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For now, I lose myself between her legs. I bury my face in her heat and honey. Here, in the midst of our pleasure, I can forget about everything else. I can make her forget, even if only for a few moments on a hard floor. Spreading her with my thumbs, I suck on the tender bundle of nerves hidden beneath her folds. I lap up the cream she spills for me. In no time, she surrenders her pleasure. She gives it to me without holding back, just like the last time when she told me she’s in love. With me.
Ruthlessly, I take everything. I wrench every aftershock from her body until she turns limp. Then I shove my fingers inside her, curling the middle digit to find her secret spot. I pump her spent body until her need climbs again and more cream spills around my fingers. I’m a bastard. I don’t give her time to recover, not even enough to catch her breath. I thrust until she throws back her head and veins pop out on her delicate neck from the strain. I don’t advance with consideration or caution. I’m way beyond reasonable civilities. I stretch her tight pussy with three fingers and grind the heel of my palm on her clit until she breaks and comes again. The climax looks like torture. Her body contracts as if being hit by an electric charge.
She falls back on the floor, her back hitting the hardwood surface. Like a man obsessed, I unfasten my belt and pants. I barely take the time to shove them over my hips before I grab the root of my cock and push the head against her entrance.
I want her. I need her. Now.
With a tilt of my hips, I part her tight flesh. She cries out in pleasure, maybe a little pain too, but I’m long past breaking point. I can’t hold back. Pushing forward, I stuff her full of my cock. Like I’ve taken everything from her, I make her take all of me. When our groins are flush together, I move.
I lose myself in a desperate rhythm, knowing I won’t last. Keeping my weight on one arm, I pin her hip down with the other to prevent the thrusts from shifting her over the floor. I pump until heat explodes at the base of my spine and my cock erupts with scorching-hot pleasure. I empty myself inside her, making her take every drop just because it’s so damn intimate. On the most basic of levels, it’s the ultimate expression of affection. A woman can’t take more than this, and this is everything a man can give.
Breathing heavily, I press our foreheads together. I intertwine our fingers and kiss her mouth, pouring myself and everything I want to give into the kiss. Together, we come down from my frenzy, from whatever the fuck one would call what I just did. It’s more than fucking. It’s more than making love. It’s more sacred. It’s darker. There are no words for what I feel.
When my reason somewhat returns, I roll onto my side, bringing Mina with me. I can’t make myself pull out. Not yet. Right there, on the floor, I give her the care I owe her, stroking her back, arm, and hair. A week ago, I desperately wanted her confession. Now, I only want her like this. Soft. Content.
I should be at peace, but I’m not. The seed of guilt has grown. It’s growing stronger still, turning like a magical bean into a giant stalk. Finally gathering enough willpower to break our contact, I pull away from Mina and get to my feet.
She pushes up on her arms. “Is everything all right?”
No. Nothing is all right. I doubt it’ll ever be again. She turned my world upside down, unearthed everything I thought I was. Guilt is like a cancer eating at my gut. I’ve never hated myself as much as in this moment.
Her eyes are large, vulnerable. Sweet baby-blue. “Yan?”
Clenching my fists, I consider all my wrongs. “I never told you I love you back.”
She drags her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them. “I know.”
“If that bothers you—”
“You shouldn’t fall in love with me.”
The sincerity of the statement knocks me off balance. “Why not?”
“It’s not a good idea.”
I can’t look at her like this, sitting naked on the floor in a puddle of my cum. It only makes the godawful guilt sharper, the pain more acute. Offering her a hand, I pull her to her feet.
“Thank you,” she says.
“For what?”
“For taking me to see Hanna.”
My smile is weak. “You’re welcome.”
As she drops my hand and makes to turn, I grip her wrist. “That night in Budapest, did it mean anything? Beyond the physical, I mean.”
Her stare is level. “When I told you it’s different with you, I meant now as well as then.”
