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My lips parted, my shoulders rounding back as he peeled the lace from my torso, exposing me to the elements. My already pointed nipples stiffened further, a breathy gasp the only response I could manage as he lowered his mouth to my chest. It was Russia all over again. My legs shook as he pushed himself against me, again inciting that wet friction that was only becoming wetter with my arousal.
The harshness of his hands coupled with the softness of his lips was my undoing, just like it always was. Hard and tender, soft and biting, it was always this juxtaposition of the senses that got me so worked up. This time it was his intensity undercut with the evidence of his love as he worked over my skin, his tongue curling around one nipple as his fingers played with the other, and—
“Oh, fuck, Dmitry,” I cried out, raking my fingers through his thick hair as if to pull him closer and push him away in the same movement. It was too much, but it was never enough. I wanted all of him, all the time, in any way that I could have him.
I loved him.
Situation be damned. His father be damned. Everything and everyone who tried to come between us be damned. It was powerful, all-consuming, overwhelming: the way that I felt for him. It felt like it was enough to shatter my body into a million pieces. Despite everything that had happened, despite all the plans put aside, with Dmitry as my husband there was no way that I could regret how my life had ended up.
The hand not working against my torso fell between us, working its way down my stomach until his fingers could begin to move aside the lace that was nearly adhered to the wet skin between my thighs. With skillful, dedicated ease he pushed it aside, running his knuckles down the folded skin until he could work two fingers inside of them.
“Spread your legs,” he whispered against my throat before pulling my ear between his teeth. I was clamping my legs around his hips, making it difficult for him to work both his hands.
I went to shake my head in refusal, but those fingers entered me with such suddenness that I stilled entirely, a throaty gasp working its way out of my lips and my thighs instantly following his instruction.
“Was that a no, Manya?” he whispered, his chest rumbling against mine with the dark gravel lining his tone. “Were you sayingno?” His fingers separated inside of me, circling until my eyes threatened to roll back into my head. “Nyet,” he mumbled as the hand that had been working over my nipple moved up. “That couldn’t have been a no. . .”
I moaned, lifting my hips off the grass into his, both to encourage that hand and to beg for him to replace it with something more filling. “Dmitry. . .”
“You wouldn’t tell me no, right Manya?” he questioned darkly, his fingers finding purchase around the base of my throat and flexing against the tender skin there. “Not when you’re begging so obviously for my cock. . .”
The word sent a shiver of delight through me, but he was crazy if he thought I was going to be able to answer him. Not only was I too agitated to form the words, but his hand was so tight around my throat that I couldn’t manage even half a word if I tried.
“Tell me, Manya,” he demanded. “Tell me how much you want my cock.”
His fingers flexed, and the air rushed into my throat all at once, causing my face to flush from the sudden overabundance of oxygen. The noise that left my throat was guttural and raw, my chest heaving with my sudden breath. “Please,” I gusted. “Oh God, Dmitry, I want your cock so much. Fuck. Please.”
His fingers closed back around my throat, cutting my word off mid-gasp, and I started to groan in protest. That was, until I felt it. Warm and heavy, his cock pushed inside of me so slowly I thought that I was going to lose my mind in the process. While I had begged and beckoned him before, I was suddenly motionless, my black eyes flashing up to his stormy blue ones as he pushed the rest of the way into me.
It wasn’t until he was fully seated, his cock pulsing inside of me that he eased his hold on my throat, his face dropping suddenly to cover my lips with his.
From then on, my world oscillated, falling apart and coming back together in bright shards of color that I couldn’t bear to focus on directly. I didn’t count how many orgasms he worked up in me nor how many that actually quivered through me. It was only when his body fell atop mine shaking in its own right that I felt like I could breathe again at all.
His nose brushed up the side of my face, his hot breath stuttered against my ear. “You are the most beautiful thing that I’ve ever seen,” he whispered, his breath fluttering against my skin. “Something magical and otherworldly.”
A laugh stuttered from my lips only to be stopped by the sound of peeling tires on gravel above us. Multiple sets of tires.
The vacation was over.
