23. Yaromir #2
Her eyes flutter.
“You are very wet,” I say.
“Because you keep touching me,” she moans.
I push her underwear aside.
The first direct touch makes her inhale sharply. Her hands grip the edge of the table. I drag two fingers through her wet pussy, slow enough that she feels every inch of it, and circle her clit with my thumb. Her head falls back.
“Look at me,” I say.
She opens her eyes with effort.
I rub her clit again, firmer this time, and watch her face change. She’s embarrassed by how quickly her body answers me. I can see it in the way she bites her lip, the way she tries to hold still, the way her hips betray her and roll into my hand.
I want her shameless for me.
I push one finger inside her. She tightens immediately, breath catching.
I go still.
Her eyes lock on mine. “Keep going,” she whispers.
I move slowly at first, giving her time to take me. Her pussy is tight and hot around my finger, clenching as I work in and out of her. My thumb stays on her clit, circling, teasing, pressing until her thighs begin to shake.
“Yaromir,” she breathes.
“Yes.”
“I need…” She stops, frustrated, as if she doesn’t know the words.
I add a second finger, and her mouth opens on a cry.
I lean forward and kiss it from her, fucking her with my fingers while my tongue pushes into her mouth. She tastes like champagne and heat. Her legs wrap tighter around me, and I feel her start to move with my hand.
I curl my fingers inside her, and her entire body jerks.
“Oh.”
I do it again. Her nails bite into my back.
“That,” I say against her mouth. “You like that.”
“Yes.” The word comes out broken.
I keep doing it. Deep strokes, steady pressure on her clit, my mouth on hers, then on her throat, then back to her tits because I like the way she trembles when I suck her nipple while fingering her.
Her pussy gets wetter around my hand.
She’s close. I feel it in the tightening of her body, in the way her thighs shake, in the desperate little movements of her hips as she rides my fingers.
“Come for me,” I say.
She shakes her head once, panicked by how close she is. “I can’t.”
“You can.”
“It’s too much.”
“That means you can.”
I press harder on her clit and push my fingers deeper.
She comes, mewling loudly, her pussy clenching around my fingers, her whole body locking under my hand. I watch her through it. Her flushed face. Her parted lips. Her tits rising with every broken breath. She’s beautiful when she loses control.
I keep my hand on her until the last tremor leaves her body. Then I slide my fingers out slowly. She looks at me, dazed and furious, like she resents how much I’ve learned about her in so little time.
I bring my wet fingers to my mouth and taste her.
Her eyes widen. “Yaromir.”
The shock in her voice makes my cock throb.
I lean down and kiss her, letting her taste herself on my tongue. She moans into my mouth and pulls at my belt. The sound of the buckle opening cuts through the room. Her hands are shaking, but she keeps going. Button. Zipper. Then her fingers slide inside my trousers and close around my cock.
I stop breathing.
For all her nervousness, she looks directly at me when she touches me. Her hand is soft, warm, unsure at first. Then she feels how hard I am, how heavy, how badly I want her, and something like wonder crosses her face.
“You’re so hard,” she whispers.
“For you.”
Her fingers tighten, and a rough sound leaves me.
Her mouth parts slightly, and her hand moves again, stroking my cock with slow curiosity. The innocence of it is obscene. She has no practiced rhythm, no polished confidence. She’s learning from my face, from my breathing, from the way my hand grips the table beside her.
I have never been more turned on in my life.
“Like this?” she asks.
My jaw tightens. “Yes.”
She strokes again. My hips push into her hand before I can stop them.
Her eyes darken. She likes that. She likes making me react.
Dangerous wife.
I catch her wrist before I come in her hand like a boy. “Enough.”
She looks almost disappointed. “Already?”
I laugh once, low and rough. “If you want me inside you tonight, yes.”
The words change her face. Real shyness, not coyness.
I release her wrist and cup her face. “Look at me.”
She does.
“This happens only if you say yes.”
Her throat moves. “I said yes before.”
“Say it again.”
For a second, she looks at me like she hates how much she needs the choice.
Then she answers. “Yes.”
I kiss her once. Hard.
Then I lift her from the table and carry her down onto the rug in front of the fireplace.
She gasps when her back meets the thick fur, ruined dress tangled around her hips, bare tits flushed from my mouth.
Firelight moves over her skin, over the red silk torn open around her, over the spread of her hair against the rug.
I stand long enough to strip out of the rest of my clothes.
Her eyes follow every inch. My chest. My stomach. My scars. My cock. When she sees me fully, her lips part.
I shouldn’t enjoy the nervousness in her face, but I do.
Not because she’s afraid. Because she still wants me despite it.
I kneel between her legs and pull the torn dress down her body, leaving her in nothing but ruined silk gathered near her ankles. Her underwear follows. I throw it aside.
She’s bare in front of me now. Pussy wet. Tits rising with every shaky breath. Eyes fixed on mine.
I take myself in hand and stroke my cock once, watching her watch me.
Her cheeks go red, but she doesn’t look away.
“Are you scared?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Do you want to stop?”
“No.”
I lower myself over her, bracing one arm beside her head. My cock settles against her wet pussy, and the first contact makes her inhale sharply. I drag the head of my cock through her slickness, over her clit, down to her entrance, then back again.
Her fingers grip my shoulders. “That’s cruel,” she whispers.
“Yes.”
I do it again.
She trembles under me. “Yaromir.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
I look down at her. “Then tell me.”
Her eyes shine, but not with tears. With need. “I want you.”
I kiss her and press the head of my cock against her entrance.
She tenses, and I still. Her fingers dig into me, but she doesn’t push me away.
“Breathe,” I say against her mouth. She answers in kind, kissing me back hungrily. A nervous laugh escapes her, and that helps. Her body loosens a fraction.
I push in slowly. Just the head at first.
Her breath breaks.
Christ.
She’s so tight I have to stop before I lose control. Her pussy grips me like it doesn’t know how to let me in, hot and wet and resisting every inch.
I grit my teeth. “Anya.”
Her eyes are squeezed shut.
I take her chin. “Look at me.”
She opens her eyes.
I push deeper.
She gasps, face tightening with the stretch. Her nails rake down my back. I keep my pace slow, one hard inch at a time, watching her face, feeling every tremor of her body around my cock.
“You’re doing well,” I say.
Her mouth trembles. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a horse.”
A laugh breaks out of me before I can stop it.
She blinks up at me, offended and breathless.
I kiss her. Then I push the rest of the way in.
She cries out against my mouth, and I go still, fully buried inside her, every muscle in my body locked. Her pussy clenches around my cock in tight, helpless pulses. She’s shaking beneath me, eyes wide, breaths coming too fast.
I want to fuck her hard. I want to take.
I want to make this moment savage enough to match what she does to me.
Instead, I hold still.
Barely.
Her hands move over my shoulders, then around my neck. She’s adjusting, breathing, feeling me inside her. Her face slowly changes from pain to shock to something warmer.
She shifts her hips experimentally, and my control nearly snaps.
“Don’t do that unless you mean it,” I say.
She looks at me. Then does it again.
I pull out halfway and thrust back in.
Her mouth opens on a moan.
There. The sound isn’t pain.
I move again. Slowly at first, deep enough to make her feel every inch. Her body is still tight, still learning me, but she starts to meet me. Small movements. Uncertain. Then greedier. Her legs wrap around my waist.
My head drops to her neck. “Mine,” I say before I can stop it.
She tightens around me. I feel it. So does she. Her eyes go wide.
I lift my head. “You like that.”
“No.”
I thrust harder.
Her head falls back. “Yes.”
That breaks something open.
I fuck her properly then. Not careless. Not enough to hurt her beyond what this first time must be.
But hard enough that she knows exactly who’s inside her.
Hard enough that her tits bounce with each thrust, her nipples flushed and wet from my mouth.
Hard enough that the rug shifts beneath us and her moans start filling the room.
Her hands move everywhere. My shoulders. My back. My hair. She kisses me messily, biting my lower lip, gasping when my cock drives deeper.
I slide one hand between us and find her clit. The moment I touch it, she clenches around me so hard I curse.
“Again,” she says.
I rub her clit in tight circles while I fuck her, and her body goes wild beneath mine. Her hips lift to meet me. Her nails scratch down my back. Her mouth opens, and she makes sounds she will be embarrassed about later.
Good. I want them.
I want all of it.
“You feel that?” I ask, thrusting deep.
She whimpers in response. “It’s you,” she says.
My control frays. “And?”
Her breath catches as my thumb presses harder on her clit.
“You,” she gasps.
I kiss her, rough and deep, and fuck her until she starts trembling again. Her pussy tightens around my cock, her thighs clamping at my sides, and I know she’s close.
“Come on my cock,” I say.
She sobs my name.
I keep my hand on her clit, keep my thrusts deep and steady, and watch her break.
Her orgasm takes her hard. Her back arches, tits pressing against my chest, pussy clenching around my cock in tight waves that nearly drag me over with her. She cries out, face open, body shaking under mine, and the sight of it burns through me.
I thrust twice more.