Mirrored

Chapter 30

chapter

thirty

Ibarely got the key in the lock before Luka was behind me, pressing me into my front door, his hand at my waist, staking his claim. As the door opened, we spilled inside, and whatever restraint we’d practiced earlier—at the restaurant, on the drive home—collapsed on impact.

His mouth found mine, hard and unhesitating.

We hit the wall, then the sofa, hands everywhere at once, tugging, pulling, shedding clothing like they were mistakes we’d been carrying all day. I lost track of whose breath was whose, whose pulse thrummed under my fingers.

We didn’t make it to the bedroom. We didn’t try.

He hauled me up onto the kitchen counter, fingers digging into my hips so hard I gasped. The granite bit cold into my palms, my thighs parting around him.

He buried two fingers inside me—no pause, no ceremony—while grazing his mouth along the pulse at my throat. I groaned, the sound scraping my vocal cords. It was fast, brutal, with no room for thought. Just sensation. Just need.

“You think I flew across an ocean to only eat takeaway?” His lips brushed my ear, voice dark and liquid.

I tried to answer, but he flicked his thumb over my clit, and the words broke apart into breath. Luka grinned—then bit the soft skin beneath my jaw.

“I’m going to fucking devour you.”

He dropped to his knees, forcing my thighs wider with his shoulders. He grazed his teeth up my inner thigh, then sank in hard enough to wrench a cry from me. He licked a slow stripe, then sealed his mouth over my clit and sucked. Hard.

My head thudded against the cabinet. My palms splayed flat on the counter for balance, my body tensing hard and fast.

Luka drove his fingers deeper, curling until every nerve sang. He worked his tongue in circles, then flicked sharp and relentless until the pressure inside me spiked.

I barely had time to gasp before he pulled back, just enough for me to see him looking up at me—pupils blown, mouth slick.

“You want to come, mila?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He dove back in, working me fiercely with his hand and tongue until the tension snapped, fast and violent, ripping through me before I could brace. I arched, heels digging into Luka’s shoulders. The cry that ripped out of me didn’t feel human.

My vision blurred, then narrowed. The kitchen lights snapped to pinpricks behind my eyelids.

He didn’t slow, didn’t let up. Not while I twisted under him, not while my body convulsed around his hand. He only stopped when my muscles finally gave out, leaving me sagging against the counter.

His mouth and chin glistened. His eyes were bright, satisfied. He kissed me before I found my breath, deep and claiming. His hand was still hooked between my thighs, fingers pumping slow and deliberate, drawing out every aftershock.

I whimpered and grabbed his wrist, tugging him closer. “Let me—fuck, Luka, let me—”

He kissed me again, swallowing the rest. “Let you what, mila?”

I blinked, thoughts scattering. Words wouldn’t come.

So I took hold of him instead. He was hard in my hand, heat and weight and restrained tension. I looked up at him.

His eyes were hooded, his jaw tight. A hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

He said nothing. Just watched me—waiting, daring.

“Please…” I rasped, fingers curling around his length. “Let me return the favor.”

He braced his hands on the counter, arms caging me in. “Are you begging for my cock?”

“No.”

I slid off the counter and down to my knees in front of him.

“I’m not asking.”

Then I squeezed his length, rolling my thumb along the underside, relishing the way his hips jittered forward, the way his breath hitched.

Luka arched an eyebrow, a smirk ghosting the edge of his mouth. “Feisty little—”

I cut him off, swallowing him halfway down in one greedy lurch. Tangy salt and musk filled my mouth. He bucked, his cock hitting the back of my throat. He tangled his fingers in my hair, tightening until my scalp tingled, his other hand braced hard against the counter.

I sucked, hard, hollowing out my cheeks. He groaned—a sound ripped straight from the back of his lungs.

He tried to say something else—another taunt, probably—but the words broke apart as I took him deeper.

His hips jolted, knees notching into my shoulders to pin me, and for a second, he lost the rhythm and thrust, teeth bared, breath high and wild.

I gagged, then recovered, breathing through my nose, spit and want pooling at the corners of my lips.

“Fuck, Alex—” He hissed the words.

I gripped the base and worked him steadily, my hand sliding up to meet my mouth, tongue following the length of him until the pressure shifted, the taste thick at the back of my throat.

For a second, I thought he’d lose control.

Instead, he tightened his grip in my hair, pulling my head back just enough to force my mouth open wider.

I took more of him, harder this time, chasing the rough sounds he couldn’t hold back, the way his hips stuttered. He held me there, deep enough to steal my breath. I fought the reflex to pull away, focused on taking him, on the tension building in his body.

Just as the pressure peaked, he pulled free.

The head of his cock was flushed and wet. My lips felt swollen, raw.

He reached down for his discarded jeans on the floor and pulled a condom from his pocket. A soft tear, a glide, and it was on.

He gripped my jaw, thumb smearing spit across my cheek as he forced my gaze up to his.

“Up,” he growled.

I pushed to my feet—knees jelly, vision swimming. But he caught me immediately and bent me over a kitchen barstool. The vinyl was cool against my bare skin.

“Spread.” He nudged my legs apart with his knee, then pressed a hand between my shoulder blades, guiding me lower until blood rushed into my cheeks. Cold air licked the backs of my thighs. He slid his palm over my ass, stopping at the base of my spine, fingers splayed, gripping.

“Hands on the stool.”

I grabbed the wooden legs as he shifted my ankles wider.

The blunt head of his cock pressed against me, but he didn’t push in. Just stroked the sensitive flesh with slow, deliberate passes.

I twisted to look over my shoulder, needing his eyes, something to anchor me. “Aren’t you going to tie me up?”

His smile flashed in the dim light. “Like I told you our first night—if I do my job, I don’t need to.” He closed his hands on my hips and angled me toward him. “You’ll stay exactly where I put you.”

He pushed into me slowly, stretching me inch by stubborn inch until my breath caught and my body tightened around him. A low sound escaped me, lost somewhere between the cabinets and tile.

He slid his hand up my spine and closed in my hair, drawing my head back just enough to open my chest, to lock my body in place around the steady drive of him.

Then he moved—long, controlled strokes, each one deliberate, each withdrawal a promise of the next thrust.

I clung to the stool legs, arms rigid, legs trembling. He moved with the certainty of someone who knew exactly what he was taking—and what he was giving back.

His chest settled against my back. His mouth brushed my ear.

“You’re mine now, Alex.” The words were low. Territorial. Not loud—but absolute.

I broke.

Whatever restraint I’d been holding dissolved, my body yielding to him completely.

His rhythm surged, faster now, deeper, finding an angle that sent white light flickering at the edges of my vision. I could only hold on, every nerve tuned to the force of him. Every time I tightened around him, he groaned—low, strained, like control was slipping through his fingers.

“Fuck…you take me so well.” The words were rough. Frayed.

He moved his hands over my body, restless, as if needing contact everywhere at once. He released my hair just long enough to press his palm to the back of my neck, holding me there—steady, claimed.

“Always so greedy for me.”

His pace didn’t slow—but the control in it was starting to fracture.

“You love this. You love being mine.”

I did. I clenched around him, pulling him deeper.

His hand struck my ass, sharp and quick, and the sting folded into the heat already coiling.

“Good girl,” he breathed, voice unsteady. “So fucking perfect.”

Then he drove in hard and stayed there, buried deep.

“Volim te, mila.”

His breath hitched.

The words hit my chest like a shockwave, hot and sudden, radiating outward from the place where he held me open for him. I didn’t know what they meant. But the way he said them…

I pushed back against him, grinding hard, giving him everything I had left.

He picked up the pace, the tempo brutal, using my body like a machine engineered to his blueprinted specs.

I lost count of how many times he made me come—each wave stealing a little more control, until the sounds I made barely resembled language.

By the end, my knees buckled and Luka held me up, hands locked on my hips, holding me fast as he drove deep one last time.

He came with a groan, low and guttural and unrestrained. Heat pulsed through me. He stayed pressed tight, breathing hard against my back, until the tremors in my thighs began to ease.

For a long time, neither of us moved.

Luka’s hands drifted over my hips, tracing the bruises already blooming there. I clung to the barstool, limbs leaden, lungs fighting to keep up.

Eventually he eased out, grabbed a towel from the counter, and cleaned me gently, the roughness gone.

We ended up on the kitchen floor, bare skin against the cold tile, backs braced to the knotty pine cabinets.

The world beyond was muffled, the city reduced to a dim, narcotic hush.

Luka’s body was a furnace next to me, sweat gleaming along the hard ridges of his shoulders.

My thighs trembled, not with cold, but aftershocks—flashbacks of pleasure, the echo of his grip still pressed deep into the muscle.

My mouth was dry as a salt flat. I fumbled for the fridge handle, popped it open, and grabbed a sweating bottle of water. I handed it to Luka, but he nudged it back.

“You drink first.”

I took a long pull, then passed it over. Luka drank, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes half-lidded.

“That was fucking amazing,” I said, because no amount of marketing polish could dress it up any better.

He grinned, a flash of teeth in the dim light from the vent hood. “I’m pleased I satisfy you.”

I let my head tip sideways, studying him. “More than satisfy. I think you short-circuited my nervous system.”

Luka watched me, that familiar look settling in—part heat, part assessment. His attention always felt precise, as if he were tracking every shift in my breathing, every tiny reaction.

“We should probably go shopping for actual supplies,” I added lightly. “Since I hope this is going to be a regular thing.”

His brow lifted. “Supplies?”

“You know. Rope. Cuffs. Something more…official.” I poked my heel into his calf. “I’m pretty sure I don’t have any network cable lying around.”

He laughed—genuine, the sound rough at the edges. “You noticed my improvisation, then.”

I side-eyed him, smiling despite myself. “Hard not to.”

He shrugged, unapologetic. “It was on hand.”

“Creative. Points for resourcefulness.”

He caught my foot and drew it to his lap, tracing a line from arch to toe with his thumb. “I told you, mila, I don’t have women over. So…”

“Relax, Luka. I’m teasing.”

A silence grew—not awkward, but dense. Luka’s breathing had evened out, but the edges of his mouth wavered like he was holding something back.

I rested my chin on my knee and watched him trace along the arch of my foot, slow and methodical.

“What does ‘mila’ mean?” I asked, the question dropping into the quiet like a stone breaking the surface of a lake. “You never told me.”

He looked up, startled, like I’d caught him somewhere private. Then he coughed, almost embarrassed. “It’s…a term of endearment. Darling. Sweetheart.” He shrugged, but his grip tightened around my ankle. “In my language, it’s what you call someone you…care for. Someone who matters.”

I let that sit. I liked the way it sounded. The way it made my chest feel less hollow.

“And the other thing?” I hesitated, the burn of memory making my cheeks hot. “When you were…inside me. You said something else.”

He froze, hand halfway up my calf. For a full count, he didn’t move.

Then he swallowed, the movement sharp as a blade. “Volim te?” He carried each syllable carefully, like the meaning might shatter.

I nodded. “That’s the one.” I tried for casual, to play it off, but the words snagged in my throat. “It’s beautiful. I just…don’t know what it means.”

Luka didn’t answer.

Instead, he reached for me, pulling me against him—fast enough to steal the air from my lungs. He held my head, my cheek pressed against his chest, his arm tight around my shoulders.

“You don’t have to—” I started, but he pressed a finger to my lips and held it there.

“Shh. If I don’t say it now, I never will.”

He took a breath that lifted his whole chest.

“It means…I love you.”