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His fingers worked my clit, making me wetter and sending spirals of pleasure through my entire pussy. He started to move as my body relaxed. I was still braced against the counter, but it was easier to lower my upper body to the cool marble and press my cheek against it. I felt boneless as all my strength left me. There was only the steady thrust of Kirill’s hips as he slid his long cock in and out and tweaked my clit.
I felt myself rising—my first orgasm not by my hand. It rushed over me, bursting like an over-filled balloon. I cried out as Kirill thrust harder, pounding into me. The sound of his flesh hitting mine filled the quiet room as I writhed on the counter, impaled on his cock. When he came, he pulled me up, and his hand circled my neck as his cock hammered into me. His fingers pressed into the sides of the tender column of flesh, and my breath grew thin.
“First and last,” he repeated in my ear as his warm seed blossomed inside me.
Well, there went everything I’d learned about protection in the heat of the moment. I had the implant, something I’d saved up for in advance, not because I thought I would get busy at any point, but because I’d seen first-hand how difficult it was to deal with an unwanted pregnancy. It had happened to several girls at the Blue Rabbit, and it was a difficult lesson to forget.
It reminded me that I didn’t know when my implant needed changing—not that I had the money. Besides pregnancy, there was the threat of disease. But at that moment, I didn’t care. I trusted Kirill like I’d trusted him as a teenager. The lonely misfit and the jaded little rich girl. My only friend.
Kirill came inside me, and I embraced every drop.He continued to thrust until he had emptied himself and my willing body accepted all of his spend. When he pulled out, it was on a rush of white, and he stepped back as it dripped down my legs.
I turned, shaken and awkward now that the heat of the moment had passed. His gaze was fixed between my legs, and he swiped his fingers through the sticky mess before gently pressing them inside me. It was filthy and oddly flattering, as if he wanted a part of himself to remain in my body.
“Here,” Kirill said, passing me a box of tissues before tucking himself into his trousers.
With that simple adjustment, he was fully dressed again, while I was bare ass naked with cum leaking down my legs. As I steadied myself, he took the tissues from me and wiped between my legs, mopping up his copious spend with a wad of tissues before tossing them on the table.
“How are you still so innocent?” he asked quietly.
I felt exposed, standing there naked and trembling. I reached for my ripped dress and pulled the sides on, crossing the ends over my chest. I shrugged.“Lack of opportunity.”
“Twenty-five years old, living in New York, and looking like you do, I find that hard to believe,” he said bluntly.
The strange compliment made my cheeks heat. It looked like I was going to have to rip the emotional vulnerability band-aid off. “I’ve never wanted to have sex with anyone other than you if you must know.”
Kirill studied me, and I fought to meet his probing stare. Nothing about this was going as I’d imagined.
“I must know.” Kirill’s words sounded dictatorial as hell, but he pulled me into his chest and kissed my forehead. “Sleep here,” he said quietly.
“I’m not sure—”
“It wasn’t a question.”
I smacked his chest encased in his smart button-up shirt. His entire suit probably cost more than six months of my rent. “Still bossy, I see.”
“Still rebellious, I see,” Kirill replied, pulling back and looking me up and down. “I’m glad.”
“You still like a good fight?” I teased.
I was finally rewarded with a dark chuckle.“You have no idea.”
17
MOLLY
SEVEN YEARS AGO
Gravel dug through my sandals, slicing the edges of my feet as I ran toward the darkened trailer. It sat in an old junkyard on the wrong side of town.
Please let him be here. Please.
I burst inside the flimsy door and staggered down the hall.
“Molly, what’s wrong?”
Kirill’s scent surrounded me immediately as he crossed to me in two long-legged strides and pulled me against his chest. My panic receded slightly in his arms, like a muscle memory response too ingrained to deny.
“It’s my dad. It’s Henry. I think he’s done something bad,” I muttered, my throat full of steel wool.
