Chapter 19 #2
“Make yourself come for me, soroka,” I say, voice calm and low as I lean against the dresser, arms crossed, watching him.
Cole’s face twists in pure indignation. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” he snaps, sitting up on his knees, leaking against his stomach. “You drag me up here like a caveman, throw me on the bed, and now you want me to do all the work? Fuck you, Petrov. Get over here and fuck me yourself.”
I raise an eyebrow, refusing to move. “You wanted to play games in the elevator. Now you play by my rules. Touch yourself. Let me watch.”
“You absolute asshole,” he growls, but his hand is already sliding down his body anyway, wrapping around his cock with a shaky breath. “You’re really gonna stand there and make me do this while you just watch? After I sucked you off in a fucking elevator?”
“Yes,” I answer simply, eyes locked on every movement of his hand. “And you are going to be good and come for me like this, or I will not touch you at all tonight.”
Cole whines frustrated, stroking himself faster, hips rocking into his fist. “I hate you. I hate you so fucking much right now. You’re mean. You’re a mean Russian bastard who— fuck— who gets off on torturing me—”
I smirk, refusing to move closer even as my own cock strains against my jeans. “Keep talking. You are so pretty when you are desperate.”
He leans back against the headboard, legs spread, hand wrapped around himself, stroking slow and teasing while he stares at me with that defiant little smirk.
He edges himself deliberately — speeding up just enough to make his breath hitch, then slowing down again right before he can tip over the edge.
His cheeks are flushed, eyes glassy, but he keeps running his mouth.
“You really gonna just stand there?” he taunts, voice breathy as his thumb circles the head of his cock. “Big strong defenseman and you won’t even touch me? Pathetic.”
I stay where I am, refusing to move closer. “You wanted to play games. So play. Show me how desperate you can get for me.”
He keeps going, stroking himself torturously slow, hips rolling into his fist. We stay locked in this battle of wills for long minutes — him trying to break my patience, me refusing to give in. Every time he gets close, he forces himself to slow down again, cursing under his breath.
“Good boy,” I murmur in Russian. “Look at you… so beautiful. Stroking that pretty cock for me. You are doing so well. My perfect, needy little magpie.”
Cole’s rhythm falters. His eyes flutter, mouth falling open on a broken moan as the praise hits him. He forgets to brat. His hand starts moving faster, chasing it now instead of fighting it, hips jerking up into his fist as he stares at me with pure, helpless need.
“That’s it,” I continue softly, switching between languages. “Takoy horoshiy… Such a good boy for me. Come on, let me see you fall apart. I want to watch you come just from my voice.”
Cole’s head falls back with a wrecked cry. His hand flies over his cock, strokes turning frantic, and then he comes hard — stripes of white painting his stomach and chest as his whole body shakes with it.
He is still panting, eyes hazy, when he reaches for something to clean himself up with.
Before he can find anything, I move. I crawl onto the bed, catch his wrist, and lean down.
My tongue drags slowly over his stomach, licking up every drop of his release.
Cole whimpers, twitching under me. I keep going, cleaning his skin with my mouth until he is trembling again, then slide my fingers lower, using the mix of his come and fresh lube to start opening him up again.
Cole’s breath catches, legs falling open wider for me as I work him open with two thick fingers, slow and deep.
“Viktor…” he moans, wrecked.
I press a kiss to his hip, eyes dark as I look up at him. “We are nowhere near done.”
His hands fly down to my jeans again, fingers fumbling desperately with the button and zipper, trying to free me like he cannot wait another second. I slap his hand away sharply, the sound loud in the quiet room.
“Viktor— fuck—” he starts, but I cut him off by pressing two thick fingers hard against his prostate, curling them perfectly. Cole’s back arches violently off the mattress as a loud, broken moan rips out of him. He bites down hard on his own fist to muffle the sound.
He starts begging with his whole body — needy, desperate little moans spilling around his fist, hips rolling frantically onto my fingers, back arching again and again like he is trying to pull me deeper.
His cock is leaking steadily against his stomach, flushed dark and untouched.
And then, between the broken sounds, he moans something I have never heard from him before.
“Vitya…” he whimpers, so fucking intimate it punches the air out of my lungs. “Vitya, please—”
The diminutive hits me like a lightning strike. The same effect as when he calls me daddy — maybe even stronger. My control evaporates.
“Fuck,” I growl, giving in. I pull my fingers out of him and shove my jeans down just enough to free myself. “You want it that badly, soroka? Want me to ruin you?”
Cole nods frantically, still moaning around his fist, legs spreading wider for me. “Yes— Vitya— please, I need you—”
I line myself up and push inside him in one hard, deep thrust, bottoming out with a groan.
Cole cries out, back bowing off the bed again as I start fucking him exactly the way he teased me for all night — completely unrestrained.
My hand wraps around his throat, holding him there as I drive into him over and over.
“That’s it,” I rasp, leaning down to bite at his jaw. “Take my cock like a good boy. Say it again.”
“Vitya—” he moans, the name breaking beautifully on his lips as I pound into him, the bed creaking under us. “Vitya, fuck— harder—”
Every brutal thrust rocks the bed, the headboard slamming against the wall as I drive into him deep and merciless.
Cole’s body arches beneath me, legs locked tight around my waist, and suddenly his hand flies up, grabbing my free wrist. He yanks it to his mouth and bites down hard on the side of my hand, teeth sinking into the meat between my thumb and forefinger.
The sharp flash of pain only makes me groan, hips snapping harder into him.
I do not care if it bruises. I want his mark on me.
I lean down and kiss along his jaw — soft, almost tender presses of my lips against his flushed skin, a stark contrast to the ruthless way I am pounding into him.
Cole’s eyes roll back, a desperate, broken whimper escaping him as the softness of my mouth wars with the violence of my cock splitting him open.
“Fuck— Vitya— please—” he gasps, voice cracking.
“That’s it, baby,” I murmur against his skin, switching to English so he hears every word. “Such a good boy for me. Taking my cock so deep, so perfect. Look at you falling apart. You feel so fucking good squeezing around me like this.”
Cole lets out a high, needy whine, the sound turning into a sob of pleasure as his second orgasm crashes through him without warning.
His hole tightens around me like a vice, pulsing hard, milking my cock as he comes between us in thick stripes.
The pressure is almost too much. I grunt, my fingers instinctively tightening around his throat for a few seconds, cutting off his air just enough to heighten everything.
The moment his pleasure peaks, I loosen my grip.
Air rushes back into his lungs and Cole comes even harder, a wrecked, desperate cry tearing out of him as his whole body shakes violently beneath me.
The desperate little sounds he makes are filthy and perfect — broken whimpers, gasping moans, my name falling from his lips like a prayer. “Vitya— Vitya, fuck— oh god—”
“You’re mine,” I growl, still kissing his face, his cheek, the corner of his mouth as I keep fucking him through it. “My perfect boy. So good for me. I love how you fall apart for me, soroka. Love how tight you get. Love every fucking sound you make. Let me hear you, baby. Let me feel you.”
I am so close — hips snapping up into Cole’s tight heat, the pressure coiling unbearably at the base of my spine, every muscle straining as I chase release — when Cole suddenly gasps out a breathless, wicked “Nope.”
Before I can react, he plants both hands on my chest and shoves.
The surprise combined with how spent he already is gives him just enough leverage to roll us.
Suddenly I am on my back with Cole straddling my hips, still trembling from his last orgasm, cock hard and leaking against my stomach as he sinks back down onto me in one greedy motion.
I glare up at him, jaw clenched tight. This is the second time tonight he has denied me.
The frustration is burning into something sharper, something almost desperate, and he knows it.
Cole smirks down at me, flushed and wrecked and so fucking beautiful it hurts, still shaking from how hard he just came.
“Move and I stop, daddy,” he says, full of challenge as he grabs both my wrists and pins them above my head against the mattress.
We stare at each other for a charged second — his eyes bright with defiance, mine dark with barely-leashed need. Then Cole starts riding me.
He rolls his hips in filthy, devastating circles, taking me deep over and over, thighs flexing as he fucks himself on my cock like he owns me. My glare dissolves almost instantly into a groan, head falling back against the pillow as pleasure slams through me again.
And then he starts whispering in Russian.
It is clumsy, breathless gibberish — half praise, half absolute nonsense. “Ty takoy… bol’shoy… tak khorosho… Vitya… ya lyublyu… tvoy chlen… vo mne… kak… derevo… v lesu…”