Chapter Five #2
Denisov pushed away from the counter and back into Kilian’s personal space. “Thought I already did,” he said, low and heated against Kilian’s ear.
Kilian shifted so his thigh rested between Denisov’s legs, pressed against the erection he had yet to do anything about. “But not properly.”
“Oh?” Denisov smirked. “And how would I take care of you…properly?”
It was rare for Kilian to feel short, being a comfortably average (for a hockey player) six feet.
But Denisov stood a good half a foot taller than him.
Kilian could look up at him from underneath his eyelashes the way demure little schoolgirls did in the worst sort of boring straight porn. “You know.”
“Maybe I want you to say it.”
Kilian bit his bottom lip. It was one thing to get really into it when Denisov initiated the dirty talk. It was another to start it himself.
“Unless you don’t want it.” Denisov made to pull away.
“Good girls need to get fucked,” Kilian whispered.
“What was that?”
“I said—” Kilian licked his suddenly dry lips. “—good girls need to get fucked. To take care of them properly.”
“And are you a good girl?”
On anyone else, the grin on Denisov’s face would be utterly punchable. On him, while he loomed over Kilian and groped his ass, it was delicious.
“I want to be. Help me?”
Denisov kissed down his neck, making Kilian shudder. “I’ll help you, sweet girl,” he promised. “Make you perfect for me.”
“We should go to the bedroom,” Kilian decided, forcing himself to push Denisov backward. For all his strength, at the slightest touch from Kilian he gave way.
Kilian slipped past Denisov and led the way down the narrow hall to the bedroom.
He winced when he caught sight of the stack of shirts and pants on the chair he kept in his room for clothes not dirty enough to go in the laundry or clean enough to go into the dresser.
Why hadn’t he taken the time to shove them all under the bed?
But Denisov crowded close and pushed him down into the unmade bed, heedless of the disorder. Kilian fell back, body splayed out loose and easy for Denisov to do with as he pleased.
Denisov straddled his hips, running big, warm, callused hands up under Kilian’s shirt. “You’re so easy,” he said, and it didn’t sound insulting.
“Yeah,” Kilian agreed. He was easy; a dozen or so skeevy hookups in semipublic locations over the course of the last year would attest to that. Moreover, he was easy for Denisov, easy for the commanding way he touched Kilian.
“Let me do whatever I want, hm?” Denisov grabbed at the collar of Kilian’s dress shirt and pulled hard. Plastic buttons scattered on the sheets, some rolling off and skittering across the floor.
Kilian’s cock, which he’d thought was down for the count after the surprise blow job, thickened again.
“There, much better. Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be all covered up.”
Denisov had a wide, generous mouth and teeth to match, and as he scraped them along Kilian’s newly exposed clavicle, Kilian could finally relax, content to know someone else would make the decisions.
He arched his head back and groaned, squirming until he could get his arms out of the ruined shirt.
Denisov reared up from on top of him and began thumbing open the buttons on his own shirt.
“What, yours you don’t rip?”
“Mine is not hideous.”
Unfortunately, he was right. His deep red shirt bore a paisley print, and it complemented Denisov’s dark coloring.
He looked edible in it. By contrast, Kilian had two other light blue shirts from the same three-pack, and none of them did him any favors.
No button-up on Planet Earth could disguise how pasty and ginger he was.
While Kilian enjoyed the way a nice suit looked on Denisov, he didn’t like them on himself enough to make an effort.
So he crunched up long enough to get the offending shirt out from under him and unbuttoned his pants while he was at it.
“Good girl,” Denisov told him.
Kilian preened.
Denisov rubbed his thumbs over Kilian’s nipples.
He traced Kilian’s ribs, making Kilian squirm, and he laid gentle kisses across Kilian’s neck and shoulders.
He dismounted to pull off Kilian’s pants and underwear, then did the same for himself.
But before Kilian could get a good look at his body and his nicely proportional cock, Denisov rolled him onto his side, facing the wall.
He kissed the thin skin under Kilian’s ear before slotting in behind him. Kilian heard the rustle of a packet opening, and then Denisov pushed slick fingers between his legs.
“You brought your own lube?” Kilian asked.
“Mm.” Denisov bit at his shoulder. “A really good girl would have been wet and ready for me when I got here, but you’re not, are you?”
Kilian’s throat went dry. “Sorry,” he said, voice small and uneven. “I’ll do better next time.” He immediately wanted to kick himself for presuming a next time.
Denisov kissed his neck and crooked his fingers in deep.
Gasping at the shock of it, Kilian wondered if he would fuck the way he’d sucked Kilian off in the kitchen, sudden and fast and too much, disorienting in how good it was.
Did Kilian want that?
He wanted Denisov’s casual command of the situation, his half-demeaning, half-praising dirty talk, and his big, hot body.
Every hookup he’d had since the last time he’d been with Denisov hadn’t been enough.
If fast and sudden was how Denisov wanted to give it to him, Kilian would take it.
It had just been so long he hoped he could savor it and not be overpowered so completely by his body’s urgency.
But with the hottest guy he’d ever been with pulling out slick fingers, wiping them carelessly against Kilian’s hip, and notching the slick head of his condom-sheathed cock against Kilian’s hole, bare moments after they’d both gotten undressed, Kilian wouldn’t complain.
He was too busy moaning like—like—like a girl, high and tight in his throat, as his body stretched to accommodate Denisov’s full length.
“There you go,” Denisov crooned in his ear. His voice had gone heavy, drenched in sex, his accent thicker. “There’s my good girl.”
The breath punched out of Kilian in a hiccupping, gasping sound. “I am?”
“You are.” Denisov hitched his hips up tight, pushed in as far as he could go, and then plastered himself to Kilian’s back.
His knees pressed into the hollows of Kilian’s own, the hair on his shins rasping against the soft skin of Kilian’s calves.
His pelvis cradled Kilian’s ass; his broad chest braced Kilian’s shoulders. “So good for me.”
One big hand landed on Kilian’s hip, and Kilian shuddered all over.
This was it, then. Denisov was going to fuck him up, take what he wanted, move, do something, anything—
“You can fuck me now,” Kilian blurted out, held tight and strung tighter and waiting.
He felt the shape of a smile on Denisov’s lips against his neck. “Am I not?”
Denisov’s hips ground a slow circle deep inside Kilian, his cock pressed tight to all the best places.
“Are you—what are you—oh, fuck.”
“Shh.” Denisov continued on his mission to kiss every square inch of Kilian’s neck and shoulders. His beard scraped Kilian’s skin raw and sensitive. “Good girls take what they are given.”
All right, then. Kilian’s brain officially went offline. He didn’t have to think about anything anymore. Denisov knew what he wanted to give, and Kilian surrendered his choice in the matter.
It was nothing like the fast, hard fuck he’d been envisioning.
Denisov fucked him so slowly Kilian could hardly bear it.
He just kept grinding his hips in delicious circles right up against Kilian’s prostate, over and over.
Kilian got hard again in no time, dripping against the sheets as he whimpered and moaned.
In his ear, Denisov kept up a steady, whispered litany of praise and denigration, calling Kilian a good girl, praising his tight pussy. His voice dipped lower as he whispered, “Aren’t you a perfect little slut?”
The tears spilled over then. Kilian hadn’t known he was about to cry, but the massive swell of sensation building in him as Denisov didn’t fuck him was too much to bear without some sort of release, and it came in the form of great, wracking sobs.
Denisov stilled behind him.
“No, don’t stop,” Kilian begged. “Please, I’ve been good, haven’t I? Please, you said—you said—I’m your—”
“You’re my good slut,” Denisov repeated.
Kilian made a sound he’d never heard from his own throat before, a whine so plaintive he might as well have been a dog begging for treats.
Finally, Denisov fucked him properly, pulling out halfway and ramming back inside.
Nothing touched Kilian’s cock but the sheets, their friction too soft and too abrasive all at once.
He didn’t think it was possible, but it only took a minute, maybe two, before Kilian started to come.
He started, and as Denisov continued to fuck him—not fast but hard, giving it to him with these massive thrusts that shook Kilian to his core—he couldn’t stop.
Every time Denisov slammed home, a new spurt of come shot from Kilian’s dick.
He whimpered with it, the sheets going hot and wet under him, each new stroke in from Denisov pushing him deeper into his own mess. His cock was oversensitive, his balls ached, his core clenched and released with each new pulse, and his whole world reduced to Denisov inside him.
When he came, Denisov bit down hard on Kilian’s shoulder. The pain of it drew Kilian out of the state of suspended, aching bliss he’d been in. His orgasm ended, leaving him panting into his pillow and shaking all over.
Denisov pulled out and away with a groan, collapsing onto his back. Cold air rushed across Kilian’s skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He curled in on himself. Now it was over, how could he look Denisov in the eye? After he’d begged and moaned and said so many humiliating things?
No way.