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How could he expect her to concentrate with his fingers so close to her panties? She squeezed her thighs together, partly to deter him, partly to make the pulsing stop. He nudged them back apart, then let his hand creep further up so his knuckles brushed against her privates.
She moaned.
The nasty man traced a fingertip up and down the seam of her sex, pushing the thin fabric of her panties between the folds. He found the pulsing bud nestled in between and rubbed there with a teasing lightness that made her pant.
Varushka gripped the seat hard, tipping her hips toward his touches. The skirt she wore had slid up to her hips, but she didn’t care. She strained against the seat belt, feeling trapped in a way that made her hotter. She tried to get his fingers to press harder, but he kept teasing until his every gentle touch was like an electric shock buzzing through her suffering body.
“Konstantin! Please!” she begged.
“Sir,” he growled. “If you want me to give you what you nee
d, you will call me Sir.”
“Please, Sir,” she panted. “Stop.”
He pulled his hand away. “Stop?”
Did she truly want him to stop? Her chest heaved and she squirmed on the seat, so taken by desperation that she was more than willing to beg for his touch. No wonder unmarried girls spread their legs for men when they could take control of a girl’s body and make it so horribly needy. Earlier, at his house, she’d wanted to lie with him. She thought she’d regained control, but here again she was ready to let him do anything.
Boys in Nasva were never expected to remain untouched until marriage, yet girls were. Why did all of the hard decisions land on the girls? But Konstantin wasn’t a village boy. He was an American who lived by American rules. He hadn’t seemed to think less of her after they’d fooled around at his house. There was no one here reminding her to be good. No one anywhere could expect her to resist such a man forever. It wasn’t fair.
The touches he’d stopped still tingled along the sensitive parts of her, and her soaked panties were still wedged up between her folds, pressing against her center of pleasure, making it throb and cry out to her for attention. How could his gentle touches cause so much pain yet so much pleasure?
“Tell me what made you needy and I’ll make you feel good.”
She whimpered. “Okay. The spanking.”
“Good girl. What else?”
“The . . . the hair.”
“Hair pulling?”
She gulped, then nodded. Oh god. She was going to orgasm again. In his car! Her body squirmed in the seat. His hand moved back between her legs and she ground against it. To her mortification, she couldn’t stop herself. It was as though he had some magic power over her, over her body. It was like he owned her.
“Bozhe moi,” she mumbled, then cursed incoherently under her breath.
He pulled the car over on the side of the road. His hand slipped inside the waistband of her panties and slid slowly downward, as though he was giving her time to object. Forget objecting, mentally she was screaming at him to hurry. He tugged the fabric of her panties out of her slit, almost triggering her orgasm just with that.
The car was loud with her gasping breaths, and Konstantin’s own irregular breathing made it seem like he suffered along with her. Without the flimsy cloth between them his every touch was amplified, making her twitch and wriggle. She squealed at the feeling of his finger brushing lightly over her defenseless bud. With both hands she gripped his arm, not to stop or encourage him, only to keep herself from panic.
“You’re so wet, little one,” he said, sliding a finger up and down her cleft until her body parted for him. For a moment he toyed at her entrance, but he didn’t broach her. She wasn’t sure she would have stopped him if he’d tried. “You’re so ready. I wish I could finger fuck you, but I should probably wait.”
Instead of scaring her, his words just wound the knot in her lower belly tighter. If he tried, the man could probably make her orgasm with words alone.
She whimpered, the sound pitiful even to her own ears. Konstantin kissed her forehead as his other hand circled the back of her neck and held her in place, like he was afraid she’d run away.
“Are you a bad girl, Varushka? Are you going to come all over my fingers?”
Her muscles froze. A white glare blinded her, and time seemed to stop into one moment—his hand restraining her, the other pinching painfully at her sensitive nub, his growled encouragements in her ear.
“That’s right, baby girl. You show me how hard you can come.”
The orgasm seized her, the torturous pleasure tearing a shriek from her throat as her body rippled and contracted. His fingers were hurting yet still the orgasm came, as though the pain made it burn brighter and hotter. Konstantin’s gaze held hers, like he owned every shudder and gasp he coaxed from her body.
Sweating, slick and exhausted, she relaxed back against the seat. He kissed her and she responded to him weakly. When he drew his fingers away from her heat she almost whined a protest, not ready for it to be finished. He straightened behind the wheel, and watched her, his gaze avid, as he licked her wetness from his fingertips.
An orgasm aftershock trembled through her, and he stroked her cheek as she weathered it.
