“I love everything you give,” I tell him, not meaning to say the words but finding them escaping me regardless. “It’s alwaysso…” My words stutter when his cock hits my prostate, and I have a hard time finding them again. “Perfect. So perfect.”
Ilya groans and bends forward. I reach up to wrap my arms around his shoulders, and as he leans closer, I kiss him. This position is awkward even for me, and it must be worse for him, but he doesn’t complain.
“Mishka, Mishka,” Ilya murmurs against my lips. “You’re first. The first.”
“The first what?” I ask, not pulling away from him.
I never want to pull away from him.
I never want any distance between us at all.
“First person I ever wanted to be with,” Ilya answers. “I slept with other men. But it was cold, hard, fast. I never wanted to see them again.”
Something flutters in my stomach, and I kiss him again. “I want to be with you too,” I say, and I hope he remembers that.
There’s so much I want to say, but I don’t want to ruin the intimacy of the moment.
Later.
I’ll tell him later…
Assuming there is a later.
Ilya reaches down to wrap his hand around my cock. I shudder at the sensation, his firm grip moving in time with his thrusts. I hook my leg around his waist so I can keep him close, and I desperately squeeze my ass to give him as much pleasure as he’s giving me.
This is complete heaven.
“Mishka, Mishka,” Ilya murmurs. “You must come. I can’t last.”
I won’t either.
Pleasure ramps up, building and building, and feeling him move inside of me as he strokes my cock is my undoing. I cry out,spilling into his hand as my entire body goes rigid, and it feels like only seconds pass before his thrusts stutter and stop.
I wish I could feel him flooding into me.
“Ilya,” I whisper, leaning up for another kiss.
He obliges me. His beard is soft against my chin, and I love that sensation, I love how different it is from every other man I’ve kissed. I never thought I’d enjoy the sensation of a beard against my skin.
He nibbles on my lower lip before his tongue plunges into my mouth. I open for him, letting him explore, letting him taste, until he finally withdraws.
Panting, I look up at him. Adam had always made me feel like kissing me was a chore, but this? This makes me feel like I’m flying.
“You’re so good,” I murmur, dazed. “Ilya…”
I want to tell him the truth — right here, right now, before Adam has a chance to ruin everything for me.
But I can’t bring myself to do it while the afterglow — theaftershine— is still so bright.
Instead, I let Ilya kiss me again and again, and I pretend that everything is fine.
For a little while longer, it can be.
It’s perfect.
SEVENTEEN
ILYA
