I swallow against a raggedly dry throat. “Yes.”
“Mmm hmm.” His hand slides lower, so his fingers can dip between my pussy lips. “You’re wet,” he husks. “Good.” One finger circles my clit, making me shudder.
“Please, it may be too much to feel this right now.”
“Right now, I’m the one deciding what you need.” He releases me and steps back. “Go kneel on the end of the bed, facing the headboard.”
When I’m slow to move, he slaps my ass. That sends me rushing to the bed. When I’m kneeling on the mattress, he says, “Stay on your knees, but put your forehead on the mattress. Keep that tail high.”
A little sob escapes my throat. This is too humiliating. And yet, lust that’s raw and sharp hums through me. What is happening?
I drop my face and shoulders to the bed as he’s ordered. For some time, it stays this way. The loft quiet, with him just watching me and maybe admiring the color of my chastened ass.
Then he moves behind me, and I feel his cock at my entrance. The latex-covered head strokes my slit, then he pushes into me, forcing my walls to stretch around him. My groan is too loud. It makes my face flame with embarrassment.
Alexei is silent as he begins to fuck me, but I can tell by the urgency of his thrusts and the way he grips my hips that he’s excited by this, too. As he uses me roughly, I’m torn between wanting more and wanting to escape.
It goes on for a long time, the pounding rhythm striking my womb, making me ache and long for something more.
“Mmm,” he moans, his grip on my hips tightening until it’s almost painful. His next groan is a growl. He presses deep, jerking hard inside my tight tunnel, which spasms in answer. His breathing is harsh as he pulls out. “Lie on your back with your legs spread wide.”
The aching need I have hasn’t been satisfied, so I don’t hesitate to obey. He rids himself of the condom, then drops onto the bed. He drags me to him, putting my legs over his shoulders as he buries his face between my thighs. From the moment his mouth touches my pussy, I’m in heaven.
I clutch the sheets above my head and tip my hips up, pleading with him not to stop. He fucks me with his tongue, licking my clit and penetrating me where his cock’s just been. I can’t contain myself. I come screaming his name.
* * *
Alexei
I hold her for a long time afterward, stroking her skin and kissing her. Her resistance has been broken, at least for the moment. She curls against me and returns every bit of affection, which is becoming more and more addictive. Her fingers trace my muscles, her mouth opens for my tongue, her breasts melt against me, soft and delicious against my hard flesh. In its own way, this feels as good as fucking her. Better maybe, which is saying something.
After a while, she hears my stomach rumble and goes to get the spice cake that’s waiting in the microwave. She brings it to bed and feeds both of us until there’s nothing but crumbs.
“If you take me to a market tomorrow, I will make youpelmeni. You know what ispelmeni, yes? Meat dumplings. We put sour cream on them.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I ate plenty ofpelmenigrowing up.”
She licks her lips and rises from the bed. “I will make, to keep your muscles strong.”
“Good thing. They’re on the verge of wasting away.”
Natalia looks back at me, realizes I’m teasing and laughs. She sets the dish in the sink and then spots the model of St. Peter’s Basilica that rests on a tray table in the far corner. She turns on the light above it, causing the glossy paint to shine.
I lie in the bed, watching her as she finds the edge of the card that’s tucked under it and pulls the card out. She glances at me, but I don’t object to her looking at it.
She opens the card and studies it. Her head tilts, and her eyes strain over the words that are in English.
“It says, ‘Next time my gladiator son must come with me to see the real thing.’”
She turns her head to look at me. “It is very nice gift from your father. I thought you do not see him?”
I shake my head. “It’s not from Vasily. It’s from my foster father Mikhail. My mother was his mistress for a long time, and he was always good to me. Over the last couple of years, he started calling me his stepson and then his son.”
“You like this?”
“Yeah, I did.” I shift in the bed. “Egorov didn’t. He’s the husband of Mikhail’s real daughter. Mikhail was in Russia during the time Egorov had me fight to the death. I think Egorov wanted me to be killed or at least severely injured, as revenge because Mikhail liked me more. When Mikhail came back and learned what happened, he was angry at Egorov, but proud of me. You know St. Peter’s history? It was built to celebrate a military victory. That’s why Mikhail chose it. I was victorious in a deadly and difficult fight.”
“What happens to this man, your second father?”
