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Somewhere between the pain and the sweet torture, a pressure builds to new heights in my belly.
“Blyad. Tvoya kiska takaya sladkaya, detka. Tak chertovski milo,”he growls after pulling back from our kiss. He grinds his hips against mine, pressing hard against my clit and bringing me even closer to an edge that only has pleasure waiting for me on the other side.“Voz’mi menya, detka, kazhdyy chertov dyuym moyego chlena.”
His thrusts get harder and faster. I have no idea what he’s saying, but his tone tells me it’s something dirty, so fucking dirty.
“Take my cock, baby. Fucking take it.” He pistons his hips and drives harder into me. The words, coupled with the new angle of his thrusts, make me teeter on that edge.
I pull my knees up farther, taking him impossibly deeper. It’s too much but not enough, and all I can do is grip his hips with my hands and try to drag him even more into my body.
“Make it hurt, Luka.” I find myself muttering against his shoulder as I lick away the thin layer of sweat that’s formed. “Hurt me.”
An animalistic growl escapes him as his teeth sink into my neck and his cock plows hard into me. With my legs pulled back, he goes deeper. It’s the best pain I’ve ever felt in my life.
And I can’t hold back. My body has reached its limit, and I find myself screaming out his name while waves of ecstasy illuminate my soul.
“So good. Yes baby, come hard, come for me.” He doesn’t slow down or wait for me. He drives harder and harder, faster and faster, until the headboard of my flimsy bed hits the wall. Still, he doesn’t relent. He pumps and pumps, dragging out every last drop of my orgasm before he stills and finds his own release.
A barbaric roar escapes him while his cock pulsates inside of me, spilling his hot, thick seed into my passage.
He rolls to my side, barely fitting between me and the wall in my twin bed. I scoot over so he isn’t completely squished. The movement pushes his come from me and it rolls out of my pussy and down between my cheeks.
“Don’t.” His voice is raw as he puts his hand flat on my stomach, keeping me in the bed when I try to roll free. “Stay.”
“I need to… we’re making a mess,” I whisper.
He pushes up to his elbow and looks down between my legs. My thighs are streaked with our juices. A proud grin spreads across his lips.
“Leave it. I like my seed marking your skin.” He rests his head on my shoulder. “You need a much larger bed, Pchelka, if we are going to stay here.”
“We?” Reality slowly creeps back in, ruining the pleasurable hum that has overtaken my body.
“Maybe we should stay in the penthouse I own for when I’m here.” He looks down at me, tracing what I think are tear stains on my cheeks. “You’re pretty when you cry beneath my belt, Pchelka.”
He’s absurd. And I should jump out of this bed and call the police if he refuses to leave.
“If I don’t have to go to work, I should get in the shower,” I say instead, because this man makes me weak.
“That’s a good idea. We both need to wash.” He shoves up and climbs over me to get off the bed. “Your shower is too small for us both, though.” He frowns.
“Yeah, that’s a problem.” I sit up, pulling a pillow from behind me to cover myself. It’s one thing to be naked while aroused and having this insanely hot Russian man touching me, but it’s an entirely different situation when it’s just a normal moment.
“You shower while I throw your clothes in a bag.” He pulls his jeans up and works the button. Thick fingers like his shouldn’t be so damn agile.
“I can’t go with you, Luka.”
“You can,” he says, as though it ends the discussion. “Bring your books so you can study.” His head pops out of the white undershirt as he says this. His hair is ruffled so he runs his fingers through it, and of course it just obediently goes right back where he wants it. Does anything tell this man no and get away with it?
He pulls his phone from his pocket and glares down at whatever is causing all the beeps.
“I have to meet someone.” He shoves it away again. “You shower and pack. I’ll be back in two hours to pick you up.”
“You’re not listening to me.” I slide off the bed, still holding the pillow in front of me. “I can’t go with you. I live here. I have a life here.”
His focus moves to the pillow. “What are you doing?” He points to my cotton shield.
“My clothes are on the floor,” I explain.
He tugs on the pillow, but I’m not giving it up. I can have some privacy. I deserve that.
