I can suck or lick.
Or… bite.
I can taunt and tease or soothe and savor.
And every time his hips rock has an answering nudge in my core sparking to life.
When he mumbles words that aren’t Russian or English, my brows lift and I punish him with a soft nip to that tiny, sensitive strip of flesh on the underside.
Eyes snapping open, he hisses but pre-cum spurts from the tip like I took him down the back of my throat. Seeing how it riled him up, I don’t do it again, but I take him into my mouth and I suck. Hard. Lashing that tender area with my tongue, urging him into finding release.
When he snarls my name and then sandwiches it with more words that I don’t understand, I yelp when his hands cup my cheeks and he dislodges my mouth so that cum splatters my collarbone and neck but goes nowhere near my lips.
I growl while his heavy, panting breaths echo around the silent room, and then, absently massaging his cum into my skin, he says something that sounds like, “Es tevi milu.”
“Spoilsport.”
“Set a date.”
I leer, “Was I that good at it?”
His eyes lock on mine and the expression in them belies the curve of his lips. “Very impressive.” His thumb comes to the corner of my mouth, and I feel him smooth over my bottom lip. “Beautiful.”
His other hand strokes over my head as I press my face into his hip to hide my expression. Shy. What a great time to turn timid.
“What language were you speaking?”
“Latgalian.”
I pop up to gape at him. “Latvia?”
“My grandmother was Latvian. She moved to Moscow after the war.”
“And she taught you the language?”
“Said it reminded her of home, and she refused to speak to me in Russian after school.”
I cackle. “Hardcore.”
A smile dances on his lips. “She’d have liked you. She predicted that too many girls would let me get away with murder because I had a pretty face.”
“She had faith in you. You might have been a pretty kid, but you could have turned into a monster as a teenager.”
“Like Seamus?” he jeers, but it’s lighthearted.
I still slap his abs before I turn my face into them. It’s not super comfortable, but I like the connection. As well as how he falls silent while he pets my hair.
Then, he ruins it.
“I have to go,kotik.”
“No,” I moan. “Stay longer.”
“Need to get back to the city and you have classes.”
“I could skip?—”
“No. I won’t be the reason you cut school.”
