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7
Manya
Ihad been prepared for his censure. How I should have waited. How driving had been a stupid thing to do. A part of me had even been waiting for him to disapprove of my boosting habit with the same amount of derision as my father had. Upon finding out about my pastime, he had asked derisively what I was going to do with such a useless skill for a woman, other than get myself an inconvenient legal record.
Dmitry seemed to appreciate it though, almost seeming to admire me for it. It was different and unexpected. And his words hit just the right chord after such an adrenaline-charged course of events.
I lifted myself to my knees on the seat, pulling the fabric of my dress until it was high enough for me to swing one of my thighs out and over his lap. I could see the confusion in his gaze, and I knew that it should have given me pause.
Hell, the fact that we were in a running car in a parking lot waiting for someone to call and tell us whether we were safe enough to head home should have been enough to put a damper on things. But it wasn’t. My stomach was twisted up with fear, adrenaline, and hormones, all tumbling over one another until the lust won out. My hands ran up his bare chest, grazing the fabric of his bandages, until my fingers twisted up under his jaw, lifting his face to mine.
The confusion turned to a look of faint surprise. His lips opened, but no sound left them as I shook my head—a request he actually listened to.
In the past three days I had been twisted and turned, bent and fucked, in so many different ways that I didn’t even have a name for some of them . . . but it had always been at his urging, at his command, on the edge of pain and pleasure.
Which I had loved . . . but ...
I felt the urge. My silver hair fell like a curtain around the two of us, blocking us into our own world. As his eyes looked up into mine, I hesitated. “Are you too injured?” I asked carefully, the pads of my fingers barely holding to the angled curve of his jaw.
The green flecks in his eyes seemed to deepen, his pupils dilating as he lifted his face closer, as if to answer me without words. I dug my fingers into his jaw though, holding him in place, and delighting in the surprise and lust that flashed over his face as I did so. “Nyet,” he ground out, his voice deep and gravelly.
My lips were so close to his that I could feel his shallow breath. “Good,” I whispered, arching my fingers and dragging my nails along his skin. I felt the goosebumps there. He went to say something again, only I covered his mouth with my own.
My tongue traced the shape of his lips, tasting that familiar flavor of him and his smoke, inhaling as I ground my hips down into his thighs. I could feel him there, hard and ready, the pressure enough to tear through his slacks and my underwear to push right inside of me.
It was a heady rush, witnessing both his arousal and his submission.
A submission that I knew he didn’t have to give me. He’d shown me definitively enough how easy it was for him to control me, physically or otherwise. He’d displayed just how much stronger than me he was. And yet, he didn’t move except for where I let him. His hips pushed back up into mine, but only as far as my hips already were. I rolled my hips into him again, my teeth pulling against his lower lip.
“Manya,” he growled, warning and praise wrapped around both syllables.
I brought one hand back up, wrapping my fingers around his throat and watching his Adam’s apple bob above it. It didn’t have the same effect as when he did it to me, my hand too small to span the width of his neck, but I flexed my fingers regardless.
“Wife,” I corrected him, my voice deep and breathy. “Now, you call me wife.” Using my other hand, I undid his belt, twisted the button of his pants out of the hole, and tugged his zipper down in an all-too-eager hurry. My lips brushed against his, sloppy from the amount of desire thudding through my veins.
“Wife,” he repeated, all but groaning it.
The moan that left me had a sort of needy, breathy intensity. I pulled his cock out and tried to curl my entire fist around it while attempting to push my underwear off to one side. “Fuck,” I groaned, feeling the back of my hand brush against my underwear. “Help,” I breathed, rolling my thumb over the pulsing tip of his cock.
“Yes ma’am,” he grunted, his dark laughter buried as he pushed his face into my neck, biting and kissing his way up until finally, he moved his hands. One flattened over the curve of my ass, his fingers so tight that they indented the skin, and the other finished what I had been trying to do with my underwear. I inhaled sharply as the air suddenly hit me.
“Oh fuck,” I groaned, dropping my hips slowly as I lined him up beneath me. I could feel him, pushing and parting my folds as he lifted his hips almost impatiently, and again I stopped. “Nyet,” I whispered, my faltering voice almost breaking the word into five different syllables.
He froze, the fingers holding my ass squeezing all the tighter as if to exemplify how much effort it took for him to do so. “Nyet?” he ground out in question, his teeth dragging against my collarbone roughly.
I waited, a whole half of a second, for him to break the request I was making. For him to decide that he didn’t want to wait. For even just a half motion of his hips in defiance of me making him wait. But he didn’t. Everything was frozen but his lips, which pressed soft kisses into the flesh where he had just bitten me.
“Bal’shoye spaseeba,” I breathed out, sinking down without further delay. I didn’t take him inch by inch like I had been intending; I didn’t pause to draw it out any further. Instead, I sank down into him almost too quickly, my back bowing at how suddenly and fully he filled me. A choked noise escaped me.
My hand left his neck, and I fit both of my palms flat against his chest. With what strength I had, I pushed into him, balancing myself on my palms and knees as I lifted my hips back up. My head fell back on my shoulders at the feel of him being pulled so slowly out of me so soon. “Dmitry. . .” I moaned, my thighs already shaking as I circled my hips, sinking down once more.
“Da,” he groaned, as his free hand lifted to grasp my hip.
He was everything, all at once, inside of, around, and in front of me.
I had never wanted to be able to look outside of myself more than I did in that moment. I had never wanted to see myself so much as I did then, with all my inhibitions lowered and ecstasy coursing through my body as he helped raise and lower me over his thighs. I increased my pace
Each press of his hips into me sent another wave of pleasure crashing through me. My body hummed from the extra contact combined with the high of being in control. “Oh, fuck,” I breathed out again, feeling that tremor start deep in my belly.
