Roman #3
I thrust into her with both hands on her hips now, pulling her back to meet every stroke. The space is too small to be graceful. My shoulder brushes the wall. Her knee knocks against the cabinet. The sink rattles softly under her grip.
She does not seem to care. Neither do I.
Her body takes me beautifully.
Tight at first, then wetter, softer, greedier. Every thrust pushes a small, helpless sound from her throat. I cover her mouth again, and this time she sucks in a breath against my palm, eyes rolling half-closed.
My cock drives deep. Again. Again.
She starts moving with me.
That’s when it becomes impossible to think.
Katerina is not passive beneath my hands. She’s not some broken little thing letting me use her to forget a bad night. No, she’s hungry. She pushes back, grinds, takes. Her hips learn my rhythm and then demand more of it. I slide one hand beneath her sweater and fill my palm with her heavy tit.
She arches violently, and I bite the side of her neck to keep from groaning too loud.
Mine. The word comes from nowhere.
I hate it. I want it. I pinch her nipple between my fingers and thrust harder.
Her body clenches around me. “Oh God,” she gasps, too loud.
I cover her mouth with mine from behind, twisting her face toward me, kissing her messily, brutally, while my hips keep moving. She moans into my mouth as I fuck her against the sink, one hand on her breast, the other gripping her hip hard enough that I’ll leave marks.
I want to see my fingerprints on her tomorrow. I want her to feel me when she walks. The thought is ugly and possessive.
And I fuck her harder.
Her hand flies back, grabbing at my thigh, my shirt, anything. She’s close. I feel it in the frantic flutter around my cock, the tension in her belly beneath my hand, the way her breathing breaks into tiny, desperate sounds.
“Roman,” she whispers. “I can’t…”
“It’s okay kitten,” I say.
“I’m going to...”
“Yes,” I say against her ear. “Come for me.”
She shakes her head, overwhelmed. I slide my fingers down, find her clit, and rub.
She breaks instantly.
Her body locks around mine, cunt pulsing so tightly I nearly lose control. Her cry is muffled against my hand, but I feel it vibrate through her. She trembles in my arms, hips jerking, pleasure ripping through her with no mercy.
Beautiful. Fucking beautiful.
I hold her through it and keep moving.
Slow, deep strokes now, dragging out every last contraction until she sags against the sink, boneless and shaking.
I should stop. I should definitely pull out.
I should do any number of honorable, intelligent things.
But her body is still gripping me, still wet and hot and ruined from coming on my cock, and she turns her face toward me with dazed, shining eyes.
“Don’t stop,” she whispers.
There is no honor left in me after that.
I grip her hips and fuck her with the restraint gone. Deep, rough, controlled only by the need not to slam us both into the wall. She takes it, breathless, sensitive, trembling with every thrust.
I’ve half a mind to pull out when her pussy milks me, almost painfully. “Oh fuck,” I pant. I’ve never lost control, not like this.
“Roman,” she says again, softer now.
Not a warning. Not a plea. Just my name.
And that’s what does it.
I bury my face in her neck, drive into her one last time, and come, spilling my entire load in her.
My body locks behind hers, cock pulsing deep inside her as pleasure tears through me. I bite down on a curse, one hand braced on the wall, the other wrapped around her waist, holding her so tightly there’s nowhere for either of us to go.
For a few seconds, I forget the plane. The fact that I came inside a woman I barely know thirty-thousand feet in the sky, the way I took her so absolutely… Just because she asked me to.
And now, there is only the hot, shaking truth of her body against mine and the terrible knowledge that I have just made a mistake I will not be able to undo.
Katerina is trembling. So am I.
Slowly, the world returns. The hum of the aircraft. The soft light. The mirror fogged slightly near our faces.
Our reflection is obscene.
Her skirt around her hips. My body curved over hers. My hand spread possessively across her stomach.
I look at that hand.
Then at her face in the mirror.
Her eyes are closed. Her lips are parted. Her cheeks are flushed with the kind of pleasure no woman can fake.
A dangerous tenderness moves through me.
I crush it immediately. I ease out of her carefully. She sucks in a breath. I turn her around before her knees can fail and pull her against my chest. For once, she does not argue. Her forehead rests against me, and her hands clutch weakly at my shirt.
Neither of us speaks.
There’s nothing to say that would not make this worse.
Finally, she laughs. A tiny, stunned sound against my chest.
I look down. “What?”
She tilts her face up. Her eyes are hazy, bright, wicked. “I think,” she whispers, “that repays the ticket.”
I stare at her.
Then despite every ruined thing inside me, I smile.
“No, Katerina,” I say, brushing my thumb over her swollen mouth. “We’re just getting started.”