I can feel my own end approaching, a tightening in my balls, a heat coiling up my spine. But I want her to go first. I want to watch her break.
I change my angle, thrusting upwards, hitting a spot that makes her entire body seize. Her scream is different—higher, sharper. Her hands claw at the sheets. I keep hitting it, over and over, a relentless, precise battering.
"Irina," I command. "Look in the mirror. Watch yourself come for me."
Her eyes, hazy and unfocused, drag themselves to the mirror. She watches as her face transforms, her mouth open in a silent cry, her eyes wide with shock. Her body starts to shake, her thighs quivering. Her cunt begins to convulse around my cock, a rapid, rhythmic clenching that feels like a thousand tiny mouths sucking me.
She comes.
It’s a fucking eruption as her back arches violently. A guttural, raw noise tears from her throat. Her cunt floods, a new wave of wetness soaking my cock and her thighs. In the mirror, I see her eyes roll back, her features slacken with pure, unadulterated release. She collapses forward, her chest hitting the mattress, but I hold her hips up, keeping her ass in the air, keeping my cock buried deep inside her as she trembles and shakes through the aftershocks.
The sight, the feeling, the sound—it triggers my own downfall.
I pull almost all the way out, then drive back in with a final, brutal thrust. My own release boils up and erupts. I fuck into her as I come, my hips pumping, my cock spurting hot, thick jets of cum deep inside her cunt. I feel each pulse, each burst, filling the tight space I’ve been pounding. I groan, a sound so deep it feels like it comes from my bones. I don’t stop moving. I keep fucking her, pumping my come into her, until I’m spent, until my cock is soft and slipping from her swollen, used hole.
We collapse onto the mattress, a tangled heap of sweat and satisfaction. I don’t pull away. I stay there, wrapped around her, my heart slowing down to a heavy, satisfied thud. My seed is leaking from her, onto the sheets, a warm, sticky proof of what we just did.
I look at the window, the moon still hanging in the sky. The war is still out there. The betrayal is still waiting. But as I feel Irina’s hand find mine, her fingers interlocking with my own, I realize that for the first time in my life, I’m not fighting the dark.
I’m the one who owns it.
Her breathing is slow, deep. She turns her head, her lips brushing my shoulder. "Mikhail," she whispers, her voice hoarse.
"I’m here."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
IRINA
The morning light is a thin, pale gray, filtering through the heavy velvet curtains and pooling on the silk sheets. I wake up tangled in a mess of limbs and heat. For a second, I don’t know where I am, my brain still foggy with sleep. Then I feel the weight of a massive arm across my waist and the rough grazing of a tattooed chest against my back.
Oh. Right. That happened.
I try to shift, and a sharp, localized protest from my hips makes me suck in a breath. Every muscle in my lower body feels like it’s been through a high-intensity workout I didn't sign up for. My skin is sensitive, still tingling from where his hands were, and the memory of the "green" safety call makes my face heat up even in the empty room.
Great. I’m sore and I’m exhausted.
Mikhail stirs behind me. His breath is hot against the back of my neck, and his grip on my waist tightens, pulling me flush against him.
"Stop squirming," he grumbles. His voice is a low, sleep-heavy vibration that goes straight to my marrow.
"I’m not squirming. I’m trying to see if my legs still work," I mutter, even though I don't actually pull away. "I think you broke something, Mikhail."
He lifts his head, his hair a mess over his forehead. His blue eyes are surprisingly clear for someone who was out half the night starting a war. He doesn't look like the monster from the cellar right now. He looks… soft. It’s a terrifying look on him.
"Where does it hurt?" he asks. He sounds genuinely concerned, which is almost more unsettling than when he’s shouting.
"Everywhere," I say, and I'm only half-joking. "I feel like I got hit by a very annoyingly handsome, very aggressive truck."
He lets out a soft huff—a sound that’s dangerously close to a laugh.
“You think I’m handsome?”
“I’m pretty sure I said very annoyingly handsome and aggressive, that’s the only part that matters to you?” I roll my eyes resisting the urge to giggle like a little teenage girl.
“You know me so well,dorogaya.” He chuckles as he lets go of my waist and sits up, the blankets falling away to reveal the serpents and stars on his skin. He looks at me for a long beat, his eyes tracking the marks on my collarbone and the flush on my cheeks.
"Stay there," he commands.
