She fucking chose me.
I plow into her mouth, diving deep, never wanting to come up for air as I thrust my tongue against hers. She fights back. Never giving me quarter. Never allowing me to rest on my laurels.
And if this kiss doesn’t sum her up perfectly, I don’t know what does.
Her hands release their hold on my head, but they shift so her nails can dig into my back. I hiss into her mouth as she scrapes me up, leaving marks. Hard enough for me to know she’s purposely doing it. That there’ll be welts there in the morning.
I groan at the thought and pin her to the shower stall door. She hitches her leg against my hip and I hold it there, wanting her dependent on me for balance. She tips her pelvis forward then back, over and over, rubbing against me.
Her pussy is slick and slippery as she slides over me, seeking her pleasure, hunting it down so she can claim it for herself.
When she tenses, her teeth catch my bottom lip and she bites down, tugging on it as she finds her release.
The pain sends life through my nerve endings. The jolt a reminder that this is what it feels like to live, not just to survive or to eke out an existence. To thrive.
Blood washes through my mouth. The bitter tang of iron has her eyes popping open and I realize she’s surprised to taste it.
She doesn’t back off, though.
Anxiety doesn’t flair in her eyes.
If anything, she reaches up, presses her thumb to hold my lip down, then swipes her tongue over the wounds she made. Lapping the beads of blood like the kitten I call her.
Shuddering, I give her more of my weight. Looming over her. Letting her feel the size difference between us. Allowing her to see what she does to me.
Eventually, she releases a satisfied hum. Then she presses a soft kiss to my lips. “Time for bed?”
“Time for bed,” I agree gruffly.
Once I’m sure she’s standing on her own two feet and won’t fall, I pull back, then groan when she snags a hold of my dick and shapes it with another satisfied hum.
I need to hear that hum at least three times a day until I die.
With the water switched off, she squeaks as I haul her into me and sweep her off her feet.
“I’m wet!” she squeals with a happy laugh.
My, “Not wet enough,” earns me a soft slap of her hand against my shoulder.
But that smile… it’s back.
Blyad.
As I pad into the bedroom, I gently lower her to the mattress.
She’s prettier than a picture. Hell, prettier than any dream I had of her finally being mine.
Her cheeks blush and a soft wave of pink crests her chest and the upper slopes of her breasts as I grab my cock and begin to stroke it.
“Show me you want me,kotik.”
Her lips part, but with a soft and happy hum that tells me she thought the night was over, she parts her legs. Her fingers trickle along her stomach, smoothing down her hip and to that soft space between.
With her gaze locked on my hand, she drifts farther down then stills when she finds her clit. A shaky sigh escapes her, and I can tell she’s still riding the wave from her previous orgasm and that she’s sensitive. Still, it encourages her to relax.
She slumps into the soft pillows and begins to strum her clit. I take note, needing to ensure that I hit the right spots when I touch her. A cry keens from her as she finds a rhythm, and then her other hand decides to join in—by circling her slit then thrusting two fingers inside.
A shudder wracks her spine. This entire thing is without artifice. It’s genuine. Purely Victoria. Every sensitive spot, she exploits until her moans and cries morph into one.
