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He shifts, placing his shirt on the floor. At that angle, I have a chance to glimpse his back. Not all of it, just enough to see there’s a church engraved in his flesh.
He catches me staring and asks. “What’s wrong?”
“Your tattoos.” Sitting up on the desk, I reach out to brush the star on his left shoulder. “Let me see them.”
“All of them?”
There’s an undercurrent of danger in his voice. A wicked promise that seeing all of them will require more clothing to be stripped away. At my slight nod, he unclips his belt. My knees squeeze together from the sound of it sliding from the loops. Watching me closely, he unzips his pants. They’re pushed down his hips, exposing black briefs that barely contain his massive erection.
His thighs are thick with muscle. I could use his obliques for handlebars. The paths around his abdominals are deep enough to fill with water without losing a drop. Where does a man who does so much scheming find the time to work out? Is he naturally built like this?
Arsen steps backward to give me the full picture. I see stars on his knees that match his shoulders. He twists, showing the rugged expanse of his back. I was right: it’s a church inscribed over his shoulder blades and spine. It’s lovely, but above it is the terrifying image of a spider.
“Ulyana told me about the tattoos in the Bratva,” I say. Inching off the desk, I approach him. He remains where he is, watching me over his shoulder. My hand touches one of the stars. “What do these all mean?”
He hesitates. “I don’t want to ruin the mood.”
“You won’t.” I feel all the muscles in his arm flex under my palm. My pussy clenches in response. No, nothing he says can ruin this. I’m sure of it.
Arsen points to the spider first. “This signifies that I’m an active criminal.”
That’s not a shocker. “And the church?”
One by one, he taps the many spires on the building. He has to stretch his other arm over his neck to reach them all. “The number of charges I’ve collected throughout my life. So far.” Facing me, Arsen flips his arms over to show me his forearms. The knives are detailed enough that I brush them as carefully as I would real blades. “These are proof that I’m a known killer.”
Again, I’m not shocked. My eyes dart to the prayer beads hanging off his wrist. I don’t touch them the way I do his ink.
Taking my wrists, Arsen makes me feel the star on his right and left shoulders. I hold my breath while we stand close together. He’s almost naked, and my dress doesn’t offer me any protection. Can he feel my pulse buzzing through my veins?
“The stars on my shoulders tell the world that I am the pakhan. And the stars on my knees …” In a single motion, he forces me down to my knees in front of him as his erection throbs behind the thin material of his boxers at eye level. “Tell the world that I kneel for no one.”
Positioned at his feet, I gaze up at his serious face. Arsen is bigger than any tower I’ve climbed. He is a colossus that can’t be broken or beaten down. I’ve always been strong and never thought of myself as the type to ever want to be in such a position—like a supplicant begging for alms—before a man. Musk hangs thick in the air as his cock pulses, tempting me closer. Wet heat grows between my legs. And when I catch Arsen’s eyes, I know that his gaze is reserved only for me.
And just like that, my resolve crumbles away.
“I don’t mind kneeling for you,” I whisper. I tug at my hands, and he releases them. “I actually really like it.”
Reaching up, I trace my nails over his pelvis, across the top elastic of his boxers. His cock twitches in response through the tight material. He moans, and the sound crashes down toward me like an avalanche. My fingers slip beneath his underwear, tugging it out of the way to release his cock.
It juts out at me, red and angry like a weapon, with enough spring that it bounces into the air and arches proudly toward the ceiling. The tip is decorated with a pearly drop of precum, and my mouth waters at the thought of swallowing him whole.
He whispers something in Russian, something so quiet that I can’t hear. But I don’t need to hear the words to know what he’s talking about.
Me. Me. Me.
His anticipation makes my arousal skyrocket. Gripping the base, I give the length of his shaft a slow lick. I make it to the raised underside of his cock head, then slide back down. Though I can’t get my thumb and pointer to touch when circling him, he fits comfortably in my palm.
Pumping his shaft, I watch how his ruddy tip vanishes, then appears each time I jerk him. With each slow motion over his cock, another shiny bead of pre-cum tempts me. Flattening my tongue, I curl my tongue over it with a moan, letting his salty musk fill my nose and mouth. He’s delicious. Each taste I get, I want more. Is it possible to sustain yourself on cum? For Arsen, I’d try … And that dirty thought has me rocking on my knees. Recklessly, I suck him past my lips, bobbing my head as I try to take every inch. Locks of my hair drag over his cock from the movement. I start to brush them away, but then I find a better use for my hands.
Gingerly, I cup his balls, exploring the heavy weight of them. I’ve never done anything like this, yet it feels so natural with him. Arsen brings a wild side of me to the surface. Still fisting his shaft, I stop licking his cock head and start lapping at his sac, feeling his balls hardening in response. Arsen trembles, his hands on my head.
“Don’t you fucking stop,” he whispers.
Fondling him eagerly, I kiss my way back up his length. His ample veins pulse under my touch. Imagining him forcing out spurts of cum down my throat has me gulping his whole cock as deep as I can go.
He grabs me by my elbows and yanks me to my feet. Gasping, I notice the way his pupils dilate wildly. “What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I’m not a patient man, Galina, despite what you may think.” There’s a small couch along the far wall. It’s the same black color as the ink on his body. He brings me there, sets me down, and bends over me to kiss me without delay. I don’t have time to prepare myself.
