Chapter 13 #2
I couldn’t speak. My hands roamed over his back, his arms, his neck. I wanted to feel all of him, drown in him. His cock dragged against every nerve ending, lighting me up from the inside.
Then he angled his hips just right, and the friction hit something deep—something devastating. I cried out.
“There?” he asked, breath harsh.
“Yes. Oh God, yes.”
He thrust again, harder now, giving me more. My cries turned into moans, my moans into something shameless. I’d never been taken like this. Never felt this kind of pleasure. My virgin body writhed under his, soaking in the rhythm.
I clawed at his shoulders. He didn’t stop. Didn’t let up.
“I was planning to take my time with you,” he murmured, almost amused. “You’re not making that easy.”
He rolled his hips in a slow, grinding motion, drawing circles inside me with every inch. He kissed me, deep and hungry, then pulled back just enough to look at me. His eyes were fire. I could barely hold his gaze.
He shifted again, pulling me closer. His thrusts were deeper now—slower, but devastating. My whole body trembled.
His hand slid between us and found my clit, rubbing in tight circles that made my hips jerk. “Give it to me, Malaya,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “That sweet little cry you make when you come. I fucking need it.”
His pace quickened. My thighs clenched, body twisting, eyes rolling back. My orgasm built like fire licking up my spine. I couldn’t hold it. I started crying—literal tears spilling as I begged him with broken, breathless whimpers. “Please… please, Maksym… don’t stop, please—”
My legs snapped shut around his waist, locking him in place. My thighs clenched around him, trembling, and I came with a scream.
“Fuck,” he growled. “That’s it. That’s my good girl.”
He kept thrusting through it, pushing me past the edge, holding my body like I was something sacred and filthy all at once. I felt him pulse inside me, the tension in his body spiraling, tightening, like a wave waiting to crash.
In that moment, lost in the heat and high of it all, I wanted to feel his cum inside me.
I wanted it more than I wanted to breathe.
I wouldn’t have minded carrying his child.
Hell, I would’ve carried an army for him—born every last one of his sons if it meant he’d stay inside me just a little longer.
I was delirious, drenched in pleasure so deep that I would’ve let him do anything.
Then suddenly, he pulled out—swift, practiced—and with a low groan, came in thick, hot spurts across my stomach. His body jerked above mine, muscles taut, breath ragged. I watched him through half-lidded eyes, dazed, trembling, completely undone.
He looked down at me, chest heaving, and dragged the back of his hand over his mouth. “Fuck.”
His cum glistened on my skin, warm and sticky. I didn’t care. I was floating.
He rose, padded quietly into the bathroom, and came back with a towel.
With surprising care, he wiped me off, his touch gentle, almost tender.
Then he tossed the towel aside and collapsed beside me, breath still unsteady.
Instead of keeping his distance, he slid his arm beneath me and pulled me into him—my bare chest pressing against his, my head settling above the steady thrum of his heart.
We lay like that for a long, silent moment, suspended between exhaustion and something that felt like peace.
Then, in a low, husky voice, he said, “I can’t kill him, Kira. But touching you? That’s off-limits. For him. For anyone.”
The words were simple. But from Maksym, they were a vow.
My chest tightened. I looked up at him, kissed him slow, sweet, like a thank-you I couldn’t put into words.
He kissed me back, lips still rough but somehow reverent.
He exhaled against my forehead. “How do you feel?”
I smiled. “I don’t even know my name right now. I just know I’ve never felt this good—and that every muscle in my body is officially useless.”
He whispered near my ear. “Tell me again how you’re not a porcelain doll. I barely even fucked you properly.”
“I swear, if I had an ounce of energy left, I’d climb you again,” I murmured, voice soft with exhaustion, the words slurring with sleep as my limbs melted against him.
He pulled me tighter against him, hand brushing up and down my spine in slow, lazy strokes. His touch was gentle, but his tone still all Maksym. “Rest up, Malaya. I’ll drag your wrecked little body to school later.”
My body was too blissed out to argue. I closed my eyes against the warmth of his chest, listening to his heartbeat as my lashes fluttered shut.
Wrapped in his arms, I let sleep take me.
Ididn’t know how long I’d been out before I heard his voice.
“Kira. Malaya. Time to wake up.”
His palm slid gently along my thigh, followed by a light squeeze.
I stirred, groggy, heavy-limbed, blinking as the memory of what had happened washed over me in waves. The soreness between my legs, the heat still humming under my skin—it all came rushing back. So did the ache in my chest. But it wasn’t pain. It was… want. A delicious, overwhelming afterglow.
“Academia awaits, princess. We both know you’re not going to hear a word your professor says, but let’s get you there anyway,” he said teasing.
I stretched with a quiet groan. “Screw the lecture. I’ve already been thoroughly educated.”
He chuckled. “Come on, clothes are dry. Up you go.”
The sweatpants and hoodie he’d given me earlier were folded on the chair.
I changed, still sore in that good, aching way that made every movement feel like a secret reminder.
By the time I joined him by the door, he was already dressed in black jeans, a tight gray tee and a leather jacket, keys in hand.
There was no winning with that man—clothed or naked, he made it impossible to think straight.
He drove fast but smooth. One hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on my thigh, his thumb moving in slow, possessive circles. The window was cracked to let in the late afternoon air, but the heat between us lingered.
He was the one who broke the silence. “Next time I’m at the estate,” he said casually, eyes still on the road, “I’ll make sure to sneak in and see you.”
My stomach flipped instantly, stupid butterflies erupting in my chest, but I refused to let him see it that easily.
“And what makes you think I’ll want to see you?” I asked lightly.
A low chuckle escaped him.
“You were the one who pushed me,” he said.
“And now that I’ve tasted you…” For a second he turned his head, shooting me a slow, knowing smirk, his tongue dragging briefly across his lower lip before his eyes returned to the road.
Then he added more quietly, “you’ll see just how far I’m willing to go to get what I want. So good luck trying to keep me away.”
God. That was hot.
Which was ridiculous, because the truth was he didn’t have to sneak anywhere or fight for anything. I was already his. Completely, hopelessly, embarrassingly his. The man could sit on his ass and do nothing and I’d still crawl back to him.
Still… I wouldn’t mind seeing him sweat a little.
We pulled up to the corner near campus and the car rolled to a stop.
“Well,” I said with a playful smirk, reaching for the door handle, “it was nice doing business with you.”
“Malaya, shut up,” he muttered.
Before I could turn the handle, his hand slid to the back of my neck drawing me in with deliberate control.
His mouth met mine in a deep, unhurried kiss that stole the breath from my lungs.
It started slow, almost teasing, his lips soft yet commanding as they moved against mine.
Then the kiss deepened, his tongue sliding languidly into my mouth, stroking mine with slow, sensual strokes that sent liquid heat pooling low in my belly.
He kissed me like he had all the time in the world and every intention of savoring me—sucking gently on my lower lip, tilting his head to take me deeper, his thumb brushing the sensitive spot just below my ear.
God… and this man is afraid of breaking me?
I was still trying to catch my breath when I turned toward the door.
“Wait,” he said. “Give me your phone.”
I blinked at him. “Why?”
He took it, tapped quickly, then handed it back. “My number. Save it under some boring name, obviously.”
I stared down at the number he’d added and saved it as “Katya”.
He looked serious now. “If you ever need me, any time, day or night—you call. Understood?”
His eyes held mine for a beat longer than necessary—steady, unreadable, the kind of look that promised consequences for anyone who made that call necessary.
My throat tightened. I nodded.
Imade it through the last class of the day on autopilot. My body felt different. My mind couldn’t focus. All I could think about was his mouth, his hands, the way he felt inside me.
I wasn’t a virgin anymore.
That thought wouldn’t leave me alone. Louder than the professor’s lecture, louder than the scraping of pens, louder than my own heartbeat. I hadn’t just had sex. I’d given it to him—him—not to some fumbling boy chasing release, but to someone who made me feel everything.
I kept shifting in my seat, still sore, still dizzy with it.
Like my entire body had been rewired. Everything felt more sensitive, more awake—like he’d flicked on a switch inside me I didn’t know existed.
I could still feel the stretch of him, the way he filled me, the burn and the pleasure colliding so violently I didn’t know where one ended and the other began.
I didn’t even bleed. That surprised me. I’d always been told the first time hurts. That it’s awkward, messy. That you bleed. But I hadn’t. Maybe because I was so aroused. Because I wanted it. Because he actually knew what the fuck he was doing.
God, he knew what he was doing. So. Damn. Well.
The thought made me bite my lip.
I remembered Valeria once telling me about her first time—both of them drunk, fifteen, in some gross friend’s apartment with her idiot ex-boyfriend.
He’d thrown up halfway through, then tried to keep going like nothing happened.
I remember thinking it was the most disgusting thing I’d ever heard.
She’d brushed it off with a laugh, like it was some teenage badge of honor we were all meant to earn. Said that’s just how it is for girls.
Valeria never shut up about sex. Her hookups, her one-night stands, the guys who treated foreplay like a favor and climax like a finish line.
She used to roll her eyes and tell me that most men didn’t give a damn if the girl got off.
They’d get what they came for, pull out, and pass out like they’d done something noble.
“They don’t care if you come,” she’d say, “They care if you scream loud enough to boost their ego.”
But I was with Maksym and he wasn’t like any of those men.
That wasn’t just sex. That was something else entirely. It felt like he’d crossed a line with me, and I’d crossed one right back. Every kiss, every thrust, every time he whispered my name against my neck—it was like he was rewriting everything I thought I knew.
He didn’t tear me apart, even though I would’ve let him.
Instead, he was gentle—achingly so. I don’t think he even realized how patient he was, how much tenderness bled through his touch.
He doesn’t see himself the way I do. He wears confidence like a mask, brute strength like a warning sign, but underneath, he’s so damn hard on himself.
I kept thinking—I want to know him. All of him.
Every scar, every secret, every shadow. I only hoped he would let me.
By the time class ended, I was still dazed, glowing, and completely ruined—in the best way.
And I had to go back home like nothing happened.