Chapter 15 Tess
TESS
Every time I blink I relive the way Kirill ate me up with his silver eyes as he effortlessly made me come, like I’m an instrument tuned especially to him. Today has followed the same pattern of yesterday, except he didn’t claim another wish to carry me back to the house.
And I didn’t fight him.
We’re in his office, which is also a library. I’m on the sofa, he’s at his computer. I’m not on his lap.
Unfortunately.
He has two more wishes, and what I don’t understand is that he hasn’t taken anything for himself in our games.
Call me cynical, but I imagined that a kidnapper would get some sexual gratification from his captive. But Kirill must have blue balls and self-control like a machine.
I’ve had mind-altering orgasms, been spoiled with new clothes, been given all the books I wanted, and the reading time to indulge in them, and had the best food of my life arrive by magic.
I have to reluctantly conclude that I may have been wrong about my kidnapper. He’s a violent and unhinged serial killer, but he’s got a kind streak as wide as the Atlantic Ocean.
I don’t understand why he hasn’t taken what he threatened. He said if he won that he’d put me on my knees. He said he’d fuck me until I couldn’t walk. Instead, I’m pleasantly buzzing between the legs, but hardly sore like if he used that massive cock on me.
I try to refocus on the hockey romance open on my e-reader. I’ve been thinking about Kirill for so long the screen has gone to sleep.
“You’re huffing.” Kirill’s deep, irritated voice echoes across the room.
“I’m not,” I protest, poking at the screen.
“You have a question, lapochka.”
“I’m fine!” Giving up on reading, I look up.
Kirill has his head tipped arrogantly back, highlighting his cheekbones. “You sound like a little train,” he drawls. The clicking of his computer keyboard has stopped. “Just spit out whatever it is you want to say.”
I press my lips together. I don’t huff like a train. I might have sighed once or twice, but that’s not the same thing.
“It’s nothing,” I insist.
He raises one eyebrow and folds his arms.
I sigh again, frustrated, and amusement lights his eyes.
“Look it’s just that I don’t understand…
” I search my mind for something plausible.
Why he hates colour so much he’s rationed it in his house like it’s water on a life raft, but has a pink mask?
Why he bothers with being a mafia boss when he clearly isn’t that interested in it?
Why his eyelashes are so unnaturally long?
Why his tattoos are so hot? Why he’s been so kind to me? “Why you haven’t come yet?”
I slap my hand over my mouth, but the damage is already done. Being kidnapped into utter luxury has made me stupid.
The relaxed expression is wiped from his face, and is replaced by the precise scrutiny of a predator. “That’s what you want, is it?”
“No, it’s just I imagined… You have two wishes left today—”
“Favours,” he corrects me.
“Why don’t you use one to…” I run out of steam under his dark, brooding scowl.
“What do you think I should do with my favours today?” he asks with dangerous calm.
“It’s not what I think,” I hasten to say. “It’s what I expected, given….”
“From your reading material? What would your hockey player book boyfriend do if he had you at his mercy, huh?”
I tremble, but it’s not fear. It’s anticipation as he rises from his chair and stalks across the room.
I gasp.
He’s tall, and as I’m sitting, it’s very obvious what is happening below his belt, as it’s at my eye level.
He has a hard-on. And I think it’s that which makes me bold.
“You could make me give you a blow job.” I press my lips together at how insane this is. I should leave him alone. But it’s not just that I don’t understand why he hasn’t done anything to take pleasure for himself. I want to see him come apart.
“You want me to put you on your knees and my cock in your pretty pink mouth?” he says gruffly.
I lick my lips, and my breath escapes as a pant.
“You’d like me to use your throat and spill there, making you choke on and swallow every drop? My cock will make you cry, lapochka.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” I whisper.
His brows lower, as though trying to figure out if I’m tricking him. But then there’s a steely glint in his eyes, and he grabs a cushion from the sofa, and drops it at his feet with an imperious look.
“Second favour—get on your knees and do as I tell you.” He points down, and arousal zings from my belly to my clit, and my nipples tighten.
I slide to where he indicates, wordlessly making use of the cushion he provided. He’s caring, this man, even as the clink of his belt in the silent room makes fear spark through me deliciously.
He’s really doing this. I can’t breathe as he peels open his jeans and soft-looking black boxers are revealed, only just restraining a bulge that this close up puts butterflies in my belly.
“Is your mouth watering?” he rasps. I tear my gaze away from that huge length and up until I see his face, my neck craned back.
“Look at my cock.”
I hear rather than see the rustle and stretch of fabric, and slowly lower my head.
I gasp. Excitement jumps from my chest.
Because poking out of the top of his black boxers is the imposing, bulbous head of his cock, yes. But that was what I expected, and there’s something else that makes my eyes widen with shock.
A ring.
I didn’t think he’d be pierced. A thick silver-metal ring juts out from the tip of his cock, and curves over the head. A drop of opaque moisture sits next to the metal.
Pre-come, I realise.
“Still want this in your mouth?” he asks, a little tauntingly.
He’s expecting me to back away. He’s deliberately trying to scare me.
He pushes his underwear down the rest of the way, revealing how long and thick he is. Scary, or it would be if it weren’t Kirill. Because he’s just mesmerising. His cock is pink-red, with a vein that curves down the length. At the root are balls that hang down, and neatly trimmed black hair.
My heart is so loud surely he can hear it.
Deliberately, he grips his cock in the middle—there’s more than his big, tattooed hand can hold—and strokes up and down slowly. It emphasises how large he is, and the emergence of the metal ring from over his fingers as he tugs down on his head is shocking. Lewd. Brutal and masculine.
I want to taste him.
“Yes,” I whisper.
He stills, his knuckles going white as he squeezes his cock in his fist. “Open for me.”
My heart pounds as I sloppily lick my lips, and open my mouth.
“More, lapochka.”
My jaw clicks as force my jaw wider. The scent of him is musky and clean. Something that’s indefinably him, and makes me salivate.
“Such a pretty, fuckable pink mouth,” he croons. “I’m going to enjoy defiling you.”
The first touch of metal and skin to my lip as he pushes his cock forwards is a surprise. I thought the metal would be cold, but of course it’s warmed by his body. Smooth and hard, and by comparison the helmet of his cock is the finest velvet over unyielding flesh.
He stops there, just resting on my lips, and his jaw clenches. Exerting control over himself, I wonder. I remain obediently still.
“Put your hands on my thighs,” he orders, and I am humiliatingly quick to do as he says. “Good. I’m going to use your sweet mouth exactly as roughly as you’ve been thinking of. You won’t be able to speak to tell me it’s too much.”
He pushes forwards, and I eagerly take him into my mouth, or perhaps he feeds his length to me.
“I won’t stop if you cry, or choke.” His voice is like iron. “But if you let your hands fall from me, I’ll stop. Tap if you understand.”
I hastily tap his leg to confirm I get his rules. There’s no way I’m going to release him.
“That’s it,” he rumbles, and grips my head to control me. “Such a willing, hot, wet little hole.”
Then he pushes further into my mouth, to the back of my throat, until I think I can’t manage, I can’t breathe, it hurts, but it’s so good that I’m digging my nails into his thighs through his jeans.
Just as I’m sure I’ll die, he withdraws with a soft, shuddery breath… And shoves back in.
I jerk with the surprise of it, and arousal unfurls low in my belly like smoke and shimmering magic. My clit pulses, and I’m shocked by how hot this is.
“So pretty.” He wipes away saliva from where it seeped out of my open mouth, and despite the flush of embarrassment—I drooled, gross—he sounds sincere as he drives back into my throat.
I choke, but I don’t let go, and he eases out. I drag in a breath and adjust the angle of my head. The next time it’s easier. And deeper.
He groans. Then thrusts, hard.
The force would send me backwards if it weren’t for his guiding hand. I’m trapped between that hand and his enormous cock. My eyes water, and the back of my mouth burns when he pushes against it, but I don’t let go.
I want this. Between my legs turns to liquid heat.
His next movement is rhythmic, and within seconds he is using my mouth, and there’s a pattern between us. When he builds up the speed, I adjust with him.
“Well done.” He strokes a tendril of hair away from my cheek, as though he wants to be able to see me fully, then caresses the back of my head roughly, swearing in Russian. “Your mouth feels like heaven. So. Good.” He punctuates his words with thrusts.
He fucks me, and it’s almost violent.
I hang onto his thighs for dear life as he rams into my mouth, controlling everything. I’m his doll, and it’s a wonderful relaxed, spacey sensation unlike anything I’ve experienced. I give myself over to him. Trusting him.
I press my thighs together, needing friction on my clit. I’m desperate.
“Your hair is gorgeous.” His voice is rough, like he’s as close to the edge of sanity as I am. I love that. “Silk. Perfect silk.”
He gathers my hair to the back of my head and closes his fist around it, tightening. The pinpricks of sensation shoot sparks to my clit, and I moan as he takes my mouth over and over, the ring of his piercing rubbing onto my tongue and pushing right into my throat with every thrust.
I squirm, trying to get some contact on my clit.
“Are you wet, lapochka?”
A needy little hum escapes me, and I keep my aching jaw open for him to use me. My nipples are tingling with the need for stimulation.
“Touch yourself.”
My brain sparks-out. What?
“Show me how much you like me using your mouth. If it makes you hot, then do it. Make yourself come as I shoot my load down your throat.”
I tighten my fingers on his thighs. Is this a trick?
“Just one hand, Tess,” he coaxes. “It’s okay. I won’t stop. Not unless you let me go.”
With that reassurance, I allow my right hand to release him, and in a second I’ve pushed away my shorts and have plunged my fingers between my legs.
My eyes are watering from the rough treatment of my mouth, but my clit sparks instantly when I rub over it.
I’m floating. There’s no other word for it as I ignore all the odd angles my body is in and relish the feel of Kirill’s hot length in my mouth and the surge of pleasure on my clit.
“Such a good girl. That’s it. You’re my good girl, taking my cock so well.”
My clit pulses at his compliment and then he moans and my body hears even more praise.
It tips me over. I shake as ecstasy floods me down to my toes, white light that crests and washes through me in wave after wave.
“So beautiful when you come for me, and…” His voice cracks. “Blyat.”
He swells, getting even bigger. Then he’s pulsing and filling my mouth with his come, salty and a bit sour, and oh god, I’m overwhelmed.