61. Bite me for Christmas
SIXTY-ONE
BITE ME FOR CHRISTMAS
Her teeth sinking into my forearm was this morning’s alarm.
“Maxim.”
I sigh.
“Maxim!”
My head rocks on the pillow.
“Maxim.”
Those sharp little teeth bite my delt and her fingers scope the detailed oskal that takes up the bulk of my spine.
“MAXIM!”
“Jesus Christ, Victoria, what?!”
“Oh, you’re awake!”
My eyes pop open, just in time to see her smug smile. “You, kotik, are a menace.”
She shrieks when I roll her over, tumbling and binding her arms in the miles of fabric she insists upon for our bedding.
Her yelps turn into laughter when I press my face to her throat and suck on her pulse point.
“It’s Christmas morning.”
“And?”
“It’s CHRISTMAS!”
“What about it?”
“Presents.”
“No presents,” I chide. “Only presents for people who don’t wake me up.”
“Your friend woke me up on Thanksgiving. It’s only fair that I share the love today of all days…
PRESENTS.” She wiggles beneath me. And just as I figure my brat of a wife is going to wriggle out and away to the pile of gifts in the living room underneath that godawful tree she picked out—one that’s bright pink and has a glowing silver star atop it—her legs splay beneath me and she bucks her hips.
“Presents,” she breathes, extra gustily.
My brow lifts.
“Finally, he gets it!”
I smirk at her eye roll then nip her earlobe, which has her melting beneath me.
The faint tremor that shimmies over her skin has me smiling to myself as I mutter, “Presents.”
“Yesssss,” she moans when I maneuver between her thighs.
Just a couple minutes of her squirming had my morning wood turning into an erection, but the fact her silk teddy has twisted under her, making her lower half bare to me while her arms are still bound by the duvet, has my hard-on shifting from “in need of dealing with” to “orgasm required. Stat.”
I’d be surprised by her slickness if I hadn’t figured out she’s quick to warm up but harder to keep heated.
My dick rocks over the silk of her, allowing me to revel in her warmth, in the juices that flow freely for me.
Her pout makes a reappearance when I don’t instantly devour her but lean over to the nightstand. Rolling her head on her silk pillow, she watches as I retrieve a small box.
When I lever up, she whines as my dick rubs over her clit. “First gift, then second.” I punctuate that with another rock of my hips.
Licking her lips, she fights free of the duvet—shame—snags the box, and pops it open. “Ohhh, I love them! More ladybugs! My fave!”
“They’re custom-made.” I pause as she squeals and slips one from the velvet insert. “They have a tracker in them.”
Her squeal dies. Her eyes round. And she gapes at me.
A flood of slick coats my cock.
Of course she’s sending me mixed signals. Would she be my wife if she didn’t?
“Does my korovka like the idea of me always knowing where she is?”
Her throat bobs and she releases the sexiest whine I’ve ever heard in my goddamn life.
“Put them in for me, kotik,” I rasp. “Let me see them on you.”
She obeys. Unusually quickly for my brat.
I brush my lips over her earlobe then whisper, “I’ll always know where you are. Always be able to find you. Nobody, no fucking Veronian, will ever keep you from me.”
A whimper escapes her. “Max.”
Because my wife’s a biter, I feel zero guilt in grazing her neck with my teeth before sinking in, just enough for her to release a guttural groan.
Humming, I retreat only so that I can stare down at her.
Eyes at half-mast, hiding gluttonously thick pupils…
she’d be my version of a siren even without one slender strap slipping down her shoulder.
Her tits are only visible from underneath the bedding because they’re so perky.
Hair’s a mass of tumbled waves that curl around her throat, twining about her curves, highlighting them to perfection.
“Mine,” I rasp.
Contentment lights up her face. “Yours.”
Of course, she writhes beneath me, sliding more of her juices over my dick, enticing me from below.
“You know what you are?”
“Your princess,” she half-purrs.
“No. You top from the bottom. Or try to.”
“I just want to kiss you. To thank you.”
I ignore her to free myself from the mass of Egyptian cotton with ease, but I flip up the comforter to reveal her calves and thighs to my gaze.
“Maxim, let me loose!”
“When I tell you not to pile the bed high with throws, you’ll listen in the future, won’t you?”
Victoria pouts but quickly bites that sulky bottom lip as I stroke my fingers over the curves of her calves and along the sleek length of her thighs.
“Look at that pretty pussy.” I tut. “Already wet for me, kotik?”
“The promise of you and your stellar gift-giving skills.”
Though I chuckle, I press a biting kiss to the inside of her knee. Ignoring her cry, I let my tongue smooth higher, dipping into the soft curves and swells of the strong muscles that let her twirl around that pole like she’s a professional.
All these weeks later, the sight of her on there, my wife, fascinates me.
My dick hardens just at the memory of two nights ago, when I watched her practice and she gave me a private lap dance.
As much as I want to put her on a shelf, pristine and pretty, Victoria wants more than for me to be her collector.
She wants a husband.
I lathe an open-mouthed kiss to her inner thigh, enjoying her shiver.
God, she’s so responsive.
I didn’t realize how much I needed that in a partner until her.
She doesn’t just want me. She shows me. Every minute we’re together.
Nipping her to put her on edge, I quickly dive into her apex and let my tongue hover over her clit.
She moans, hips immediately rocking forward and back as she falls into my kiss.
“That’s what you meant,” she says on a sigh.
I look up and notice her eyes are closed, but the satisfied smile she’s wearing fills me with need only she can satiate.
I’m a murderer.
To many, I’m evil…
Just not to her.
Never to my korovka.
As I suckle her clit between my pursed lips, she moans as I tip her legs wider so I can settle closer. Her quiet breathing gradually speeds up, her soft whimpers morphing into more urgent moans. Those moans switch into mewls then, subsequently, into keening cries that I’ll never tire of hearing.
I thrust my tongue into her cunt, tasting her wetness, her need for me. I nip one of her pussy lips just to make her pout again, then I sink in for the long haul.
Every time she gets close to her orgasm, I veer off course. My mouth lays open kisses on her outer labia, slipping and sliding through her juices, collecting them to savor her taste.
Eventually, my mouth and chin are drenched in her and she’s back to struggling against the bindings. The desperate sounds she’s releasing fill me with an urgency that I have to fight.
Fuck, I love her like this.
Starving for something only I can give her.
“Maxim,” she sobs.
I tsk against her clit, letting the sound vibrate the sensitive nub, which has her wailing my name this time.
She doesn’t know what I’m waiting for…
A single click.
The severing of my name into two whimpered, broken syllables that are my favorite type of music.
I lash her clit over and over, until I know her sensitivity makes her weep.
Then, she gives it to me.
“Mak—seeeeeem.”
My lips tug on the hypersensitized nub, and I suck hard and fast until her ass bucks up and off the bed. Her thighs take her into a modified bridge and she rides my face, fucking my tongue like it’s my dick.
She screams when the orgasm hits.
Her legs clamp around me, keeping me in place, holding me fast so that I can’t stop. Won’t stop.
But I have no desire to.
She fucks my mouth until she ekes every drop of pleasure out of me.
Her muscles turn to goop as she splats into the mattress. I surge high, shove the covers out of the way, settle my cock against her slit, and rock home.
She’s so wet, it’s insane.
Her inner muscles twitch and spasm like they’re in overload, but she’s also relaxed so I slide in with ease.
A deep moan escapes her when I hit home, and her sleepy eyes catch mine before they drift over my face. The moment she recognizes the juices on my chin as being hers, a smug smile creases her lips.
Then, she whispers, “Fuck me, dorogoy. Fill me with your cum. I need it. I need you.”
My nostrils flare at the provocation, but I’m not one to back down from a challenge.
I fuck her.
Giving her what she asked for.
Claiming what we both need.
Over and over until she’s screaming, her body quivering, those tremors soaring over her limbs as she bursts around me. Her pussy’s so tight, she nearly pushes me out. When I thrust back in, it’s like she snaps—every muscle growing taut as I fuck her through her orgasm.
I growl her name as release finds me too, resting my forehead against hers as I strain and explode and implode all at the same time.
Then, just as I sag into her, I feel the soft swell of her tongue smoothing over my lips.
“My curious kitten,” I boast as she tastes herself.
She hums.
Twisting us back over, I encourage her to remain on top of me.
She doesn’t take the new position as a chance to climb out of bed, simply nestles against me in a space that was made for her.
I tuck her close. Both exhausted and exhilarated until one of our phones buzzes.
She hisses a curse in French, I think, then grabs my phone from the nightstand.
“Not you,” she babbles.
“Oh. Thank God for that. But… that means it’s you.”
“Oops. So it does.”
Victoria props her chin on my chest as she checks out the message, then she cuddles under my raised arm and turns the screen to face me.
It’s an article from one of the biggest sports news networks in the country—PSN.
Head Coach of Oakwood College Hockey Team Fired Amid Drug Scandal
BY MACK FINNEGAN
Despite a strong start to the season, the Oakwood Dukes have begun to falter, but not, it seems, under pressure.
The recent poor performances of some of their star players may have an explanation—today, Marc Ridley, the Dukes’ head coach, was fired amid a drug scandal that only came to light after a series of bizarre social media posts regarding Derek Dyers, 21, a Dukes’ defenseman, caught public interest.