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“Owning every inch of you. Your ass is begging to be claimed.” He spits on my hole and for some reason, it’s so hot, I gulp.
We’ve done a lot of anal play before and over the past week, but he’s never fucked me there.
Now that the moment has come, I’m taken by a sense of dread. I reach out a trembling hand and clutch his wrist. “Wait…wait.”
“I’m done waiting.”
“But…”
“Shhh…” he says in a surprisingly soothing tone and slaps my ass cheek then spits on my throbbing back hole.
I gasp, my thighs shaking, and he uses the chance to thrust the crown inside.
Oh, God.
I’m wet, but it’s still painful.
The second inch follows and I let out a sob. “Kirill, please…it hurts…”
“Shhh…you’re taking my cock like a very good girl, Solnyshko.”
My lips tremble and I dig my nails into the grass and dirt. He reaches a hand down and rubs my clit in pleasurable circles. “Don’t push me out. Relax.”
I lower my back and force myself to relax, and then he goes all the way in. The stretch is so sharp that I cry out, but the pain is soon replaced with pleasure as he keeps stimulating my clit in slow, almost soothing circles.
“You’re such a good girl, wife.”
“Luchik…” I don’t mean to say his nickname, but now that I did, I can’t take it back.
His pace picks up at that and he growls, “Say that again.”
“Luchik, please.”
“Please what?”
“Fuck me.”
He slaps my ass and rams into it while thrusting three fingers into my pussy. “We can’t have my cunt feeling left out.”
The sensation of being completely filled leaves me breathless, wanting—no, needing—the release.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt so needy in my whole life.
I push back against him, my ass cheeks creating a slapping sound against his thighs and groin.
He spanks my ass then sinks his fingers into the flesh. “You’ll never wear these clothes for anyone but me. I’m the only one who gets to look at you like this. Fuck you like this. Own you like this.”
“Stop being crazy…”
He grips a handful of my hair and flings me up so that my back is against his chest and turns my head to speak directly against my mouth. “You should know by now that I’m a fucking lunatic when it comes to you. Don’t fucking test me.”
He pumps harder into me, and this time, I scream as I come around his cock and fingers.
Kirill kisses me through it, my tongue wars with his even as he suffocates me.
He knows exactly how tight I get when he steals my breath and he never shies away from repeating the move over and over again.
But if I’d hoped he’d be done, I’m proved utterly wrong.
He throws me back down on the grass again, ass in the air, and keeps going at a maddening pace.
On.
And on.
And on.
Until I nearly faint.
Until I can’t think of the sentence “it’s only physical” anymore.
There’s definitely nothing purely physical about this.
19
KIRILL
“Give up already.”
Sasha growls deep in her throat as she lunges at me. This time, I provoked her so thoroughly that she doesn’t stop and think about strategy.
She’s mindless, brimming with adrenaline and an unhealthy dose of rage.
Sweat trickles down her temples and throat and slips under her sports bra right between her tits. Am I annoyed at sweat for taking the place that’s rightfully mine? Possibly.
I step out of the way when she tries to high -kick me, then I push her in the opposite direction. She falls on the grass, but it’s not hard enough to cause permanent damage.
Or any damage, really.
She’s always asked me to take her seriously and go all in, but that’s impossible. I’ll only hurt her, and I’d rather cut off my arms than do that.
I know she gets off on practicing and violence. She’s a true product of the military life and has unknowingly turned into one of those soldiers who can’t survive without physical stimuli.
And while I relate to the feeling to an extent, I don’t make it my entire personality like some of my men. And Sasha.
We’ve been at the cabin for two and a half weeks, and whenever I’m not fucking her brains out, she demands a match. These morning duels have become a routine that she looks forward to every time. She even dresses for the occasion.
Now, I would like to point out that the tight sports bra and these tiny shorts hugging her toned legs are a huge distraction. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was doing it on purpose to scatter my attention.
“Are you done being beaten up for sport?” I cross my arms and stare down at her position on all fours and lower my voice. “We can move on to a more entertaining activity.”
She glares up at me, jumps up, then holds her hands up in guard. “I’m not done.”
