20. Mikhail #3
He ran his tongue down the center crease, a slow, hot stroke from the base of Kirill's spine to the very edge of his heat.
He spread the cheeks with his thumbs, exposing the tight, pale ring of his hole.
It was pulsing, terrified and eager. Mikhail licked it once, then twice, his tongue broad and wet.
Kirill involuntarily pushed his hips back, searching for the intrusion.
Mikhail delivered a sharp, heavy slap to the meat of his ass. The sound cracked through the room like a pistol shot. Kirill froze, his muscles locking in sudden shock.
“Don't move until I tell you,” Mikhail muttered.
He went back down, his tongue working over the tight muscle, lapping around the edges before pressing his tip directly inside.
Kirill’s inner walls clenched hard, a defensive reflex that Mikhail met with steady, rhythmic strokes of his tongue.
He fucked him with his mouth, in and out, until the copper-and-vanilla scent of Kirill’s arousal began to double in intensity.
The muscle began to soften, yielding to the wet heat.
Reaching beneath Kirill’s stomach, Mikhail fisted the omega’s cock. It was fully hard, throbbing against his palm like a trapped bird. He stroked it twice, his thumb smearing the thick, clear pre-come over the glans. He squeezed the head hard, checking the resistance, then began a fast, tight pump.
He felt Kirill’s hole flutter against his tongue, the internal muscles contracting in sync with the hand on his shaft. Mikhail pushed his tongue deeper, sucking the tight ring until Kirill let out a long, broken moan that ended in a sob.
Mikhail stood up. The heat coming off both of them was a physical cloud now.
He grabbed the waistband of Kirill’s discarded trousers, kicking them completely clear of his feet.
He gripped Kirill’s hip bones, his fingers digging into the flesh until he felt the bone beneath, and bit the small of his back, leaving another dark, circular mark.
Straightening, he gathered a mouthful of saliva and spat directly onto Kirill’s opening. He rubbed it in with two thick fingers, stretching the entrance until it clicked open, then grabbed his own cock. He lined the heavy head against the wet, pulsing ring.
With one heavy, unyielding thrust, he drove inside.
Kirill’s spine arched so violently his forehead nearly hit the plaster.
His inner muscles seized around Mikhail like a fist of hot velvet.
Mikhail didn't give him time to adjust; he pulled back until only the head remained, then buried himself again, hard and deep, the sound of their hips colliding echoing with a dull, wet thud.
He established a brutal, unhurried pace.
Every stroke was a full extraction and a complete bottoming out.
He pinned Kirill’s upper body to the wall with his chest, his sweat-slicked skin sliding against Kirill’s back, while his hands kept Kirill’s hips pulled back to meet every strike.
The omega’s slick was working now—a hot, greasy lubricant that turned the friction into a loud, rhythmic squelch.
Leaning over Kirill’s trembling shoulder, Mikhail reached down and fisted Kirill’s cock again, stroking it in perfect rhythm with his hips.
The fluid was overflowing, coating Mikhail’s fingers in a hot, slippery slime.
He felt Kirill’s scrotum draw up tight against his thigh; he felt the internal flutter that signaled the crest.
“Mikhail... Mikhail?—”
Mikhail didn't answer with words; he drove harder, his hips snapping forward until the impact blurred. Kirill came with a strangled shout, his cock pulsing thick, hot jets against Mikhail’s hand, his internal walls clamping down in a series of violent, electric spasms that nearly dragged Mikhail over the edge.
Mikhail felt the surge in his own groin. He pulled out completely with a loud, wet pop, turned Kirill around by his shoulder, and shoved him down.
Kirill sank to his knees without resistance, his eyes glassy, his mouth parting automatically.
Mikhail fisted his own length, stroked it twice, and came.
The heavy, musky white ropes hit Kirill’s face, smearing across his cheek, his chin, and his nose.
Kirill didn't blink; he simply licked his lips, tasting the bitter, zinc-heavy flavor of the Alpha’s release.
Mikhail tangled his fingers in Kirill’s damp hair, pulling his head up.
He used his thumb to wipe a smear of semen from Kirill’s cheek, then licked his own thumb clean, savoring the bitter-sweet mix of their fluids.
He leaned down, his tongue collecting the stray drops from Kirill’s chin, before sealing their mouths in a wet, heavy kiss that tasted entirely of his own seed.
He broke the contact, his green eyes boring into Kirill’s wide, vacant pupils. He gave a single, sharp nod toward the dark hallway.
Kirill rose on unsteady legs, turned, and walked into the bedroom.
The bedroom was cooler, smelling of fresh sheets and cold glass.
Mikhail followed him, shedding his shirt and trousers in the dark, his bare feet silent on the rug.
Kirill was already on the mattress, settled on his hands and knees in the center of the bed, his head hanging low, his spine a long, pale ridge of vertebrae.
Mikhail picked up the heavy bottle of silicone lubricant from the nightstand.
The fluid was cold as he poured a generous pool into his palm, the chemical scent faint but clean.
He coated his shaft until it glistened, then reached between Kirill’s thighs, his fingers slicking the omega’s bruised, open passage until the entrance was swimming in the wetness.
He knelt behind him, his knees sinking into the mattress, and lined up. He pushed in slowly, the silicone easing the friction, allowing him to slide all the way to the root without resistance.
He reached beneath Kirill's stomach, his hand locking around Kirill’s cock, which was already hardening again under the influence of the ambient Alpha pheromones filling the small room.
He began a long, deep, deliberate stroke.
In and out. The sheets beneath Kirill's knees began to bunch and rustle with the movement.
Mikhail watched the way Kirill's body took him—the smooth, hot slide of skin, the way the omega's internal heat seemed to vacuum him inward with every deep thrust. He kept the pace steady, heavy, and unyielding. He felt the omega’s cock leak again, the fluid pooling in his fist, while the internal walls began to flutter in that rhythmic, desperate preamble to the second release.
He thrust through the spasms, his hips driving hard until Kirill’s body began to twitch. Kirill came again, a long, hot stream that coated Mikhail’s hand and the linen beneath them. His internal walls clamped like a iron ring around Mikhail's shaft.
That was the trigger. Mikhail felt the sudden, violent surge at the base of his cock. The knot was waking up.
He didn't slow down; he accelerated, his hips slamming into Kirill’s backside with a frantic, heavy rhythm.
The sound of their bodies colliding was loud, wet, and continuous.
He drove deep, his own release rising like an engine revving past its limit, and then he came.
A thick, burning flood of seed filled Kirill’s core, and immediately behind it, the base of his cock began to expand.