“You tell me yours, and I’ll tell you mine.”
“Blyad!” I curse as her pussy starts to clench around me. “There was Alina, who took my virginity at fifteen. Then Svetlana and her cousin at sixteen.”
“Are you really going to list all the women you’ve been with?” She lets out a giggle, followed by a strangled sob when my cock hits that spot she likes.
“If that gives me my kill list, then yes,” I growl, releasing one hand from her ass cheek to cup her breast and give it a tight squeeze before pinching her hard nipple.
“Kill,” she wails, her head falling back in utter ecstasy.
I shoot out my hand to her throat, pulling her eyes back on mine. “Names, Stella! Those fuckers have lived long enough.” As she refuses to give me any names, I continue on with my ownlist. “There was Tatyana at eighteen. Followed by Irina. Also, a cute little blond who I didn’t even bother to get a name from that summer, too.”
Stella launches forward, and this time it’s her hands that are wrapped around my neck, pressing on my windpipes hard. “Say another name, and it will be your last.” A warm glow fills my chest at the jealousy in her eyes.
“Why do you care?” I rasp, slapping her ass for good measure.
She bites down on her lip, still fucking me senseless, before the green in her eyes clashes with mine.
“Do they all live in Moscow? Where can I find them?” she seethes, our lovefest turning sinfully aggressive, as if we needed to punish each other for not waiting for one another.
“Why? Are you going to kill them?”
“Yes,” she deadpans.
With that vow falling from her lips, I flip us around until I’m on top.
“Good. Kill them all. I couldn’t care less. Because this,” I say before slapping her pussy, causing her to pant out instantly, “is all the pussy I’ll ever need for the rest of my days.”
Stella’s eyes molten at the promise, her hands still on my throat, unwilling to release her hold on me. If only she knew that her hold transcends the physical. It’s not only my body that is hers—it’s my heart and soul too.
“Open your mouth,dusha moya. Let me claim one of your firsts, at least,” I say before spitting in her mouth.
Stella’s eyes widen at the depravity of it, but the way her pussy clenches around my cock, blinding me in a way that defies all imagination, tells me it turned her on more than she was ready for.
“That’s right, baby,” I say in plain fucking English now, so she understands every last word. “You might have had boys playwith what’s mine in the past, but now, your man has staked his claim on what was always his to begin with. From here on out, you belong to me. This pussy belongs to me. Understood?”
My words, more than anything, set her off. Her body lifts off the bed, forcing me to keep her in place so she can take her punishment like the bad girl she is. And when she squeezes me with her walls, suffocating me until I don’t know where she ends and I begin, I unravel, following her over the precipice, cursing through gritted teeth at the image of my cum inside her.
We’re a tangle of loose limbs, two sated souls crashing back to earth, my head resting carefully on her chest. I barely have a second to enjoy the afterglow before Stella threads her fingers through my hair and lifts my head toward her.
“So where do these chicks live?”
“You tell me yours, and I’ll tell you mine,” I tease, with a crooked grin plastered all over my face.
“Asshole,” she grumbles, letting go of my hair.
Still, I don’t fall back down on her chest and stare into her eyes instead.
“None of them meant anything to me. Not one. They’re just blurred faces from a time I’d rather forget. None of them holds a candle to you. None of them.”
Stella’s gaze softens as she continues to stare at me and read the truth in my words.
“You’re a hard act to follow, too,” she whispers, running her fingers around the curve of my jaw.
“Good. Because no one is ever going to follow me. I may not have been your first in most accounts, but I will be your last,milaya. I promise you that.”
I half expect her to curse me out, say something about how she’s no man’s possession or property, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t say one word in rebuke. Instead, she meets my gaze with those stellar eyes of hers, full of vows she isn’t ready to admit.
I lie back on her chest and listen to her heartbeat while she plays with the strands of my hair. For the first time since she’s arrived in Russia, I find myself daring to hope. And hope is a dangerous thing to have. Because once stolen, it’s enough to break even the strongest of men.
