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Nervous anticipation blooms deep in my core as Ilya’s voice drops into that dangerously low register that signals we’re starting a scene. My body responds to it instinctually before my head can catch up, and my panties are instantly moist, my mouth dry. I lick my lips as my eyes widen, and my mind races to find the appropriate response. But I’m not sure what role we could possibly be playing right now.
“No,” I object. It’s the only reasonable answer he can expect.Why would I want him to hit my partner? Is that what he wants?
“You weren’t hoping he would piss me off? Then what? Did you want him to join us? See what it’s like to have two men in your bed?” Ilya steps close to me, invading my space as he takes my jaw in his strong hand, forcing me to look him in the eye.
My skin tingles at the contact, and my heart skips a beat. But the suggestion of Trent joining me and Ilya for sex is like having a bucket of ice water dumped over my head, and my arousal evaporates instantaneously. I just spent over an hour doing my best version of tolerating Trent so Ilya could see just how unappealing my dance partner is as soon as he opens his mouth, and Trent gave him plenty to work with. This has to be some kind of scene Ilya’s leading up to.But what?Normally, it only takes me a few seconds to find the page he’s on, but for the first time, I can’t see the appeal of his scene.
“That’snotwhat I was doing,” I object adamantly, pulling away from Ilya. It’s more bold than a character he might usually want from me, but he must be looking for some angry make-up sex or something in this enactment.
“Take off your shirt,” he commands, his voice flat.
I don’t bother being sexy as I grip the hem of my sweater and yank it over my head, throwing it on the floor defiantly as I glare him down. Ilya’s eyes rake down over my embroidered balconette bra and he approaches me more carefully this time, slinking closer so he can cup my breast with one hand as he rests his other hand on the small of my back. I swallow hard as he pulls me against his strong body, a flicker of anticipation coming to life inside me once again.
“You like that?” he breathes, the whisper of air tickling across my neck.
“Yes,” I murmur, lost in the moment, my mind a blank slate.
“You think Trent can make you feel as good as I can?” Ilya purrs, his voice deceptively silky compared to the venomous words.
“Excuse me?” My anger spikes, and before I know what I’m doing, my palms are on Ilya’s chest, shoving him away from me as I glare up at him.
“I bet you’re dying to see him without a shirt on, aren’t you?” Ilya accuses, his tone acidic in an instant. He doesn’t bother with the buttons as he rips his shirt open, exposing his muscular pecs and well-defined abs flecked with dark chest hair. His tattoos accentuating the hard lines of his body. “Is this not good enough for you? You want something younger?”
My heart jumps into my throat as Ilya grabs for me, but I don’t have time to react before he’s pressing the palms of my hands to his chest. The softness of his skin contradicts the heat rising from his rock-hard muscles, and despite myself, I suck in a shuddering breath, relishing the sensation of him.Why is he so intoxicatingly sexy?Just touching him makes me crave more.
As if hearing my thoughts, he slowly guides my hands down from his pecs and over his washboard abs until I’m at the waistline of his jeans. He doesn’t even have to tell me. I’m unbuttoning them before he can say the word, my fingers shaking with the anticipation pounding through me.
His hands undo my jeans at the same time, shoving them down over my hips as we strip each other frantically. It’s something new, and far more raw than I expected. It feels like the lines are blurring between our scene and an actual relationship, and I cling to the knowledge that this has to be a scene. We’ve only ever had simple, honest sex once in the year I’ve known Ilya. And that was the night I lost my virginity. But my brain is too lust-addled to make sense of this scene. Maybe it’s because this one’s spontaneous. He’s making it up as we go.After all, he couldn’t have anticipated how he might react to Trent, could he? Or did he plan this from the start?With my pulse roaring in my ears, I’m not sure I care.
We’re naked in an instant, and Ilya scoops me up, wrapping my legs around his waist as he carries me to the dining table. Plates shatter as he brushes them to the floor, making room for me before he lies me back on the table.
There’s no build up, no foreplay before Ilya shoves inside me. But I’m ready for him, my pussy wet with anticipation that’s been coursing through me since he shut the door in my partner’s face. I cry out as an explosion of ecstacy sends sparks of black dots bursting across my eyelids.
“God, you’re so fucking wet,” he growls, making my walls tighten around his hard girth. “Does that feel good?”
“Yeessss,” I moan as his one hand kneads my thigh, the other finding my clit and rolling it.
“You like it when I fuck you?”
“Yes!” I cry as I climb closer to release. He’s driving deep inside me, hitting my G-spot with expert precision.
“But you’d rather have that ballet dancer between your legs, wouldn’t you, little slut? Are you picturing Trent while I’m fucking you? Well, he can’t make you feel half as good as I can. I promise you that.”
And just like that, the scene shatters around me. Like the dishes strewn across the floor, my pleasure cracks and splits into thousands of tiny shards. He’s rage fucking me right now, taking his anger out on me because he’s jealous of my idiotic dance partner who I didn’t even get to pick, someone I’m stuck with even though I would rather try to dance both parts than have to tolerate him for the rest of the semester.
My eyes snap open as I stiffen, Ilya’s erotic thrusts suddenly feeling like a violation. I’m beyond furious. I’ve never wanted to hit him before, but suddenly, my palm throbs with the urge to lash out at him as hurtfully as he’s lashing out at me.
“Safe.” The word drops from my lips like a death toll.
Ilya immediately stops. A hint of confusion flickers behind his dark eyes as his hard expression morphs into something unreadable, but he slowly withdraws from me, releasing me as he steps back. I let him, my legs falling from around his waist as I sit up and slide off the dining table. My body’s rigid as I stalk past him to collect my jeans and pull them roughly back on. I don’t bother with a bra or panties as I dress as quickly as I can.
And all the while, Ilya watches me carefully, his expression somewhere between lost and frustrated. When I throw his pants at him, he pulls them on without a word.
I’m sorely tempted to go to my room and slam the door. Leave him out here to think about his behavior. But I can’t bring myself to stay silent. Once his jeans are finally on, I can finally collect my thoughts enough to speak. But before I can open my mouth, he breaks the frigid silence.
“You’ve never used our safe word before. Did I hurt you?” His tone reveals all the emotions I can’t read in his face–concern, pain, confusion, surprise, even a hint ofbetrayal.
That’s rich, when his distrust in me cuts so deep.
