15. Anya
ANYA
He kisses me like he has finally stopped pretending.
There’s no careful first touch, no softness, no polite warning. One second I’m standing in front of him with my hand on his cock through his trousers, smiling because I can feel him getting harder under my palm, and the next he has me in his arms.
My back hits the wall.
His mouth takes mine.
I gasp, and he uses it, kissing me deeper, one hand locked under my thigh, the other gripping my waist hard enough to make me feel owned and furious and dizzy all at once.
I kiss him back.
I don’t think. I don’t plan. I just grab his face and kiss him like I’ve wanted this since the corridor at the restaurant, since his eyes dropped to my mouth, since his voice first made something in me go hot and stupid.
He groans into my mouth when I pull at his hair, and the sound does something terrible to me.
I press myself closer, and I feel him fully now, thick and hard between us. His cock strains against his trousers, and the knowledge that I did that makes heat flood through me so fast my body almost can’t hold it.
Yaromir breaks the kiss only to drag his mouth down my jaw. “You wanted to prove something?” he says against my throat.
I’m already panting. “Maybe.”
His teeth scrape my skin. “Then don’t go quiet now.”
My whole body clenches.
He carries me from the wall to the bed and drops me onto the mattress. Not gently. Not cruelly. Just with the confidence of a man who knows exactly what he wants and has finally decided to take it.
I land on my back, breathless, nightdress twisted high around my thighs.
For one second, he just stands over me. His shirt is wrinkled from my hands. His hair is slightly messed. His scar looks harsher in the low light. His eyes move over me slowly, and everywhere he looks, I feel it.
His gaze drops to my tits beneath the thin nightdress. My nipples are hard, pushing against the fabric, and his jaw tightens when he sees it. “You’re so responsive,” he says.
My face burns. “Don’t say that.”
“Why?”
“Just shut up and kiss me,” I say.
His face hardens, and for one moment, I mistake it for offense. I swallow hard. I don’t think anybody has spoken that way to him before. But then I realize what it is. His pupils are dilated, and darker than I’ve ever seen before. That’s not anger.
Then he’s on me again.
His knee presses into the mattress between my legs as his mouth finds mine. I arch into him without meaning to. His hand slides up my body and cups my breast through the nightdress.
I make a sound into his mouth, and he stops for half a second.
Not to be gentle. To listen.
Then his thumb drags over my nipple, slow and firm, and my hips lift off the bed.
“Oh,” I breathe.
His mouth moves to my neck again. “That?”
I hate the amusement in his voice.
I hate more that I want him to do it again.
He does.
He palms my breast, squeezing, teasing my nipple through the thin fabric until I’m squirming beneath him. My hands grip his shoulders. I don’t know where to put all of this feeling. It’s too much and not enough at the same time.
I never understood this before.
With Dmitri, touching was something I endured and tried to understand. With Yaromir, my body reacts before he even finishes deciding what to do to me.
It’s humiliating. It’s addictive.
Yaromir pushes my nightdress up slowly, exposing my stomach, then higher, until my breasts are bare. The air hits my skin and I tense.
His eyes go darker. “Beautiful,” he says.
Then his mouth closes over my nipple.
I gasp so loudly I shock myself. My back arches. His hand grips my waist, holding me down as his tongue moves over me, hot and deliberate. He sucks harder, and pleasure shoots straight between my thighs.
“Yaromir—”
“I know.”
“You don’t.”
He lifts his head, his mouth wet, eyes locked on mine. “I do.”
Then his hand slides down my stomach.
I freeze, and he notices immediately.
“Say stop and I stop,” he says.
My heart pounds. His hand is still on me, warm and heavy, but he doesn’t move lower. He waits.
I hate him for waiting.
I love that he does.
I swallow. “Don’t stop.”
Something changes in his face. Then his hand slips under the nightdress.
His fingers move over my thigh first, rough skin against soft, making me tremble. He doesn’t rush. He takes his time like he has all night and every right. My breathing turns shallow when he reaches the edge of my underwear.
When he touches me over the fabric, I nearly come off the bed.
He goes still for one second, and I know he feels it.
How wet I am.
Soaking wet.
His eyes lift to mine, and I want to look away, but he won’t let me.
“This is what you were hiding?” he asks.
My face burns hot. “Shut up.”
His mouth curves.
Not a smile. Something worse.
He strokes me again through my underwear, slow and firm, right over the place that makes my thighs shake.
I grab his wrist.
Not to stop him. To survive it.
He knows the difference.
“Your body is honest,” he says.
“I hate you.”
“No.” His fingers press harder, rubbing over my clit through the damp fabric. “You hate that I can make you feel this.”
The pressure is unbearable. My hips move against his hand before I can stop them.
I feel the smile in his silence.
Then he pulls my underwear aside and touches me directly. His fingers slide through the wetness there, spreading it slowly, learning me with awful patience. When he finds my clit, my whole body jerks.
“There,” he says.
I press my hand over my mouth.
He catches my wrist and pins it to the mattress. “No hiding.”
“I can’t?—”
“You can.”
His fingers circle my clit slowly, exactly enough to make me shake and not enough to let me finish. My thighs open wider without permission. He looks down between us, watching his hand touch me, and the sight of his attention makes me even wetter.
I’ve never been this exposed.
I’ve never wanted to be.
He bends and kisses my stomach, then lower.
My eyes widen. “Yaromir.”
He looks up at me from between my thighs.
Then his mouth is on me.
I cry out. There’s no way to stay quiet. Not when his tongue moves over my clit, hot and firm and terrifyingly sure. My hands fist in the sheets. My legs try to close, but his shoulders keep them open.
The first slow lick makes me tremble.
The second makes my hips lift.
The third makes me forget every thought except his mouth.
He eats me like he owns the hunger and I’m the one who has to answer for it. His tongue circles my clit, then drags lower through the wetness, then back up again. I’m panting now, helplessly, sounds spilling out of me no matter how hard I bite my lip.
“Don’t,” he says against me.
The vibration of his voice makes me jerk.
He lifts his head just enough to look at me. “Do you like it? Do you like my tongue inside you?”
My back arches in answer, my eyes almost rolling into the back of my head.
Then he goes back down.
I sob his name. The pleasure builds so fast, my body doesn’t understand how to take it.
I’m hot everywhere, shaking everywhere, my breasts rising and falling with every broken breath.
One of his hands slides up and cups my breast again, his thumb teasing my nipple while his mouth works between my thighs.
My fingers grab his hair. He groans against me, and the sound pushes me closer.
“Yaromir, I?—”
He sucks my clit. Hard.
The orgasm hits so violently I almost don’t understand it at first.
My whole body locks. Then it breaks open.
I cry out, hips lifting against his mouth, thighs shaking around his head as pleasure tears through me in waves.
I have no control over the sounds I make.
No control over the way I pull at his hair, the way I grind helplessly into his mouth, the way I keep saying his name like it’s the only word I know.
He doesn’t stop until I’m trembling too hard to take more.
Then he lifts his head.
His mouth is wet from me. His eyes are dark and merciless. I lie there ruined, nightdress pushed up, tits bare, legs open, chest heaving. He wipes his mouth with his thumb and looks at me like he has just proven something to both of us.
I can barely speak.
He climbs over me, bracing one hand beside my head. His cock presses hard against my thigh through his trousers, and my body reacts again despite the fact that I’m still shaking.
He feels it.
His eyes narrow. “Now,” he says, voice rough, “you know what your body does for me.”
I stare up at him, breathless, furious, humiliated, wanting more.
His mouth lowers close to mine, and for one second, I think he will kiss me again. Instead, he stops just short.
“And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”