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Arousal floods my inner thighs at the image. That belt has always been associated with my most depraved tendencies.
He frees his cock with the other hand. It’s veiny, hard, and has a hint of precum glistening at the crown.
I’m unable to stop staring as he jerks himself in a few violent strokes, making it even harder.
I wrap a hand around his and slowly push it out of the way so that I’m the one touching him.
It’s been such a long time that I nearly forgot how much I love his cock and the way it twitches to life beneath my fingers.
“That’s it,” he groans back in his throat and throws his head back. “Do it faster. You won’t hurt me.”
I up my pace, and when I feel him tensing, I squeeze as hard as I can. “Did you fuck anyone else after I was gone?”
His eyes focus back on mine, and he bites his lower lip like some sort of a sex god. Then he wraps his belt around my throat and tugs me against his strong chest. His cock is trapped between us, and I’m still squeezing.
The more I picture another woman having him, the harder I tighten my fist.
In my mind, he was never supposed to be anyone else’s. I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done if he’d actually married Kristina.
I like to think of myself as a good person, but I would’ve definitely become a fucking devil if she was his wife.
“You think I had the time to look at other women when I was fucking mourning you?” His deep voice drips with unveiled anger, and I don’t think it’s due to the pain I’m causing.
It sounds more raw and intrusive. More…hurt.
That’s when it hits me.
Earlier, when he demanded that I apologize for leaving him, I thought it was some sort of a power play, and I hated him for it. But now that I get a clear look beneath his mask, I’m tempted to believe that he was actually hurt.
The mighty Kirill Morozov was in pain because of me.
I have to stop myself from blurting the apology that’s trying to burst through. Instead, I jerk him up and down in an attempt to reawaken his pleasure.
Kirill forces me to release him and I kick my jeans and panties away to give him a better angle. He lifts one of my legs so that it’s lined up with his waist and his mythical eyes meet mine.
I’m momentarily distracted.
No, the correct word would be trapped.
I’m completely caught in a trance by the depth in them. The mystic emotions swirling through them. It’s almost as if…he’s releasing a beast that’s been lurking inside him all this time.
Or maybe it’s the man that he’s finally letting loose this time.
Kirill holds the belt in one fist and tightens his grip. My breath constricts, and that causes my pussy to throb harder.
“You’re never allowed to leave my sight again.” And then he thrusts inside me.
My body jerks, and my hip hits the wooden railing behind me. It’s been a long time, and Kirill is fucking huge. A tinge of pain mixes with the overwhelming pleasure, and I have to grab onto the railing so I don’t collapse.
The first few weeks after I left for Russia were physical and emotional hell. I told myself I hated him, and I did, but that didn’t mean I stopped missing him or the animalistic touch that only he could give me.
The bastard ruined me for all other men. I can’t look at anyone else and feel this overwhelming pleasure and these damned emotions.
No.
I roll my hips, taking him as he goes deeper. There are no emotions involved here. There shouldn’t be any emotions.
This is only about physical attraction and taking care of each other’s bodily needs.
“My wife.” He tightens the belt further, and I clench around his cock. “My woman.” Thrust. “Fucking mine.”
Then he‘s kissing me savagely. Like he can’t get enough. Like my taste is everything he needed.
It’s only physical.
I chant in my head as I kiss him with the same animalistic need. I don’t even care that the railing is digging into my back and that I can feel bruises forming.
They’ll be worth it.
I love seeing the evidence of our fucking sessions, and maybe that’s part of the reason why I missed him so much.
He never shied away from using me for his pleasure. In return, he gave me the most thrilling releases any woman could dream of.
We’re primal. We’re raw. And we’re the perfect example of a compatible couple during sex.
Kirill squeezes my thigh, pulls out almost completely, then rams back in. He hits my sensitive spot over and over until my moans echo around us.
“That’s it, Solnyshko,” he grunts against my mouth. “Show me how much you want my cock.”
I glare at him even as I jerk my hips and taste him on my tongue.
