22. Kirill #2
Mikhail’s mouth was a furnace against his hypersensitive flesh.
Every stroke and flick of that rough tongue over his slick sent waves of electric pressure pulsing straight to Kirill’s lower stomach.
He was writhing helplessly, the coarse wool of the blankets scratching against his bare shoulders, his own breath coming in short, desperate gasps.
He arched his spine, pushing his hips harder against Mikhail’s mouth, begging for the intrusion without words.
Mikhail let out a gravelly groan that vibrated directly through Kirill’s pelvic bone as his tongue moved faster, relentless and heavy.
Kirill cried out, his fingernails digging frantically into the thick, dark hair of Mikhail’s scalp as his body tightened into a knot around the Alpha’s tongue.
He was close, agonizingly close to a blind release, and then?—
Mikhail pushed a thick finger inside him.
The sudden, blunt invasion made Kirill’s breath catch hard in his throat.
His internal smooth muscles clenched violently around the digit, swallowing it down into a wet, high-pressure sleeve.
Mikhail didn't hesitate; he began thrusting the finger in and out with a slow, mechanical regularity, his tongue still licking and sucking at the overflowing slick outside.
The sheer volume of sensation was overwhelming, hovering on the exact threshold of pain and ecstasy.
Kirill could feel his own fluids dripping steadily down his perineum, soaking the sheets beneath him in a hot, sticky pool.
Mikhail’s other hand slid up his chest, thick fingers wrapping securely around Kirill’s neck, pinning his throat with just enough pressure to make the biological submission absolute.
Kirill shuddered, the taste of his own copper-sweet scent filling his nostrils as the internal pressure built to a frantic thrum.
His walls were stretching, yielding, being systematically broken down and prepared for what was coming.
Then, Mikhail added a second finger.
Kirill’s head snapped back against the mattress, a high, broken keen tearing from his lips. The internal stretch doubled instantly, forcing his passage wide open. Mikhail’s fingers drove deeper, crooking upward with deliberate, agonizing precision until?—
He found Kirill’s prostate.
A blinding, white-hot jolt of lightning shot through Kirill’s spine.
He screamed aloud, his hands clutching at Mikhail’s hair as his entire body went rigid.
Mikhail’s fingers were relentless, thrusting deep, stretching him wider, while his mouth worked in quick, desperate suctions against his clit, lapping up the overflow.
Kirill’s vision fractured into bursts of static behind his eyelids.
His lower body was trembling in violent, electric spasms, his internal walls helplessly squeezing the fingers as his first orgasm built to a catastrophic peak. And then?—
He was there. He came with a fractured, gasping cry, his body arching off the bed in a wild reflex as his release spent itself blindly between his own stomach and Mikhail’s chest.
The relief was momentary. Before the spasms of his release could even fade, Mikhail pulled his fingers out of Kirill’s body with a wet, heavy schlick, leaving him feeling suddenly, agonizingly empty and aching for a deeper weight.
Kirill’s internal muscles pulsed around nothing, a desperate, hollow twitching.
Through his heavy eyelids, he saw Mikhail shift above him, a massive, dark silhouette in the shadows.
He felt the blunt, monstrous head of Mikhail’s cock press against his weeping entrance. Mikhail’s heavy palms locked onto his hip bones like iron clamps. Then, with a slow, unyielding forward drive, Mikhail pushed inside.
Kirill gasped, his fingers dragging uselessly across Mikhail’s sweat-slicked shoulders as he felt his body being systematically split open.
The sheer thickness of the Alpha’s length was staggering, stretching his walls until they burned with a delicious, terrifying pressure.
Mikhail groaned, a low, guttural sound that rattled his ribs, and began to thrust in earnest.
Every long, deliberate stroke buried him to the root.
Kirill could feel every single ridge of the Alpha’s shaft dragging over his internal nerves, touching deep, hidden boundaries that sent sparks of raw pleasure directly to his brain.
Mikhail’s hands tightened on his hips, his pace turning savage, his hips snapping forward with enough momentum to slide Kirill’s body against the sheets.
Kirill cried out, his voice already hoarse, his hands clutching at Mikhail’s forearms as the secondary friction began to build.
Mikhail’s thrusts were relentless, a single-minded, mechanical driving that left Kirill completely unable to catch his breath.
His own slick was flowing freely now, a hot, greasy lubricant that made every entrance and exit echo with a loud, wet squelch.
Mikhail’s hand slid up his torso, thick fingers wrapping around his throat once more, his thumb pressing into the pulse point, forcing Kirill to look up into those blown-out, dark green eyes.
The pace turned brutal, the bedframe groaning and shaking violently beneath them with every heavy blow.
Kirill’s head thudded rhythmically against the pillows, his hair damp with sweat.
He was losing his grip on reality, his internal walls clenching like iron rings around Mikhail’s cock as the pleasure overwhelmed his analytical mind.
Mikhail groaned, a deep, animalistic roar, as he chased his own release, his hips driving faster, harder.
Inside Kirill’s core, the base of the Alpha’s cock began to alter its architecture.
Kirill could feel the tissue swelling, hardening into a massive, rigid bulb that stretched his opening past its absolute limit. And then?—
The knot locked them together.
Mikhail gave a final, desperate drive and froze, his body going completely rigid as he came inside him.
Kirill felt the massive, pulsing torrents of the Alpha’s release filling his core—thick, boiling-hot, and endless.
Kirill shuddered, his limbs trembling in violent sympathy as his own body came again from the sheer pressure of the knot.
Mikhail’s hand tightened in his hair, his breathing harsh, ragged, and heavy against Kirill’s ear as he held his full, crushing weight down on the omega.
They stayed like that for what felt like hours, fused together by biology.
Kirill lay beneath him, pinned flat, feeling the heavy, rhythmic throb of Mikhail’s swollen knot deep inside his womb.
The room smelled suffocatingly of them—a dense, humid haze of copper, vanilla, and raw musk.
Slowly, the intense heat began to cool. The bulb inside him began to soften, its circumference shrinking until Mikhail’s length finally slipped free with a heavy, wet sigh.
Mikhail rolled to the side, his arm remaining locked over Kirill’s waist. Kirill could feel the sticky chill of their combined releases drying on his inner thighs, his body sated in a way he hadn’t experienced in years.
He closed his eyes, sinking into the dark.
Hours later, the peace broke. Kirill woke with a sudden, gasping shock to the feeling of Mikhail’s body looming over him once more, the Alpha’s cock already hard, slicked with old fluid, and pushing deep into his resting passage.
Kirill gasped, his hands clutching blindly at Mikhail’s brawny forearms as the slow, deliberate strokes began again.
His heat had returned with a vengeance, a sudden, spiking fever that turned his blood to liquid fire.
He wrapped his legs tightly around Mikhail’s heavy hips, pulling him closer, demanding the friction.
Mikhail’s hands slid into his hair, tilting his head back sharply to seal their mouths in a wet, bruising kiss.
His tongue slid inside in a rhythmic, heavy mimicry of the driving motion below.
Kirill kissed him back with a feral fervor, his tongue tangling with Mikhail’s, tasting the bitter zinc of old come and the iron of his own bitten lip.
The tension inside his lower stomach was building again with terrifying speed.
Mikhail’s hand tightened in his hair, pulling him flush against his chest as his pace accelerated, his hips snapping forward with enough violent force to make the heavy wooden bed tremble against the floorboards.
Kirill broke the kiss, a ragged gasp tearing from his throat as the internal pressure reached a breaking point.
His walls were clamping down like a vise around the driving shaft. He was close—so close—and then?—
The entire night dissolved into a fragmented fever dream.
The primal urge to mate, to be claimed, came over him again and again until his analytical mind stopped functioning entirely.
There was no past, no future, no contract; there was only the spartan room, the cold air, and the colossal weight of the Alpha.
Mikhail was there every time the fever spiked, his body responding to Kirill’s biological cues with a single-minded, terrifying intensity.
They moved in a continuous loop of violence and pleasure—Mikhail driving deep into his wet heat, the knot swelling and locking them together for twenty minutes at a time, until Kirill lost all track of how many times his body had collapsed into spasms.
His skin was completely slick with sweat and fluids, his scent gland at his neck bleeding a heavy, sweet vanilla that hung thick in the stagnant air.
Mikhail’s hands were hard, leaving dark, fingerprint bruises on his hips and throat, holding him down as he claimed him over and over.
Kirill clung to him like a drowning man, his body trembling with the aftershocks of multiple releases, entirely consumed by the man who was rewriting his biology.