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His apology surprises me so much that I pull my head up and look at him. Is this the same Pasha Chazov who murdered three men in front of me?
“I know it’s difficult for you, but I just want you to be safe and healthy,” he continues.
“Pasha…” I begin, but I don’t know what to say. New tears rush to my eyes, but they aren’t the intense tears of sorrow from before. I’ve never had someone talk to me like they actually care since my sister died, and it moves me in a profound way.
“You’re okay,” he says, hugging me with both hands. “It’s alright, darling. You’re going to be okay.”
I want to believe him so badly that I do for a moment. I really, truly believe that I’m going to be okay, and that the way he protects me from myself is going to save me. I look into his eyes, feeling drawn to him in ways I’ve never been drawn to a man before, and in one horribly vulnerable and foolish moment…
I kiss him.
His tongue tastes like peppermint and tobacco, and his lips are so soft that I sink deep into them. I open my mouth wider, letting him explore me. My tears stop immediately, replaced with the type of euphoria I thought I could only get while I was high.
I grab Pasha’s face, his stubble rough in my hands as I pull his face harder against mine. Passion replaces reason, and I let go, allowing my emotions to take control of my actions.
Pasha’s hands find my waist, and he picks me up effortlessly, placing me on his lap as we break from our kiss. I can feel how hard he is beneath me, but it doesn’t scare me this time.
I’m ready for him.
“I need to be inside you.” His voice is deep and raspy, layered thick with the type of desire that makes men willing to die for the woman they love.
“Do it,” I beg, already lifting my hoodie. “Fuck me for being bad. Punish me.”
Pasha helps pull my oversized hoodie from my head, flinging it across the tile floor and grabbing my bare breasts in his hands. He’s unapologetic now, squeezing them like I’m not even a person, kneading them in his hands and pinching my nipples hard.
“Is this what you want, darling? You want me to teach you a lesson?” he growls.
“Yes,” I gasp, my voice turning into a yelp mid-word as he pushes his erection between my legs. I’m soaking wet already, impossibly wet through my panties and my pants.
“Get up,” he demands, pulling me off of his lap. “Take your clothes off.”
I submit to him twice as hard as I’ve ever resisted, yanking down my pants and underwear and kicking them away with my foot. I’m still wearing my sneakers, but he makes no mention of them as he gets to his feet and begins undressing.
He shrugs off his jacket, and his shoulder look even wider than they did before. His muscles are tearing out of his tight shirt, literally making the seams pop as he thumbs the buttons loose down the middle.
His abs are sharp and dramatic, cut deep into his torso all the way up to his chest. His pecs are thick and wide, each muscle jerking aggressively as he undoes his glittering designer belt.
“Don’t look away. I want those pretty eyes on my cock,” he says as he pushes his thumbs deep into the waistband of his slacks. He eases them down his narrow hips, slowly revealing the massive beast that lies coiled beneath.
His cock bounces out, followed by his heavy fruit, swinging low as he bends over to pull his pants off his large feet. As he leans down, his eyes dart up to me, and a grin slides across his face. “Ready for your punishment?”
I nod, entranced by the swing of his balls as he walks up to me.
His poster is dominant, his shoulders swaying like a cargo ship in the ocean as he approaches, but he stops just in front of me. He’s so close that I can feel the heat radiating from his body, but he doesn’t lift a hand to touch me. Instead, he lowers his gaze, meeting my eyes with ferocious intensity. “Turn around and bend over.”
I hesitate. Why is he asking me to do this?
“Turn around. And bend over,” he repeats slowly.
I turn on my heels, feeling the air on my ass move as I bend over.
The realization of what’s going to happen comes right before impact. Pasha spanks me without much force, but the second time is much harder. My stomach is a mess of emotions, but my pussy knows only one thing – this feels like heaven.
Pasha spanks me until my cheeks are throbbing and my pussy is dripping on the floor. I can see the droplets as they fall on the tiles, like I’m drooling for him. It’s humiliating, but I know he enjoys it.
“That’s a good girl,” he purrs, rubbing his hand over my sore ass. “Things are much better when you behave. Tell me you’re going to behave from now on.”
“I’m going to behave,” I so, my voice so soft and meager that I might as well not say anything.
