Chapter 6 Ivy #2
I know them by memory now, but I relearn them with my fingertips anyway. I smooth my touch over his side, where an old bullet wound has left a crescent of raised flesh. He flinches, not from pain but from the way I see him.
“Lyubimaya,” he murmurs, his voice a rasp in the charged air between us.
He pushes me back gently, guiding me down into the nest of sheets with hands that tremble ever so slightly, just enough to tell me that he’s just as undone as I am. Then he lowers himself over me, his body a shield, a promise, a prayer answered in warm touches and heavy breathes.
His mouth finds mine again briefly, stealing another kiss, then another, and another until my lips are swollen and parted, breath hitching as he moves lower.
He kisses down my throat, across the hollow of my collarbone, over the swell of my breasts.
His tongue flicks over my skin to memorize the taste.
Each kiss feels like it’s meant to claim, to soothe, to brand me.
I arch beneath him, my fingers threading into his hair, pulling gently when his mouth lingers too long on a particularly sensitive spot near my waist.
Maksim groans, deep and low, vibrating against me. The sound goes straight to my core. He trails more kisses down my stomach, pausing just beneath my navel to nuzzle softly where my stretch marks are, his hand gripping my hip to hold me steady as I twitch beneath him.
By the time he reaches the apex of my thighs, I’m already trembling, legs parting without thought on either side of his head as I lay open before him.
My breathing stutters when I feel the ghost of his breath tease the sensitive skin there.
His nose brushes the inside of my thigh, a barely-there touch that sends a jolt through me.
Then his mouth follows, kissing the spot like it’s holy. His voice is low when he speaks again, vibrating against my skin.
“You are mine, Ivy. Only mine.”
When his tongue finally glides over my clit, I believe him.
I believe everything.
“Maksim,” I groan, my voice raw, broken open around the edges. My hands twist into the sheets on either side of me, anchoring me to something, anything, while the rest of me feels like I’m being swept under.
But he shows me no mercy.
He devours me like I’m his last meal, like he’s been starving for this—for me—since the moment we were ripped apart.
His mouth is relentless, tongue flicking and curling, dragging pleasure from me with every calculated stroke.
The heat of him, the weight of him between my thighs, the way he groans softly every time I tremble is all too much and not nearly enough at the same time.
He licks and sucks and explores, marking me with every motion, branding me with every moan he drags from my lips. I can’t think, I can’t breathe. My entire world narrows to the flick of his tongue and the wet heat of his mouth and the molten burn starting to coil low in my belly.
His hands keep me pinned, one splayed firm against my hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh as my hips jerk beneath him, trying to chase more, more.
I want to drown in him, want to lose myself in the rhythm he creates with that wicked mouth of his but he keeps control, always just on the edge, making me wait.
His tongue circles around my clit again, teasing me with slow, deliberate strokes before pulling away. My back arches, a strangled sound escapes my throat.
“Maksim, please,” I pant again, my voice trembling with need.
He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even flinch. His grip tightens on my thigh when I try to rise against him again, pinning me down like a man who owns me.
I whimper, half-sobbing now, my hands flying from the sheets to grip his hair, desperate to guide him exactly where I need him.
He chuckles against my skin, a low, wicked sound that vibrates through my core. Finally, he lifts his head, mouth shiny and flushed with my arousal, his eyes dark are glittering with satisfaction as he presses a kiss to the soft curve of my stomach.
“I am just as eager to have you too, Milaya,” he murmurs, his breath hot on my skin.
And then he rises up over me, dragging his body along mine. I swear I feel every inch of him, every promise in the way he presses his mouth to mine like he’s sealing our fate.
I kiss him back with everything I have, tasting myself on his tongue and wanting more.
My hand slips between us, seeking out the heat of him where it presses flush against my stomach. His length is already thick and hard, the tip slick with want. I wrap my fingers around him, glide my thumb along the swollen head, circling with slow, purposeful strokes.
He growls into my mouth, the sound vibrating against my lips. His teeth catch on my lower lip, biting down just enough to sting and pull a whimper from me.
But I don’t stop.
I push my hand lower, fingers wrapping around the base of him, and stroke upward in long, tight pulls.
His hips respond before he does, instinct driving him to thrust into the cradle of my palm.
He grinds into my hand, sliding the length of himself along the space between our bodies, slick skin dragging against mine in a motion that has my breath catching in my throat.
My core throbs at the rhythm, the pressure, the delicious torment of what I don’t have yet.
What I need.
He breathes my name against my mouth like a curse, like a prayer. “Ivy…”
Suddenly, he pulls back.
One hand grips my thigh, shoving it farther apart as he settles between my legs again. His body presses flush against mine, chest to chest, and then I feel it—the heavy weight of him lining up against my entrance, his hips shifting until the thick head of him nudges at my folds.
A gasp tears from my throat. My hand flies up to his back, nails digging into the muscle there to anchor myself before I shatter.
Then he pushes in. The stretch is slow, almost unbearable. It’s been so long since I’ve had this.
My head snaps back against the pillow, a deep groan escaping me as he drives into me inch by inch. My walls flutter, tightening around him, drawing him deeper until there’s nowhere left for him to go, until I feel every last inch of him inside me, thick and pulsing and perfect.
He curses softly in Russian, the sound hoarse under his breath. His hips jerk slightly, his cock twitching inside me hard enough to make my hips rise to meet him.
I’m panting now, clutching at his shoulders, my thighs trembling on either side of him.
He pulls back just enough to make me feel the loss before plunging back in again, his rhythm deep and measured, determined to savor this. To take me apart piece by piece. Each thrust sends heat coiling low in my belly, my body stretching to accommodate the force of him.
The sound of our bodies meeting, the slick slide of skin on skin, fills the room with something carnal and raw.
My mouth finds his again, needy and uncoordinated. He swallows my moans, kisses me like he’s drowning and I’m the only thing keeping him alive.
He keeps moving, slow and devastatingly deep, every thrust is a promise and a possession.
Carving his name into every inch of me, branding me from the inside out until there’s no space within me that isn’t his.
My breath catches—no, stumbles—on a sob of pleasure as he rocks forward again, his hips grinding down to make sure I feel him to the hilt.
And I do. God, I do. I’m already teetering, and it only takes one more thrust, just one angled perfectly for everything to break.
My climax slams into me with brutal force, stealing the air from my lungs and the thoughts from my mind.
My back bows off the bed, my cry punching straight from my chest as the orgasm tears through me like wildfire. My body spasms beneath him, walls clenching down hard around his cock in wave after relentless wave. I can feel the wetness rush between my thighs, slick and obscene as it coats him.
He doesn’t stop or slow down.
He keeps driving into me, steady and unyielding, he’s chasing his own high through the wreckage of mine. His grip on my thighs tightens, holding me wide and open, completely exposed beneath him as he thrusts again, harder now.
He’s not just fucking me. He’s claiming me.
With every grind of his hips, every low growl that leaves his throat, every time he angles just right and hits that place deep inside me that makes my vision blur, he’s filling me up, making sure I’ll never forget what it feels like to be taken by him like this.
There’s nothing else. No world outside this bed. No war. No pain. No fear.
Only Maksim and the frantic thud of our heartbeats colliding in the space between our bodies.
Only the sound of his breath going ragged as he buries his face in the crook of my neck and grinds into me one last time, deeper than ever, like he’s trying to push past bone and muscle in order to melt into me completely.
“Zvezda moya,” he rasps into my ear, voice fraying at the edges. “Moya zvezda… You feel so fucking good. You always have.”
I cling to him, nails dragging down his back as I pull him closer, needing more even though I’m already unraveling all over again.
His entire body jolts when his orgasm hits.
A raw, guttural groan tears from his chest as he plunges deep one final time and stays there, rooted inside me like he can’t bear to pull out. I feel him pulse, feel the heat of him spilling into me, thick and possessive.
His breath is ragged against my neck. His hips twitch with the aftershocks, small involuntary thrusts that grind the oversensitive head of his cock deeper against my sore walls.
A whimper escapes me, but I don’t pull away.
I can’t. I’m too drunk on the closeness, on the feel of him collapsing into me.
When he lifts his head again, his hands find my face. He cups my jaw, treating me like I’m some breakable precious thing. He stares at me for a long moment like he’s trying to make sure I’m really here beneath him, really there.
“Moya zvezda, moya zhizn’,” he whispers against my lips.
We lie tangled, bodies fused, the silence between us thick with something that feels like surrender and maybe something dangerously close to love again.