His thrusts are slow and deliberately designed to tease not just me, but Alyona. Our fucking is usually rough, untamed and animalistic, but he’s sharing more of himself with her tonight than he is with me. She’s getting a part of us we usually only reserve for ourselves.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Z,” he drawls, flexing his hips against me. “Look at this body.”
My head drops forward when he releases my throat, and his hand slides down my spine to grip my waist. My cock strains when he powers his hips into me, stroking the prostate with his thick head, each thrust in, and each pull out, bringing me closer to oblivion.
I fucking love this man.
Pleasure builds in my stomach, working through my limbs like a raging wildfire, burning me up and each of them along with it. A strangled groan tears from my throat, enticing Rodion to surge forward harder, faster, tilting his hips and making my legs almost buckle.
“I need to come,” I groan. Watching Alyona as she watches us is almost too much to bear. I’m about to fucking explode.
“Fuck him harder, Ro,” Alyona urges. “Make him come.”
Wrapping his arm around my waist, Rodion palms my dick and strokes up the length, rubbing his thumb over the tip with each caress until my balls draw up. He roars into me, his thick cock pulsing inside, sending a ripple of pleasure crashing through me. My dick throbs and white ribbons of cum splash against the glass, my body shaking and jerking with each pulse of my release. Rodion slams one last time into me, nearly crashing us through the glass and onto Alyona.
This feels like heaven.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Rodion
Kissing Z’s shoulder, I ease myself from him and smile. I’ve needed that release for days. After turning the shower back on us and bumping up the heat, I spurt the body wash into my hand and wash myself and then him, enjoying the hard planes of his body. His broad chest flexes under my touch and I move to wash over the ridges of his eight pack. My focus darts to Alyona’s blonde hair swaying as she exits the bathroom.
“That was mean,” Z reprimands. “Not letting her have pleasure like that.”
“She needs to heal, not split her wound back open with an orgasm. It’s finally healed over.” My tone is bitter even to my own ears.
It nearly broke me, forbidding her a release from Z’s lips. To watch him eat her out on the counter would have been enough to make me come, but this nagging voice inside me didn’t want her to enjoy him just yet. She hurt him so fucking bad when she left. Living with her these past weeks has been effortless, like a riverflowing with the current and the biggest blue ball tease I’ve ever endured. Getting to know her as a mother, and being around her just doing the mundane things families do, made me realize how much I wanted this with her back then.And then she was gone.And I had to question if I’d dreamed her.
“I doubt she’d mind. We do give the best orgasms.” Z licks his lips and groans when I clean down his cock.
“Indeed, we do,” I murmur, rinsing us both off.
Stepping out of the shower, I grab myself a towel and throw one at Z.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he offers, and I tense.
“Talk about what?” I ask defensively before drying myself off and wrapping the towel around my waist.
“About why you wouldn’t let her really come.”
“Like I said…”
I step out of the room, a heaviness pushing down on my chest. I don't want to admit that the thought of exposing our vulnerabilities again leaves me shackled with unease. We took every ounce of strength to pull ourselves out of the dark abyss she left us in when she walked away. Her absence was a hailstorm that left us battered and bruised. I can’t help but wonder if we have the resilience to face that storm a second time. The memories of what she did still linger, like a scar, reminding me that diving back into those depths could drown us all. She didn’tchooseto be here with us, circumstances drove her to us.
“Nothing could break us, Ro. I won’t let her leave us again,” he insists, reading my mind and following me down the hall to the master bedroom. If I’m truthful with myself, I knowIwon’t let her leave us again either. I’ll chain her to my fucking wrist, if need be, but I want her to want us—to feel a fragment of what we do for her. Tochooseus.
I get dressed in silence next to Z, thankful that the rest of our belongings made it over here. Though we’ve been sharingAlyona’s bed at night, we took the master bedroom for ourselves for when we need a place to retreat to. The humid air clings uncomfortably to my skin, prompting me to forgo a jacket and tie. Instead, I reach for a darker, fitted shirt and roll the sleeves up to my forearms, feeling more at ease. Slipping into tailored slacks, I glance at myself in the mirror, trying to appear composed when I feel anything but.
Z breaks the silence, casually adjusting his watch as he secures it around his wrist. The strap complements his leather boots, a subtle detail that matches his meticulous style. “I believe her when she says she ran for the right reasons,” he remarks, his tone sympathetic.
I knowshebelieves that. But it wasn’t the right thing to do, and as soon as she found out she was pregnant, she should have come home to us.
“You’re wearing that?” I ask him, shifting the focus away from the Alyona conversation.
He flinches ever so slightly, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, but he quickly masks it with confidence. “I look amazing,” he insists, and I can’t help but admire him because he truly does. He’s dressed in light denim jeans that hug his muscular thighs and ass just right and a cream sweater that drapes effortlessly over his form. The fabric is airy and delicate, sent straight from the runway after we gave the designer a night she can’t seem to forget. Clothes like these are a regular gift from her.
He wears nothing beneath, and it makes me jealous of the fabric. I brush my palms over his shoulders admiring the muscle flexing beneath my touch. “You look delectable. But Roza is going to mess that cream fabric the first chance she gets.”
