He makes a sound of surprise that turns into a groan. His hands find my waist, my hips, pulling me flush against him as he kicks the door closed behind us.
The kiss is desperate. Hungry. Everything I've been holding back pouring out in the press of lips and clash of tongues and the way our bodies move together like they've been waiting for this.
We stumble toward the bed, shedding clothes along the way. His shirt hits the floor. My sweater follows. His hands are everywhere, pulling at fabric, finding skin, making me gasp against his mouth.
By the time we reach the mattress, we're mostly undressed. I fall back onto the bed, and he follows me down, his weight settling over me in a way that makes me feel grounded instead of trapped.
His mouth trails down my neck. Hot. Deliberate. Finding the sensitive spot where my pulse hammers beneath skin.
"You taste like heaven," he murmurs against my collarbone.
Lower. His lips find my breast, tongue circling my nipple before sucking it into his mouth. The sensation shoots straight to my core, makes me arch into him with a sound I don't recognize as my own.
He gives equal attention to the other breast. Biting gently. Soothing with his tongue. Building heat with every touch until I'm squirming beneath him.
Then he's moving lower. Kissing down my ribs, across my stomach, pausing at my hip bone to scrape his teeth across sensitive flesh.
He settles between my legs, and the sight of him there, green eyes dark with want, mouth curved in a wicked grin, makes my lungs forget their rhythm.
"Watch me," he commands.
I can't look away.
His mouth finds me, and I forget how to think.
His tongue is rough velvet against my clit, circling with devastating precision. He alternates between soft licks and harder pressure, reading my responses, adjusting his rhythm until I'm trembling.
Two fingers slide inside me. Crook upward. Find a spot that makes stars explode behind my eyes.
The combination of his mouth and his fingers and the way he's watching me come apart is too much. The pressure builds and builds until I can't contain it anymore.
I come, my body arching off the bed, his hands holding my hips steady as I shatter.
He doesn't stop. Works me through the aftershocks until I'm gasping, oversensitive, pulling at his hair to make him stop or keep going, I can't tell which.
When he finally lifts his head, his mouth is wet with me, and the sight makes fresh arousal bloom low in my belly.
He kneels between my spread legs. His cock is hard, the tip glistening. He wraps his hands around my ankles, holding them in a V, positioning himself at my entrance.
Then he pushes in.
The stretch is intense. Fuller than I remember from Maksim. Different angle. Different rhythm. But equally perfect in its own way.
He starts to move. Long, deep strokes that make me feel him everywhere. His eyes never leave mine, and the intimacy of it, the connection, makes this more than just physical.
My hands grip the sheets. My body rises to meet his thrusts. The friction, the pressure, the way he fills me completely, it all builds toward release.
He puts my legs on his shoulders, reaches down, presses his thumb to my clit while maintaining his rhythm, and I come again. Hard. Clenching around him so tight he groans.
"Not done with you yet,kotyonok," he says, voice rough.
He pulls out, and I whimper at the loss. Then he's moving, flipping us so he's on his back and I'm straddling his hips.
"Ride me," he orders, hands gripping my waist. "Give me one more."
"I can't," I gasp. "I don't think I can."
His thumb finds my clit again. Circles it with just enough pressure to make me jerk against him.
