He stands, lifting me with him as if I weigh nothing. My back hits the cold marble of the vanity, and bottles clatter to the floor. The sound is distant, irrelevant. I lock my legs around his waist, my core grinding against the hard ridge of his cock still confined in his trousers. A wet patch blooms on my leggings.
He tears at the elastic waistband, his movements frantic. I help, shimmying, kicking the fabric away until I’m bare. He doesn’t bother with his clothes, just fumbles with his belt, the zipper tearing down. His hardness springs free.
I drink in the sight of it. Thick, ruddy, and already leaking a bead of clear fluid from its broad, flushed head. A light dusting of dark hair leads from his navel to the base. It’s a weapon. It’s perfect.
“Look at me,” he commands, his voice sandpaper rough.
I force my eyes open. He’s a beautiful ruin, blood smeared across his jaw, a fresh bruise purpling his temple, his eyes black with intent.
“Tell me you’re mine,” he growls, pinning my wrists to the marble.
“I’m yours,” I sob, the truth and the lie tangling on my tongue. “Mikhail,please.”
He enters me in one powerful, driving thrust that sheathes him inside me to the root. My cry echoes off the tiles, my head knocking back against the mirror. The stretch is immediate, a delicious, burning fullness that steals my air. He’s so deep, I feel him in my throat.
“Yours,” he grunts, and he’s already moving.
His pace is punishing, a relentless piston of his hips that slams my body against the hard surface. Each withdrawal is a tease, each slam home a jolt of pure sensation. My breasts bounce with the force, my nipples scraping against his blood-stained shirt. I can feel every cut on his knuckles, every contusion on his torso, branding me as his.
“You like it rough, don’t you, Princess?” he pants against my ear, his breath hot.
“Yes,” I gasp, my vision speckling. “Fuck me. Just like that.”
He pulls out suddenly, the cold air a shock on my wet flesh. Before I can protest, his hands are on my thighs, flipping me over with brutal efficiency. My palms slap against the cold marble, my ass in the air. He spreads my cheeks wide with his hands, and I know he’s looking. Looking at my pussy, swollen and glistening for him, at the tight, hidden furl between.
“Such a pretty, greedy cunt,” he murmurs, and the approval in his voice makes me clench around nothing. “Begging for it.”
His hand comes down on my ass cheek once, twice—sharp, stinging smacks that ignite a fire under my skin. I yelp, pushing back against his hand, wanting more.
“More, Mikhail. Please… please, please.”
He gives me another, harder, and then I feel the blunt, hot pressure of his cockhead against my soaked entrance. He pushes in, but slowly this time, an excruciating, inch-by-inch invasion that makes me whimper. He watches himself disappear into me, his grip on my hips iron-tight.
“I’m going to fuck you,dorogaya,” he promises, his voice low and deadly. “Until all you know is me in your pussy.”
He starts to move again, a deep, rolling rhythm that hits a spot inside me that makes my toes curl. I’m moaning, a continuous, ragged sound I can’t control. My juices coat his length, the wet, filthy sounds of our joining filling the room.
“I’m gonna come,” I choke out. “Mikhail, I’m gonna?—”
“No,” he snarls. He stops, buried deep, and grinds his hips in a slow, cruel circle. “Not until I say. You take what I give you.”
He pulls almost all the way out, making me groan in loss, then slams back in, picking up a brutal, fast pace. My arms shake,struggling to hold me up. The pleasure is a coiled spring in my gut, wound too tight.
“Please, let me come. I need to come,” I beg, my hands clawing blindly at the smooth marble as tears of sheer frustration track through the sweat on my face.
His hand snakes around my hip, his thumb finding my clit and grinding down hard in tight, punishing circles, sending a massive wave of heat straight to my gut. I scream, my hips lifting to meet the friction, but just as the tension tightens to a breaking point—he stops.
He completely pulls his thumb away, his hips locking deep inside me.
"Mikhail, no!" I sob, a desperate, ruined sound echoing off the tiles. "Don't do this, please."
"Look at you," he growls in my ear, his breath scorching my skin as he slaps my right ass cheek again, the sharp sting triggering a fresh gush of wetness. "Begging a butcher for a break. You’re nothing but a greedy, desperate little addict for my hands, aren't you, Princess? Say it."
"Yes," I choke out, completely unraveled by the void he left behind. "Yes, I am."
"Good. You don't get a single thing until I say so," he murmurs, and then he picks up a brutal, snapping pace from behind, hiscock ramming into me to rebuild the fire while keeping his thumb completely out of reach. I’m losing my mind, my body shaking so badly my arms can barely support my weight. Just as I’m hovering on that agonizing, broken edge for the third time, his hand returns, his fingers burying hard into my center as his thumb presses firm, merciless circles against my clit.
“Now,” he barks, a rough, dominant command. "Take it."
