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“You. Inside me. Now.”

“You are sure?”

“I’m so sure it’s insane.”

He found a condom, and his hands were shaking so badly that he tore the first foil packet in half and swore in Russian. I laughed so hard that he started laughing too, helplessly, with his forehead against my thigh, and we lay there giggling like idiots over a crushed square of foil, two grown men, one of them eleven hundred years old. It was the happiest I have ever been in my life, and it did nothing at all to cool me down. I wrapped my hand around my cock and stroked myself slowly while he tried again, and his eyes tracked every movement of my fist.

“Do not,” he said, “do that while I am trying to concentrate.”

“Hurry up, then.”

The second condom worked. He rolled it down over his cock with a shaking hand and slicked himself with a generous palm of lube, and I watched him stroke himself, long and slow, and my whole body clenched with want. He knelt between my thighs and lifted my legs over his forearms, and he guided the head of his cock to my ass and pressed it against the slick, stretched ring of muscle. His eyes found mine.

“Look at me,” he said.

I looked.

“If it hurts—”

“I’ll tell you.”

“If it is too much—”

“I’ll tell you. Maksim.” I cupped his jaw. “Fuck me.”

He pushed in slowly, and the thick head of his cock breached me and stretched me wide and burned, and I dug my heels into the quilt and breathed through my teeth. He stopped. He held perfectly still with his arms trembling and a fine sheen on his temples that I knew he did not produce, and he did not move for a long time.

“Talk to me,” he said.

“It’s a lot. God, you’re so big.”

“Shall I stop?”

“Don’t you dare. Just give me a second.”

“I will give you a hundred.”

He waited, and I breathed, and the burn ebbed and heat rose behind it. I felt myself soften around him, and I pushed back against him, and he slid deeper by another inch, and then another, until I felt his hips settle against the backs of my thighs and knew that he was all the way inside me. I had never felt so full. I could feel his cock throbbing inside me, hot and hard and impossibly deep, and I groaned.

“Okay,” I whispered. “Move.”

He pulled out slowly, almost all the way, and pushed back in, and I gasped. He did it again, and again, rocking into me in a long, slow, deliberate rhythm, with his eyes fixed on my face. Every time he pulled back, I wanted him back, and every time he sank in I felt him fill me completely, hot and thick, until I was clutching his shoulders and moaning with every stroke.

“You feel incredible,” he breathed. “So tight. So hot. Lex, you are perfect.”

“Harder,” I begged. “I won’t break.”

“Not yet.”

“Please.”

“Not the first time.” His voice was strained. “But I will give you this.”

He shifted my hips, tilting them up and wrapping my legs high around his waist, and he thrust into me again at a new angle, and the head of his cock dragged right over that spot inside me. I cried out and my whole body lit up. My ass clenched around him, and he groaned deep in his chest and said a word in Russian that I’m fairly sure was filthy. He did it again. And again. He fucked me in long, deep, relentless strokes that hit me just right every time, until I was sobbing his name and my cock was leaking all over my stomach.

“Touch me,” I gasped. “Please, touch me, I’m so close.”

His hand closed around my cock, and he stroked me hard and fast in time with his thrusts, his thumb sliding over the slick head, and I felt the pleasure gather low in my spine like a coiled spring. The old bed creaked. The sound of skin against skin filled the room, wet and obscene, with our ragged breathing and my broken cries. His eyes had gone red, and I could see the tips of his fangs, and he looked wild and beautiful and barely in control.