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Despite that, when he gathers me against his side and begins murmuring sweet nothings, I again experience that unusual sense of peace, the one I’ve known only in his arms. My eyes drift shut, a floating sensation coming over me as he strokes and pets me, raining light, soothing kisses over my face and neck, massaging away the aches and bruises from his rough handling. Eventually, my disjointed thoughts coalesce into something coherent, and I force open my eyelids to find his mesmerizing eyes peering into mine, the gold-hued amber of his irises streaked with the darkest green.
“Zaychik…” His voice is soft, his expression hard to read as he curves his large palm over my cheek. “I didn’t use a condom.”
For a moment, the words don’t make sense to me. Then, with a jolt of adrenaline, I become aware of a warm wetness between my legs and on my thighs.
A lot of wetness. Way more than I’ve ever felt.
My heartbeat spikes, the floaty feeling disappearing. Pulling back sharply, I sit up. “What do you mean? I’m not on anything. I ran out of pills weeks ago. I thought—I thought you always wore a condom.” I dart a glance at the thick white liquid on my naked thighs, trying not to panic as I frantically count the days.
When was my period? Was it this week or last week? Why haven’t I bothered to keep track? I know it’s been several days since I’ve stopped bleeding, but maybe—
“I do.” Nikolai sits up as well, the powerful muscles in his chest and arm flexing as he rakes his hand through his hair, mussing the black locks further. “At least I always have until today.”
I finally recall when my period started: early last week, almost twelve days ago. Last Monday was when I had to ask Alina for supplies.
I’m roughly in the middle of my cycle.
I must look as panicked as I feel because Nikolai tilts his head, regarding me with that same indecipherable expression. “The timing is just right, isn’t it? Or more precisely, wrong?”
I nod, my hand instinctively moving to my stomach. “Why—” I stop to steady my shaking voice. “Why didn’t you use a condom?”
The enigmatic gleam in his eyes deepens as he moves toward me. “Why don’t we get cleaned up and then talk more?”
I must still be in shock because I don’t voice any objections as he scoops me up and carries me to the bathroom. Instead, I let him take care of me in the shower the way he’d done when I was hurt. His touch is again gentle, soothing and tender, even as his cock grows harder with each stroke of his callus-roughened hands over my wet, naked body.
By the time he’s done washing away the evidence of our mistake, he’s fully erect, and his hands are moving over me with growing intent, cupping my breasts and playing with my nipples, venturing between my thighs to find my clit. It should be too much, too soon, but my body responds as if it hasn’t just survived a cataclysmic upheaval of its senses, as if the savage fucking that’s left me so overwhelmed had been nothing but a preview of the main event.
My breathing picks up, a tension gathering low in my stomach as his lips slant over mine in a deep, searching kiss, then venture over to my ear, my neck, my shoulder. Panting, I clutch at his shoulders as he wraps my wet hair around his fist and arches me backward over his powerfully muscled arm, lifting my breasts toward him like a sacrificial offering. His broad back shields me from the water spray as he bends over me, latching on to one nipple, then another, the hot, powerful suction of his mouth sending tugs of sensation straight down to my core, heightening my growing arousal.
Still, I’m sore inside, way too sore to feel pleasure as two of his fingers push into me, forcing apart the swollen, tender tissues. That is, until those fingers curve inside me, finding a spot that makes sparks detonate behind my closed eyelids and taking me over the edge so swiftly I can barely gasp out his name.
The spasms are still rippling through my body when he releases my nipple with a wet pop and guides me down to my knees while still shielding me from the shower spray with his body. Dazedly, I blink up at him, only to realize what he wants as he slaps the hard, massive column of his cock against my cheek, then drags the tip over to my mouth.
On instinct, I brace my hands on his muscled thighs and part my lips, taking him in as far as he’ll go. I’ve given blow jobs before, but this feels different, nothing like those casual, playful times with my ex-boyfriends. I’m not in control—he is—and there’s nothing playful in the merciless way he fucks my mouth. His hands grip my skull, holding me still for his deep, slow thrusts, and it’s all I can do not to gag as he goes farther down my throat with each stroke.
