“I got it on the day you left me.”
“Why?” I swallow dryly, all my previous bravado now out the window.
“Because I didn’t like the feeling of seeing the mark you made on me starting to fade away.”
I watch helpless as his throat works, all the words he wants to say lodged there, suffocating him.
“I want you,” I hear myself say, finally giving him an honest answer. “Just you, Kill. You.”
“And you have me. You fucking have me,” he growls, before his hand shoots up to grab the nape of my neck, pulling me to him so he can kiss me.
As my heart swells with his words, Kirill flips me on my back yet again, his hand caressing my cheek as he puts everything to this one kiss. My body feels like a live wire, needing only a little more to catch fire completely.
Tonight, there will be no foreplay. No sweet kisses and lingering looks. No hands traveling up and down our bodies to inspect every little change that we missed during our time apart.
Tonight, only raw need prevails.
The need to become one before both of us lose all sense of sanity.
My head tips back, mouth agape as a loud sob escapes my throat when Kirill finally takes pity on both of us and thrusts deep inside me. Angry that he can’t see my face while he’s fucking me, he pulls me up so I’m sitting on his lap yet again. My forehead falls to his shoulder, my teeth finding their tattooed brethren, sinking in deep into his skin while Kirill fucks me like time is his enemy.
“Look at me,” he rasps, brushing my hair away from my face so he can look deep into my eyes.
I wrap my arms around his neck and just stare into that black abyss and make a home there.
He curses in both Russian and English, pounding into my pussy like he wants to ruin it. Ruin it until nothing or no one could ever make it feel this good besides him.
We’re panting, our bodies slick with sweat, but our eyes never leave each other.
I’m so close, so goddamn close, but Kirill looks like he just got his second wind, drilling into me with even more fervor than before. My arms pull away from his neck, so that one hand can latch on to his throat, while the other grips his jaw, forcing him to open his mouth for me.
I spit into it, then lean in and lick his sweat off his chin before tasting myself on his tongue.
“Fuck!” he shouts, snaking his hand in between us to pinch my sensitive clit.
And just like that, I cry out in ecstasy, my eyelids falling on their own accord as I ride it out. Kirill comes right after, his cock swelling inside me, his cum dripping down my thighs.
My body is still trembling after the earth-shattering orgasm he just gave me, every bone in me deliciously heavy and spent. I rest my head in the crook of his neck, my palm splayed over his chest, his heartbeat thumping just as wildly as mine must be.
“Tell me you missed me,dusha moya. Give me that at least,” he says, voice low and aching.
I tilt my head back to look at him. His dark eyes are so soft right now. So pleading. Like one wrong word from me could shatter him entirely.
“I missed you, Kill. Every day, I missed you.”
He lets out a deep exhale. Almost like my admission breathed life back into him, completely ignoring how dangerous it is.
I shouldn’t have missed him the way I did.
He should mean nothing to me.
I want to tell him that this is just sex. That that’s all this is. But I’d be lying.
To him and to myself.
This… whatever it is… isn’t just about giving in to desire. It’s more. He feels it, and so do I.
The problem is that he refuses to acknowledge that whatever this pull is, whatever this feeling that keeps dragging us back to each other, has a shelf life.
