When he continues, it’s with varied strokes — some harder, some softer, but all feeling so intimate andgood.
And when I gasp out, “twenty,” it doesn’t feel like I’m utterly destroyed. I’m not shaking and hurting and glad that it’s over.
I’mhappy.
Ilya sets the flogger down and trails light fingers over the welts. “Your sounds make me aroused, Mishka. Such lovely cries. Melodic, like your music.”
I should tell him the truth.
It would ruin the moment. It would potentially make him throw me out now instead of later.
But I should tell him.
I don’t.
“Then take me,” I whisper, torn between joy and sadness. “Please.”
“Yes.” Ilya places the flogger down beside me. The leather is soft, despite how new it is. I don’t even want to wonder about how much it cost.
Ilya reaches for the lube—and a condom.
I don’t want him to wear a condom. I want to take him bare.
Adam never uses condoms.
I can’t risk it. It’s not fair to Ilya.
So I just imagine that he’s taking me that way, with nothing between us at all.
Maybe one day…
Except there won’t be a “one day.”
I roll over onto my back and spread my legs. “Like this?” I ask, uncertain. Maybe he won’t want to look at me while he fucks me.
But I want to see him. I want to see the pleasure in his expression as he takes me, as he comes undone before my eyes.
Ilya smiles at me. “Yes.” He pours lube onto my hole, then gets his fingers inside me to loosen me up.
I want to protest that I don’t need it.
I do, though.
I don’t like taking anyone unprepared. I want to be loose and open and ready for it.
He takes his time, and I squirm as he works me open.
I’m losing my mind with pleasure from the way he massages my prostate on every other slow thrust of his fingers by the time he rolls the condom on and poises himself at my slick hole.
I won’t last long, but Ilya doesn’t seem to care as long as I’m enjoying myself along the way.
“Beautiful Mishka,” Ilya says as he slowly enters me. “You make me feel twenty years younger.”
I huff out a laugh that turns into a moan as he keeps sinking into me, filling me inch by inch. “If you were actually twenty years younger, I’d never be able to keep up with you.”
Ilya fucks me slow and hard. Every press against the welts from the flogging is a sharp reminder of the pain—and the care—Ilya has given me.
“You would,” Ilya says. “You would take me just as easily. You have taken everything I give.”
