Chapter 23 #4
She has no idea how the voices purr at hearing this wonderful detail.
“But you were going to let him touch you again,” I say with cold calm, dragging my index finger over her core.
“Maybe you’ve heard of the wedding night,” she says between little gasps.
The contrast is beautiful, between the white surrounding her and my black gloves, just like the rest of my outfit.
“If by some stroke of bad luck you had made it that far, I guarantee I would have cut his throat while his head was right here.”
I lick her center and enjoy her moan, savoring the sweet wetness I already find there.
“Then I would have let his blood spray all over your cunt. What a beautiful image that would have been afterward, while I fucked your pussy smeared with that bastard’s blood.”
“Oh my God...”
A sigh shaded with pleasure and horror slips between her parted lips, and I begin to lick and drink from her greedily. My tongue plays with her clit, circling it, then dipping inside her several times.
She grips my hair harder with her fingers, and I embrace the pain.
It’s nothing compared to the agony I experienced through these past ten days, and now it makes me feel alive again.
Like she is real and no longer just a hallucination created by my broken mind.
A dream I chased through every moment of the short sleep I barely had when she wasn’t beside me.
I pull away from her core, but keep touching her with one finger, sliding it slowly into her cunt. The leather of my glove grows wet immediately and sinks deeper.
She sighs loudly, and her chest rises and falls faster, in the same rhythm as mine.
God, I don’t know how I resist tearing into her like a savage...
Her skin reddens as I increase the rhythm, and when I slide another finger inside and start moving them even faster in her extremely wet pussy, her body begins to tremble.
“You asked me if I’d lost my mind,” I tell her, while with my other hand I tug at the corset of her dress and release her breasts, squeezing them in my palm. “I assure you, any normal thought I might have had left went straight to hell the moment you walked away from me.”
I move my fingers fast and deep, while one nipple falls prey to my hungry game.
“Fuck, Artem!” she screams my name when her core tightens around the glove, and her body is seized by a wave of convulsions, fed by the orgasm that makes her explode.
She is magnificent. And she is mine. My bride, stained with the blood of our enemies.
I feel my cock on the verge of exploding from the image of her alone, like this, in her bloodstained wedding dress, with her wet pussy gleaming in the sunlight that has just broken through the clouds.
If this is not an almost poetic sign that she was meant to be mine, then I will never set foot in a church again.
Like a man who has suddenly discovered faith
– at least for the moment – and understands the blessing of this union, I unzip my trousers, free my cock, and thrust deep into her.
This time, her gasp sounds more like a scream. She is so tight from the orgasm that I feel as though I might tear inside her if I move. But I do. She could cut me open with a blade right now, and I would bleed happily knowing I was inside her.
I bend down and press my lips to hers while I move my hips and drive into her harder and harder.
She returns the kiss with a need that throws me even closer to my own orgasm. No restraint, only longing and desire meant to mark me for life. The perfect kiss.
“Zhena moya19,” I tell her possessively.
My wife.
I push harder, but I calculate every motion so I can hit that spot that immediately sends her toward another orgasm. And after she comes, I still don’t stop.
“Moya!” I roar and catch one of her breasts in my mouth, sucking it, licking it, ruining her hardened nipple with my lips.
19жена моя (ru.) – my wife
I bite her, but not enough to satisfy the voice that demands I give it blood. I promised myself I would never make her bleed again. But I said nothing about painfully pleasurable orgasms.
Her third climax comes even stronger, gripping my cock with a force that makes me feel as though I will remain trapped inside her.
And I do remain there, because her orgasm provokes my own, and in the next instant, we both come in a symphony of wild sounds of release.
I feel the hot spurts spill into her womb, preparing it for the day Ekaterina will carry my child.
I press my mouth to her swollen lips again, her lipstick smudged around them, as though I want her to feel every thought and emotion inside me without my saying a word. Especially the fact that she has made me see life completely differently.
Before Katya, I loved Death and Bratva, and power was all that mattered for my future, especially if it was gained by destroying those who stood in my way.
But now, Ekaterina has made me dream of something entirely different.
Not of other people’s blood on my hands, but of a future beside the woman without whom I cannot breathe properly.
Preferably, in the near future, with a small child in my arms too.
Most likely, with his eyes in different shades.
Hanna Lee