52. I’ll drive his stick
FIFTY-TWO
I’LL DRIVE HIS STICK
“Pull in here.”
Maxim flicks a look at me but pulls onto the side of the road. “What is it, kotik? Have you changed your mind about the hockey game?”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? But no. My two best boys need time to get to know one another.”
Pure disgust flashes across his expression. Then, he grumbles, “Da, zaya.”
My hand settles on his knee. “But I give the best rewards.”
His brows lift. “Oh?”
“You have until we reach the Pond to get off,” I say breathlessly as I cup his cock through his pants.
“Kroshka—”
“Pleeease,” I wheedle.
His eyes catch mine and something he sees in my expression has a nerve twitching on his temple. He wafts a hand, though, and I quickly unzip him before he can change his mind.
This entire scenario has been giving me life throughout my boring lectures, so I don’t want Maxim sabotaging it before I get a chance to live it out for myself. I even asked Shay for tips during our run—and dragging that out of him was like asking for blood.
Setting into position, I’m immediately faced with the console and the hard plastic that digs into me.
Definitely not as good as it looks in porn. Wynter was 100% correct.
Thanking God that Maxim’s not driving stick, I manage to wet my suddenly dry mouth and send saliva pouring down my tongue so that I can swipe it around him.
He was soft at first touch, but I feel the tension in his ass and thighs as he shuffles in the driver’s seat—fidgeting? Maxim? 100 points to Victoria!
His cock is quick to harden too.
“Jesus, Victoria,” he bites out when I dip down and snag his balls.
Figuring that was more in pain than overwhelmed with pleasure, I relinquish the chokehold on the family jewels, patting them in apology because I’ll need them to work at some point, and I suck on the tip.
When a hiss escapes him, I know I’m doing it how he likes it.
My tongue shapes the different lines and rims that I learned last week—when I was only his fiancée—and that hiss and the weight of his rings on my fingers has me squirming on my seat.
Okay, I can get into this.
I press open-mouthed kisses over that pulsating vein on the underside before I trace the throbbing spider’s web of smaller roping veins, chasing his pulse, sensing it on the tip of my tongue.
His hand cups the back of my head, the weight of it heavy, the pressure tempting.
“Your mouth is sin.”
I rub my thighs together as my need for him creeps higher. I reward him with a fluttering lick of his glans, laving it with spit I allow to drip onto him.
“God, zaya. How the fuck did I let you convince me to do this?” The words are bracketed by a loud groan. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Concentrate.”
Delighted by his response to my less than practiced abilities, I suck like he’s a popsicle I want to suffocate on.
“That’s it,” he seethes as his hips buck higher. Once. “Fucking take me. Yeah. Like that.”
Settling his tip into the soft pocket of my cheek, I lash the middle of his shaft, slurping up the saliva that wants to fall out of my mouth, and inadvertently creating pressure that has him panting. Hell, his breathing is louder than the music we have playing!
Sheeeesh, maybe porn isn’t wrong.
Maybe this is hotter than I first thought.
“I want you to swallow around me, kotik.”
Because I can obey from time to time, I do as he asks. A rush of power shuttles through me as he groans. Long and deep. A rumble that rattles my bones.
Confidence hits me next.
Knowing he likes this, that I’m doing it right, loosens me up.
I bob my head, moving faster than’s comfortable, but it’s worth it to hear him utter guttural curses in Latgalian.
My eyes water as pre-cum slides into my mouth, trickling in a way that almost makes me choke. The taste of him’s saltier than I expected yet… oddly satisfying too.
I know why he denied me the other week.
He made sure that he didn’t come in my mouth…
Well, not this time.
Lights flood the car upon our approach to the arena. Urgent now, wanting this as much as he does, hell, more, as this was my main reason for making the offer, I hum around his cock, moving faster, my own selfish urge to taste him overtaking all else.
The hand on my nape bunches with tension as he drives with just the one. “Victoria, I’m going to come.”
He pulls at my hair, trying to dislodge my hold, but I refuse and tighten my grip on his balls again.
I want this, dammit.
I plotted for this!
He hisses again as I refuse to back off. If anything, I suck harder, faster, lathing him with my tongue, silently begging him to find his release.
I create more spit so it’ll slide around him, just so that it’s messier and hopefully hotter. I’ve seen the videos—honestly, the amount of saliva involved is borderline disturbing.
With the tip lodged as deep as I can take it, I swallow and massage his balls together, firming the rim of my lips around him as he pumps his hips into me.
The move is of his body’s volition, not his own because he snarls, “Victoria!” His fingers pull on my hair, hard enough that it stings a little but not enough to make me stop.
When cum slaloms the back of my throat, I almost, almost snort it up. But my god, the control I have over my body deserves a medal because I swallow instead.
Just.
My eyes are full-on watering, though, and his gasps of surprise and his guttural Latgalian curses cover up the fact that I’m wheezing.
When I release him, and with him panting like he just ran a marathon, I sense his glower.
Glad that it’s dark out, I smooth my finger over the corner of my mouth and hum.
Both his hands clench around the wheel as he pulls into a parking space.
“I didn’t want that for you,” he snaps when he cuts the engine.
“And I don’t want you to set me on some kind of pedestal either. I wanted to taste you. I wanted to do that for me.”
“Why?”
“Because sometimes I want you to treat me like a princess.” My cheeks flush. “And sometimes, I just want to be your—” I daren’t say “slut.” I know he’d respond badly to that. But fuck if I don’t want him to use me sometimes. “—woman.”
His shoulders sag. “Pchelka.”
“What? Was it bad?”
“No.” He rubs his eyes. “You’re perfect, so of course it was perfect too.”
A frown puckers my mouth. “So what’s the problem? I’m your wife.”
“You are.” That husky voice makes me squirm in my seat. “I’ve waited a long time for you, kotik. Just like your namesake, you’re a curious little thing.”
He turns in his seat, his dick still out. I’d laugh if he didn’t reach for me, his hand sliding around my neck as he yanks me to him and brushes his lips over mine.
“My woman,” he grates out. That hand necklace of his, combined with the declaration, has need worming through my system.
There he is.
My Maxim.
Not the shukher, the image he presents to the world of someone who’s had elocution lessons and knows not to eat asparagus with a knife and fork.
Maxim moy.
I sink into him as he pours something into that kiss. I don’t think it’s love. Well, I know it’s there. But it’s something more.
Something unique.
He thrusts his tongue against mine, tasting himself on me. A part of me figured he wouldn’t. But that he does has my arms sliding around his neck.
My inner thighs rock and squirm, my body working against me as I strive for something I’m not about to find—I definitely don’t see him fucking me in a public parking lot. He almost reneged on the car sex after we dropped off flowers at Papa’s grave last night.
The soft knock on his door disturbs us both.
Maxim quickly fastens his zipper then opens the window after he looks in the side mirror. “What?”
“Everyone’s gone in, boss.”
Ah, it’s Vlad.
“Figured you’d want to know.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” Maxim swipes a hand through his hair as his foot soldier disappears. “I want to take you home and fuck you. I do not want to watch the Dukes. I just know your little snatch is wet for me.”
His growl has me mewling. “Later.”
His jaw works. “Later.” Then, his knuckles brush my chin. “Well, zaya, are you ready for the puck to drop?”
I grin at him, but it’s forced. I want nothing more than for him to fuck me too. “I was born ready, Maxim.”
For you.
His thumb pinches my chin. “I won’t argue with that, wife.”