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His grip in my hair loosens, and he pulls my head up, my nose lifting away from where it was pressed against his pubes. “Good girl,” he grunts.

Heat washes over me at the praise, goosebumps erupting all over my skin. His hips roll into a gentle thrust, and somehow he swells even thicker in my mouth. I moan in shock, and the vibration seems to tear a rough, ragged curse from his lips.

“Fuck it, I need to be inside you,” he growls, grabbing my shoulders and pushing me back. I release him with a loud, wet pop, strings of saliva stretching between my lips and the head of his cock. His eyes catch on them, darkening. It’s like a switch toggles inside him.

His hands slide to my upper arms, then haul me up the bed. I go willingly, heart thundering, bikini bottoms clinging to me from how drenched I am. In one fluid move, he flips me onto my belly, and I gasp as more wetness drips out of me.

My cheek presses into the sheets, my ass lifted high as he yanks my bikini bottoms aside, twisting the fabric tightly to expose me. Then two fingers sink deep into my pussy, and we both groan. The stretch is delicious, his thick fingers curling right against my walls as he pumps in and out.

“Fuck, you’re drenched, milaya. You’re ready for me.”

I moan in response, pushing back onto his hand, clit pulsing with need.

He withdraws his fingers, lines up his cock at my entrance, and thrusts in hard, burying himself to the hilt.

Our groans blend, my walls clamping down greedily around his full length. Given how frantic he was to get inside me, I expect him to start rutting into me, but he doesn’t. He fucks me languidly instead. Long, deep drags in and out that have me speaking in tongues, every roll of his hips rubbing his balls against my clit until my entire body trembles.

Gradually, he lowers himself over me, his chest molding to my back, our sweat-slick skin sticking together in a way that feels achingly intimate. His hands cover mine before turning them over, lacing our fingers together and pinning them to the mattress as his hips roll in lazy circles, cock dragging through every inch of my soaked pussy.

The intimacy crashes into me all at once—the connection of our bodies, his weight, his breath hot on my neck. All the love I feel for him surges through me in one terrifying wave, so huge it squeezes the air from my lungs. I’ve never felt this raw, this owned.

I can’t hold it in anymore.

“Fuck, I love you. I love you, I love you.” The confession spills out on the crest of my orgasm as pleasure tears through me, my core spasming violently around his cock, milking him while my thighs shake uncontrollably.

He growls my name, and his cock swells even thicker inside me, stretching my walls to their limit. His steady rhythm shatters into hard, erratic thrusts, each one slamming deeper than the last. “Yes, milaya. Moyo… lyubov moyo,” he groans, the Russian words sounding hoarse and completely unraveled.

I don’t know what he’s saying, but it speaks somewhere deep inside me anyway. My walls tighten further around him, and his words become incoherent. Then he buries himself to the hilt and stills. His cock pulses, and he’s coming, flooding me, spurt after spurt painting my insides as he shudders over me.

My heart is thudding hard and fast, my breath coming just as quickly. Did I really confess my love to him?

I moan, my pussy contracting, temporarily distracting me as he pulls out.

My cheeks burn as he runs an appreciative hand over my ass. Then he heaves himself off the bed and disappears into the bathroom.

I lift my head enough to watch him go. A second later, the faucet turns on. He reappears shortly after with a damp towel in one hand and a dry one in the other.

There’s a spring in his step I haven’t seen before, and when he smiles at me, the sight tugs at my heartstrings.

God, he’s too handsome for his own good.

He kneels behind me on the bed and runs the cool towel up my legs. I shiver as the chill spreads across my overheated skin.

“Sorry, milaya, I need to get you cleaned up, but I don’t want you to lose my scent on your skin, so no shower or bath for you.”

It’s crazy talk, but it fills me with more warmth than I know what to do with.

After tossing the damp towel aside, he dries me with the second one before discarding that as well. Then he climbs back onto the bed and opens an arm for me without saying a word.

I go happily, wrapping my limbs around him as I bury my face in his chest, breathing in the familiar musk of his skin mixed with the lingering scent of us.

His fingers sink into my hair, slowly massaging my scalp, and I sigh contentedly, eyes drifting shut, forgetting he didn’t return my confession of love.

We lie there in comfortable silence, and little by little exhaustion catches up to me. I’m already dozing off when he speaks. The words are so muffled through my drowsiness that I can’t make heads or tails of them.

“Hmm?” I mumble, lifting my head from his chest.

“Have dinner with me tomorrow,” he repeats.