Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Laurel
Leonid flips me around so my back is to his chest, his heat pressing against me like a wall of fire. His lips brush my ear, breath hot and ragged.
“Are you sure about this?” he whispers, voice gravel-rough.
I nod, throat too tight for words. “Yeah.”
He bites down on my earlobe, sharp enough to sting, soft enough to make me gasp. Then slowly drags the zipper of my dress down. The sound is loud in the quiet room. His fingers graze my spine as the fabric parts, sending fire racing across my skin.
He pushes the straps off my shoulders with agonizing patience. The dress slides down my arms, over my hips, and pools at my feet in a green heap.
I step out of it on shaky legs, and he spins me back to face him.
I’m left in the soft pink lace bra and matching panties Tasha had also forced me into at the lingerie shop. Thank God for her insistence, and for the wax appointment. Does he like what he sees? Are my boobs too big?
Leonid’s eyes rake over me. “Get out of your head,” he says quietly. “If we’re doing this, you need to be here. With me.”
I nod again, swallowing hard.
He brushes a strand of hair from my face, thumb lingering on my cheekbone. “Beautiful.”
The word lands soft, reverent.
Then his hand slides to my throat, not tight, just firm enough to feel the press of his palm against my pulse. He tilts my head back and kisses me again, deeper this time, tongue stroking slow and filthy.
The slight choke of his grip heightens everything. I moan into his mouth, helpless, fingers clutching his shoulders.
He pulls back just enough to look at me. His gaze travels down my body, lingering on my breasts, my stomach, the damp spot already darkening the lace between my thighs.
“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs again. The way he’s looking at me, like I’m something precious and filthy at the same time, makes me feel seen in a way I never have.
He kisses me once more, hungry, while his fingers find the clasp of my bra. One flick and it falls away. Cool air hits my nipples, then his mouth, hot, wet, closing over one peak. He sucks hard, tongue flicking, teeth grazing just enough to make me cry out.
My head falls back against the wall. He switches to the other breast, hand kneading the first, rolling the nipple between thumb and forefinger until I’m trembling.
Then he starts kissing lower. Down my sternum, my ribs, my stomach. When he reaches the lace edge of my panties, he drops to his knees.
He inhales deeply, his nose brushing the damp fabric and his eyes closing for a second as if he’s savoring me. One big hand cups me through the lace; I buck against his palm, a broken sound escaping my throat.
“So fucking wet already,” he growls, voice thick.
He cups me again, firmer, then hooks his fingers in the sides of my panties and drags them down my legs. I step out, naked now, completely exposed.
“Fuck,” he swears under his breath, eyes devouring me.
His fingers trace my entrance, slow, teasing, coating themselves in my wetness. He spreads it along my folds, circling my clit once, twice. I whimper, hips jerking.
“I have to taste you,” he says, almost to himself.
One hand slides behind me, palming my ass, holding me steady. The other lifts my left leg, drapes it over his shoulder. Then his mouth is on me.
He licks a long, slow stripe from my entrance to my clit, groaning against me like I’m the best thing he’s ever tasted.
His tongue circles my clit, flicking and sucking, while two fingers slide inside me, curling just right.
I cry out, hands fisting in his hair, hips rocking against his face without shame.
“Leonid…please….”
He eats me like he’s starving, deep, hungry licks, sucking my clit hard enough to make stars burst behind my eyelids, fingers pumping in a slow rhythm that matches his tongue. The hand on my ass squeezes, pulling me tighter against his mouth.
I’m shaking. Gasping. So close already. “OH GOD!”
“Leonid—” His name is both a plea and a prayer.
He growls against me, vibrations shooting straight through my core.
I throw my head back, the wall cool against my skull as I brace myself on Leonid’s broad shoulders, rocking against his face instinctively, hips chasing the pressure, the heat, the wet slide of his mouth.
I’ve never orgasmed via oral before. My ex tried this a few times—awkward, fumbling attempts that always ended with him pulling away, frustrated, and blaming me for “not liking it.”
I thought something was wrong with me. Now I realize the truth: he was terrible at it.
This is heaven. Leonid doesn’t stop until another orgasm rips through me, my back bowing as I cry out, pulsing against his tongue.
He laps me through every aftershock, slow and thorough, until I’m shaking, boneless.
“Oh my God…” I pant breathlessly.
Then he rises to his full height, smiling, his hands sliding to the small of my back, steadying me before my legs give out completely. My body is still wired, buzzing, every nerve singing.
What… what was that?
He smirks, licking his glistening lips. “That was you coming on my tongue.”
My face flames. I hadn’t realized I’d spoken out loud.
He steps back just enough to look at me, eyes hungry. “Get on the bed.”
I obey without thinking, climbing onto the massive bed on shaky knees, the sheets cool against my overheated skin. He watches every movement, gaze raking over me like he’s memorizing every inch.
“Lie on your back and open your legs,” he says, voice low and commanding.
I do, spreading my thighs wide, baring everything to him. He swears in Russian, rough, guttural words that roll off his tongue, making my core clench even though I just came.
He doesn’t join me. Instead, he sinks into the chair beside the bed, legs spread, forearms braced on his thighs, watching me like I’m the only thing in the world.
“Touch yourself,” he orders. “I want to see you come on your fingers.”
I should be shy. Mortified. But instead I feel… empowered.
I slide one hand down my stomach, fingers gliding through the slickness he left behind. I spread my wetness across my entrance, circling my clit once, twice, slow, teasing. A soft moan escapes me.
“Inside,” he says, voice rough. “Slip a finger in.”
I obey, pushing one finger deep. The stretch is delicious; I pump slowly, hips rocking, closing my eyes as the pleasure builds again.
“Eyes on me,” he commands.
I snap them open, locking gazes with him. His stare is intense, possessive, burning. I keep moving, finger sliding in and out, thumb circling my clit while he watches, unblinking.
“You’re a masterpiece,” he murmurs, voice thick. “Look at you. So fucking beautiful, putting on a show for me.”
The words tip me over the edge. My back arches, a broken whimper tearing from my throat as the third orgasm crashes through me, my walls fluttering around my finger.
“Leonid…” I pant, hips jerking, eyes never leaving his.
He doesn’t move from the chair. Just watches me ride it out, breathing hard, expression dark with hunger.
When the tremors finally ease, I’m trembling, flushed, completely undone.
Leonid stands at the foot of the bed and strips off the last of his clothes with unhurried efficiency. Trousers and boxers are shoved down in one motion. His erect cock springs free, thick and veiny, curving upward, the head already glistening. I lick my lips before I can stop myself.
He reaches into the bedside drawer, pulls out a condom, and tears the packet with his teeth. I watch, mesmerized, as he rolls it down his length. It’s big. Really big. My core clenches at the sight, equal parts excitement and nerves.
How is that even going to fit?
He chuckles, low and rough. “It’ll fit.”
I slap a hand over my mouth. I said that out loud. Again.
Leonid climbs onto the bed, covering my body with his. His weight pins me deliciously to the mattress. “You do have a habit of voicing your thoughts without realizing it,” he murmurs against my lips.
I smile despite the flush burning my cheeks. “It’s a habit I’m trying to work on.”
“It’s cute.” His mouth seals over mine in a slow, deep kiss that steals my breath. I taste myself on his lips.
His hand slides between us, fingers finding my soaked entrance.
He circles my clit once, twice, then slips two fingers inside, curling them just right.
I whimper into his mouth, hips lifting, chasing the stretch, the pressure.
He adds a third finger and kisses me harder, swallowing every sound as he works me open, slow pumps, thumb rubbing tight circles over my clit until I’m trembling, begging against his lips.
“What do you want?” he growls, voice wrecked.
“Your cock,” I gasp. “I want your cock inside me, please.”
He exhales roughly. “I’m going to try to be gentle. But if it’s too much at any point, say it, or scratch your nails down my back. Understand?”
I nod frantically.
“Words, Laurel.”
“Yes,” I breathe. “I understand.”
He kisses me again, then notches the thick head of his cock at my entrance. He teases me first, sliding the tip through my wetness, coating himself, pressing just enough to part me without pushing in.
Then he starts slow.
The stretch burns as he breaches me inch by inch, tearing through the resistance. I buck, crying out, nails digging into his shoulders. He freezes instantly, breathing hard against my neck.
“You good?” His voice is strained with restraint.
I nod, panting. “Yes. Just… a little uncomfortable. That’s all.”
I can see the effort it takes him to hold still, eyes squeezed shut for a second as if he’s fighting his own body.
He presses his forehead to mine, exhales shakily. “Tell me when.”
I nod again. “Keep going.”
He kisses me, soft this time, almost tender, then eases back a fraction before sliding in deeper. Slow.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he groans, voice raw. “So perfect.”
I whimper, hips rocking instinctively, chasing more. He groans again, the sound vibrating through both of us.
I whisper against his lips, voice shaky, “Are you… all the way in?”
He stills, buried deep, breathing hard. “No.”
“Oh.”
His forehead presses to mine, eyes searching. “Talk to me. How do you feel?”
I swallow, trying to find words through the stretch and burn. “It hurts… but not so much. Just—full. Really full.”
He exhales roughly, restraint carved into every line of his face. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You’re not. Give me all of you.” I clench around him, desperate, no idea where the move comes from. My inner walls flutter tight.
Leonid groans, low and guttural, hips jerking forward involuntarily. “Naughty girl,” he rasps, voice wrecked.
He slips out slowly, agonizingly slow, and then pushes back in, inch by careful inch, until he’s seated completely. This time the stretch is deeper, and the burn fades into fullness, into something so good my toes curl.
He pauses again, letting me adjust, his breath ragged against my mouth.
Then, finally, he starts to move. Slow, shallow thrusts at first, letting me feel every drag, every push. I moan his name, hips lifting to meet him.
He captures my wrists in one big hand and pins them above my head, caging me beneath him. His eyes lock on mine.
“Tell me how you feel,” he growls.
“Great,” I gasp. “I love… having you inside me.”
He groans, hips snapping harder. “You feel so fucking good.”
“More,” I beg against his lips.
His mouth crashes down on mine, swallowing my moans. Then he slams in deep, once, twice, and I arch, crying out against his lips. My nails rake down his back, hard enough to leave marks.
He freezes instantly, buried to the hilt. “Too much?” He resumes, harder now and faster, each thrust driving the air from my lungs.
I shake my head frantically. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
A dark smirk curves his lips. His free hand slips between us, fingers finding my clit, rubbing tight, perfect circles.
Pleasure coils tight and fast. I’m whimpering, panting, hips bucking wildly.
“Come for me,” he orders against my mouth. “Let me feel you.”
The command shatters me. I come with a broken cry, his name torn from my throat, walls pulsing around him, body shaking. Stars burst behind my eyelids.
Leonid’s rhythm falters. His thrusts turn erratic, desperate. A low, guttural groan rips from him as he slams in one last time and comes hard, hips grinding against mine like he’s trying to fuse us.
We stay locked like that, breathing ragged, sweat-slick skin pressed together. He kisses me, slow, lazy, tender now, forehead resting against mine.
I can’t believe what just happened. My first time. With Leonid Volkov. My student’s parent.
No. I’m not going to think about it right now. That’s tomorrow’s problem.