, wrapping her legs around my waist, pulling me forward.
“So greedy, moya,” I tease.
I sink into her in one smooth, deep stroke.
The feeling of being inside her reclaiming this space is intoxicating.
I start to pump, my strokes long and deep, filling her with every thrust. Her hands grip my shoulders, her nails digging into my skin, a delicious counterpoint to the pleasure building at the base of my spine.
This time is different. The first time was about reassurance, a slow, tender claiming. This is about need. Raw, desperate, animalistic need. I pick up the pace, my hips snapping forward, the sound of our bodies slapping together echoing in the room. The bed frame creaks in protest.
I rise on my arms, changing the angle, driving into her with a new, frantic intensity.
The head of my cock kisses her cervix with every powerful thrust, and she meets me, pushing her hips up to take every inch.
Her breasts bounce with the force of my movements, and I lower my head to capture a nipple in my mouth, sucking hard, grazing it with my teeth.
She cries out, her pussy tightening around me.
“No,” I growl. “Not yet.”
I need more. I need to see all of her. I pull out, ignoring her whimper of protest, and flip her over onto her hands and knees.
The sight of her like this, her pale skin marked with those ugly bruises, her ass presented to me, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders, nearly makes me lose my mind.
I run a hand over the curve of her spine, a gesture of both reverence and possession.
I enter her from behind, my hands gripping her hips.
This position lets me go deeper, harder.
I set a punishing rhythm, my balls slapping against her clit with every thrust. I reach around, my fingers finding her clit.
I rub it in time with my thrusts, and she immediately starts to tense again, her breath hitching.
“Yes… yes… right there…”
I can feel my own climax building, a tight, hot coil in my gut. My movements become erratic, more desperate. I’m chasing my release, chasing the oblivion I can only find inside her.
“Come with me,” I growl, my voice strained. “Now.”
That’s all it takes. Her body convulses, her pussy clamping down on me like a fist as her orgasm rips through her.
The sensation is too much. With a guttural roar, I slam into her one last time and let go.
My cock pulses, spurting thick ropes of cum deep inside her, painting her walls, marking her as mine from the inside out.
I collapse over her, my weight pinning her to the mattress, my face buried in the sweat-damp hair at the nape of her neck.
We’re both shaking, our bodies slick, our hearts hammering against each other.
I’m still inside her, softening now, but I don’t want to move.
I never want to move again. I press a soft kiss to her shoulder, then another to the back of her neck.
We’re a tangled, breathless mess, and I’ve never felt more complete.
I slide to the side, keeping her back pinned to my chest. We lie there for a long time, our bodies tangled together, our breathing slowly returning to normal. I press a soft kiss to her neck. Her pulse beats strongly against my lips.
The room grows quiet again, broken only by the sound of our breathing and the faint movement of sheets beneath us. Eventually, she sinks back into the pillows with a long breath.
I sit up. “Stay there.”
She raises an eyebrow. “That sounds suspicious.”
“I’m making breakfast.”
Her mouth curves as she watches me. “Then I fully support this plan.”
The kitchen is quiet when I step into it. Morning light fills the space here more fully, reflecting off the counter and stainless steel appliances. Outside the windows, the city is waking slowly, distant traffic beginning to build.
I keep breakfast simple—coffee, eggs, and toast. The familiar smell fills the apartment quickly.
When I return to the bedroom, Rowan is propped against the headboard with the blanket pulled up and tucked under her arms. She watches me approach with open interest.
“Well,” she remarks, “that’s impressive.”
I place the tray across her lap. “Eat.”
“Yes, pakhan.” Her tone is dry.
Rowan takes a sip of coffee and sighs contentedly. “That might be the best thing I’ve tasted in my life.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“Possibly,” she laughs softly.
We eat quietly. The moment feels almost normal until Rowan glances up at me again.
“Do you think it’s over?” she asks.
The question stills the room. I set the coffee cup down carefully. “No.”
Rowan takes her time looking at me. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
Her shoulders tense slightly as she processes that. “What do you know so far?”
“Not enough.” I lean back against the headboard. “Ivan’s father worked for the Volkov family. After his father died someone powerful took interest in him.”
“A mentor?”
“That’s the best description,” I tell her.
Rowan lowers the toast slowly. “And Russia?”
“He spent time there.”
She glances toward the window, turning it over in her head. “So, someone’s guiding him.”
“Yes. Ivan has ambition, but not that much imagination.”
Rowan looks back at me. “This isn’t finished.”
“No. Whoever is behind him will keep pushing until they think they have what they want.”
Her fingers tighten slightly around the coffee cup.
I reach across the bed and take her free hand in mine. “Look at me.”
She does.
“I will handle Ivan.”
Her eyes search mine. “And the man behind him?”
“That one will take more time.”
Because the truth is simple. Ivan started this, but someone else helped him become the man who thought he could challenge me. And somewhere out there, that person is still watching and still waiting.
Rowan keeps her eyes on me for another moment before nodding slowly. “You’re already planning the next move.”
“Yes.”
Her thumb brushes lightly across the back of my hand. “Just promise me one thing.”
“Anything.”
“That you come back.”
My fingers tighten around hers. “I always will.”
Outside the window, the winter sun continues rising over the city. And somewhere beyond the streets and buildings, Ivan is still breathing. For now.