"Fuck, you feel so good," he groans. "So tight, so wet. Made for me."
"Yes," I gasp. "Yours. Only yours."
His hand finds my clit, circling in time with his thrusts, and I feel another orgasm building. This one deeper, starting in my toes and spreading like fire.
"I've got you," he whispers against my mouth.
"Don't let go."
"Never." He kisses me between words. "Promise."
"Promise."
We build together, no rush despite the desperation. His name rises in my throat, but not the cold formal name I've used to distance myself. The intimate one, the one that makes him family.
"Alyosha…"
He groans against my neck, his thrusts becoming erratic. "Say it again."
"Alyosha. Please…I'm so close…"
"Together," he gasps. "Come with me."
His thumb circles with perfect pressure, his body tensing against mine, and we surrender together. I tighten around him as he throbs within me, our bodies locked in a perfect rhythm of release. We hold each other through waves of pleasure, refusing to let even a breath come between us.
We don't move for a long time. Can't. We're tangled together in the huge hotel bed, satin sheets twisted around us, his cumleaking out of me onto the expensive fabric. His hand traces patterns on my back, circles and lines that might be Russian words or might be nothing at all.
My head rests on his chest, his heartbeat steady under my ear. Real. Alive. Here. His cock is still semi-hard inside me, and every small movement makes us both shiver.
"What happens now?" I ask.
"Now we rest."
"I mean tomorrow. Next week. The rest of our lives."
His cock twitches inside me at 'rest of our lives,' and I clench around him involuntarily.
"We figure it out together." His fingers find my hair, stroking through the damp strands. "Whatever you want. Wherever you want to be."
"I want to be with you."
"Then that's where you'll be."
He rolls us slightly, still inside me, so he can kiss me properly. It starts gentle but quickly turns heated again, his cock hardening fully inside me.
"Again?" I gasp against his mouth.
"Always," he says, starting to move. "I'll never get enough of you."
This time is slower, lazier, but no less intense. We rock together, whispered promises between kisses, until we're both coming again, softer but just as devastating.
After, when we finally separate, he cleans us both with a warm washcloth from the bathroom, tender and thorough. Then we're back in bed, wrapped around each other like we can't bear even an inch of space between us.
The city glitters outside our windows. Chicago at night, beautiful and dangerous.
Like us.
"Thank you," I whisper.
