Chapter 24 Never Alone
Never Alone
He would never be alone again.
I wanted to say it, but more than that—I wanted him to hear the words. Maybe it wasn’t words he needed.
My hips rolled forward, mouth skimming along the letters. A groan vibrated through his throat, pulse quickening against my lips.
The piano bench whined beneath our shifting bodies, cracking the silence around our breathing and my sobs. A car horn went off on the street below, and someone shouted, but inside this skeletal, new beginning of a home—our home—it was just us.
I pressed my forehead against his. “Can I?”
“Kotik…”
His stiff cock pushed against my inner thigh, but his hands held me in place, ready to bruise. Don’t move.
I rested two fingers against the next button of his shirt, so close to exposing the hollow beneath his collarbones. All of it hidden away behind green-black colors under his skin. His jaw locked, and a tremor ran through him—so faint I’d have missed it if my legs weren’t straddling his thighs.
“Just… slow,” he conceded, his grip on me loosening.
I fumbled with the button, working it loose, then set my lips against the sculpted chest exposed to the frigid air. And then the next, and next, my mouth trailing behind my busy fingers.
Carefully, I eased myself off of him. He watched me, his jaw wound tight and shifting, but moved his arms out of my way as my mouth counted out the spaces between his defined abs.
The salty skin breathed beneath me, muscles flexing, then letting loose.
Every time he sucked in a breath, I lingered and waited for him to relax before continuing on. Trust me.
The expensive cologne faded, and I indulged in the intoxicating decadence of his skin. Slightly musky, intimate, his. And mine, because no one else would be allowed near him.
I’d never allow anyone near him.
“Katya…” he rasped as my teeth grazed the skin where a trail of hair ran from his navel and disappeared under his low-riding belt buckle.
I gazed up at him, already on my knees between his thighs. Vitali’s shoulders strained and sweat glistened on his temples. The thinning of his mouth let on to gritting teeth, and the thought flashed through my mind that he might strike me. I sat very still.
His pants bulged a hand-span away from my face, and I could almost see him pulsing.
I’d beg him if he didn’t say anything soon.
I never thought women did it without being asked, never mind wanting it.
But I had to gulp down saliva looking up at him past the landscape of his hard body.
Vitali Konstantinov wiped my mind of all else.
His arm flexed, the tendons tight and fists curling.
“Can I?” I asked again. At this, he suppressed a shudder and reached down to lightly caress my cheek.
“Kotik, there are scars…”
There went my heart, shattering for him once more.
“It’s okay,” I whispered and rested against his hand, trying to hold down another bout of tears. “I don’t mind. Please.”
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t believe me.
“I’ll stop if you want me to stop,” I said. “But I don’t want to stop.”
“I don’t want you to stop,” he said quietly, and took his hand away.
I ran my fingers across his buckle, giving him a few more moments for an out. With his silent permission, I tugged at the brass, releasing it with a click. The zipper teeth parted, and the fabric of his briefs pressed up against the thin wool of the tailored pants, a damp spot already forming.
I pulled at the waistband, and he helped me to slide it partway down his hips. His shaft sprang free from the cotton briefs, thick and heavy.
To say it was intimidating was an understatement.
I checked if he saw my appreciative pause. His head was tilted up to the ceiling, and throat shifted as if reciting a silent prayer.
Tentatively, I traced the thick vein pulsing along the rigid length with my fingertips, and he let out a strained hiss, but otherwise remained deathly still. A bit of pre-cum glistened at the tip.
He’s hard for me…
The thought flooded me with tingling heat, adding to my already burning, trembling core. It was impossible not to imagine it inside me, and that seemed impossible too.
Logistics. Apparently, he wasn’t being funny.
I wrapped my fingers as best I could around the base and slowly began pumping, fascinated by the way his skin moved over the rock-hard length.
Letting out a shallow breath, I leaned down, beginning with slow kisses around the ridge of the head.
When my lips sealed over it, his groan vibrated through my bones, encouraging me to take in the first few centimeters.
His fingers tangled lightly in my hair, but he did not push, allowing me to find my limits. And, I was grateful, because his size was scary enough, and to have it suddenly forced down my throat was a suicidal thought.
…But not a completely unpleasant one.
I took in more and hollowed my cheeks, needing to be all around him. The texture of his skin was soft, smooth. Slightly salty. My mouth grew slicker.
His hips jerked, and he sucked in a breath through his teeth, his fingers working through my hair.
He throbbed against my tongue, and I traced the pronounced vein under his shaft, slowly moving up and down, trying to take a little more each time, until the saliva collecting in my mouth forced me to come up for air with a narrow gasp. That’s when his fingers tightened.
“Don’t stop,” he said, voice husky. I didn’t make him guide me down.
The drool crawled down my chin, dripping, like I was. I grew emboldened as he began to push my head as he lost focus.
“Fuck, Katya,” he rasped. “Fuck, you take me so perfectly.”
Don’t swear, I thought, and the giggle shook me but had nowhere to go, only hummed through me, forcing another moan to shudder through him. I dug the fingers of my free hand into his thigh, reveling in the way the steel muscle strained.
His composure was cracking just for me—I could live in that moment forever. It’s probably what drugs felt like.
My rhythm quickened. The salt-sharp taste intensified, and his breathing fractured into ragged gasps.
“You were made for this—” His self-control faltered, and his hand brought me down firmly as his hips came up to meet me, driving himself further down my throat.
My gag reflex seized every muscle, and I jerked, but there was no space to move.
Tears stung my eyes. He thrust into me, again and again, a little deeper each time—until my chest locked up, and I clutched at his thighs, a split moment from attempting to push him off in sheer panic.
“That’s a good girl,” he groaned, and in its wake hot shivers played across my skin.
No… I could take it. I would show him I could take it. For him.
“That’s a good—fucking—girl…” he growled.
I pressed my tongue flat against him and every muscle in me flexed, searching for air.
“Fuck Katya—”
The built-up pressure spurted heat to the back of my throat. His hand shook—his thighs shook—and the sheer vulnerability of that one moment was worth every tear in the world. I had never been more turned on than hearing his internal roar vibrate through my skull.
He guided me off, hand still firmly tangled in my now-ruined hairdo, and took in the way I gasped for air while trying to keep my lips tightly sealed. Literally drowning in his cum.
“Swallow it for me,” he uttered. I did, reveling in the way it made his eyes spark. “That’s a good Kotik.”
He gently wiped away the mix of tears and mascara with his thumb, then lifted me up on his lap again with a satisfied grunt.
His soft lips closed on mine.
It was unexpected that he would kiss me after that, but it was passionate, and heated and so… so tender. When he pulled away, his expression changed from the glassy-eyed intoxication to realized surprise.
“Katya, you’re so wet,” he whispered, searching my face. “God, but you are perfect.” His fingers brushed the soaked fabric between my thighs, testing it. “So perfect.”
The nylons painfully dug into me as he pulled them down, bare fingers rubbing against my swollen flesh. His touch was maddening, and I couldn’t help but grind against his hand.
God—but his pants were still undone, and cock wet with my saliva against my leg. I shifted, desperate to feel him that way—inside—but he pulled me back.
“No,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Katya, it drives me wild how hungry you are, but not today.”
In hindsight, I was glad he didn’t let me.
I gasped, unable to use words because his fingers entered me.
The heel of his palm ground against my already sensitive clit.
His mouth closed in on my neck as I threw my head back and arched against his chest, allowing him to hold me up.
This wasn’t like the first time, I didn’t need warming up—I burned.
Every movement of his fingers brought me to the edge, until one applied just the right amount of pressure.
And I came.
The moment slowed around us, exhaustion setting in and threatening sobriety as our blood cooled. He pulled me closer, lips brushing mine again. Slower, drawing out each lack of breath.
“I love you,” I rasped against him, because there was nothing left to say and the words had been begging to get out for months—no matter where I was, no matter how angry or scared I was. No matter how many times I told myself it was something else. I loved him.
He pushed the sweat-clumped hair out of my face, taking it in as if for the first time.
“I am in love with you, Katya. I am so in love with you.”