One hand wrapped around the back of my neck, holding me carefully but firmly. His nose rubbed along my cheek. “Tell me. Tell me, pretty goalie.”
“I don’t…I don’t know.” But I did. I absolutely fucking knew. “Kiss me. Touch me. Just?—”
I didn’t need to finish begging. His arms came around me, yanking me tight against him. My cock dragged over his stomach as he used his jaw to turn my head, and then his lips were on mine.
He tasted sweet too—and maybe a little minty. I searched for even a hint of alcohol, but there was nothing as his tongue dragged along mine.
And that was when I lost myself to him. Heat rushed through me, and my cock throbbed harder, my back bowing slightly as I thrust up against him. He grunted, then took me by the hip with one hand and began to bounce me on his stiff dick.
“Yes. Like watching you feel good,” he grunted. “You want, I give.” And then he lost English, which was fine.
I had no idea what he was saying, but it didn’t matter. His tone spoke volumes. He was hot, horny, as desperate as I was. He dragged me into another kiss as his hand plunged down between us, frantically ripping at the button on my jeans.
It gave with a pop, and his thick fingers rammed the zipper down before searching and finding exactly what he was looking for. My cock was small—it always had been.
It always would be.
And it fit into his palm like it was made for Vanya’s grip and nothing else. He stroked me hard and fast, the car filled with a heavy fapping sound as he all but yanked my orgasm straight out of me.
“Vanya, Vanya, Van—uhg fuckfuck,” I hissed. My entire body trembled, and then I was shooting all over his stomach. Heat surrounded me as I gasped into his neck, my lips searching and eventually finding his.
He kissed me through the aftershocks as he rocked his hips up into me, his cock still hard, still throbbing, probably aching. I rubbed my ass down against him, and he groaned.
“Want to come on you, pretty goalie.”
“Yeah. Please,” I begged him in a ragged whisper. I shoved my face into his neck, mouthing at his pulse as he lifted me off him, pulling his dick out from his pants and setting it between us.
He lowered me down again, taking me by both ass cheeks, and he began to rock me against him. My teeth sank into his shoulder, biting as he thrust up against my skin, getting off on my body, making me feel like a fucking god with how much I turned him on.
I was sure, in that moment, I had never felt anything like it.
Maybe I was dead. Maybe Hunter had killed me in the club, and this was my heaven.
Or my hell.
I couldn’t be sure.
And then he swore in Russian, right up against my ear, and I felt him let go. My shirt had rucked up, and he spilled right against my lower stomach, his come hot and wet, thick ropes splattering across the wiry hair I’d managed to grow.
He groaned, then took his big hand and turned my chin, taking my mouth in a filthy, deep, overwhelming kiss.
“Micah,” he murmured as he pulled his tongue from my mouth.
My forehead knocked against his, and I took a breath and waited. Surely it was going to come: the shame. The panic. The fear.
The black void of the unknown threatening to swallow me.
The terror that I’d given him a power I swore I’d never give another person ever again.
Except all that was left was his mouth, stealing little pecking kisses and pressing them into my jaw. His hands had softened on me, drawing his nonsense lines over my overheated skin.
And then he was rocking me again, that gentle soothing motion that I could have lost myself in for a literal eternity.
That was what scared me the most. That’s what had me pulling back and frantically tucking myself away.
“I need to go.”
“Yes,” he murmured. “Curfew.”
