He doesn’t stop until he’s buried so deep his hips press against mine. My legs wrap around his waist, heels pressing into his ass to keep him there, but I begin rocking my hips, aching for the delicious friction of his body rubbing against mine.
Then he starts moving—long, slow thrusts that drag against every sensitive spot inside me. Each one pulls a moan from my throat that shatters the silence of the room. And it's a good thing we're alone because I'm loud, so loud I wonder if people walking past in the hallway will snicker that they can hear us in here.
He keeps thrusting in long, slow strokes that fill me completely with every movement, and the friction sends heat building through my core again. I moan louder than before, and I can't seem to quiet down. His hands slide up my sides, fingers spreading over my ribs as he holds me closer, and the way he touches me makes everything feel more intense.
His rhythm stays controlled,each deep roll of his hips designed to make me feel every thick inch of him. The slow drag out, the heavy push back in—it’s torture and heaven at once. My nails rake down his back, catching on old scars, and he hisses through his teeth.
“Come on now,” he growls against my throat. “I want to hear you fall apart again.”
Fyodor hooks one of my knees over his elbow, opening me wider, changing the angle just enough that the head of his cock grazes that spot inside me on every stroke. My next moan cracks in half and he drinks the sound, then gives me another measured thrust that makes my eyes roll.
“Like that?” he asks, almost taunting.
“Yes—God, yes?—”
He rewards me with a harder snap of his hips, once, twice, then returns to the slow grind that’s driving me insane. Sweat slicks our skin where we touch and I reach between us, fingers finding my clit, desperate for more. But he knocks my hand away immediately.
“No,” he growls. “That’s mine tonight.”
Then his thumb replaces my fingers, circling with the exact pressure I need while he keeps fucking into me with that devastating patience. My thighs shake and my spine arches off the petal-strewn sheets.
“Fyodor—please?—”
“Please what, Noemi?” His voice is wrecked, fraying at the edges. “Tell me.”
“Faster,” I gasp. “Harder. I need—I need?—”
With one smooth motion Fyodor pulls out, flips me onto my stomach, and drags my hips up until I’m on my knees. Rose petals scatter under my palms as I brace myself. His hands gripmy waist, and he thrusts back in from behind in a single deep stroke that punches the air from my lungs.
I moan louder than before, face pressed into the sheets. The new angle is devastating—deeper, fuller, hitting places that make stars burst behind my closed eyes. He sets a harder pace now, each snap of his hips driving him to my cervix, and he has me gasping and panting for air as I claw the sheets for something to hold on to.
“Fuck, look at you,” he rasps, one hand sliding up my spine to fist my hair, tugging my head back just enough to arch me perfectly. “Taking me so deep."
I push back to meet every thrust. Desperate, needy sounds spill from my throat. His other hand slips around to my clit again, rubbing fast, relentless circles. The pressure coils in my groin until my arms give out. I drop to my elbows, ass higher, and he groans at the change, pounding harder.
“Gonna come again?” he grumbles like he's straining not to blow. “Let me feel it. Squeeze me.”
I can't formwords anymore, just broken little cries muffled into the sheets as the pressure snaps like a taut wire. My second orgasm hits harder than the first, ripping through me in violent waves. My whole body seizes, my inner walls squeezing him in tight pulses that pull him even deeper.
Heat explodes low in my belly and races outward, making my toes curl and my fingers twist in the rose petals and sheets. I come so hard I scream his name, as slickness gushes out around him, dripping down my thighs. Every thrust drags fresh sparks across my oversensitive nerves and I shake uncontrollably,whimpering, trying to ride it out while he keeps fucking me through it.
Fyodor groans at every flutter and clench. His rhythm falters, hips snapping unevenly. A rough, desperate sound rips from his throat.
"Noemi—fuck—I'm?—"
And his fingers bruise my hips as he slams in one last time, burying himself so deep I feel him against my cervix. Then he comes hard and thick spurts flood inside me, each pulse jerking his dick and his whole body against my back and he grinds slow, shallow circles, milking out every last drop until he's shuddering, spent.
When he collapses beside me I have no words for him at all. I'm spent and exhausted. I roll to my side and let him hold me, and he covers us with the corner of the blanket as he places kisses on my bare shoulder.
Fyodor surprised me tonight, much like the many other times along the way that he's found to shock me. There is so much more to him than the angry man others see. The life he talked about, with me being safe in his home alongside Sasha, it's what I want too. It’s more than I imagined when I first learned that Sasha's mother might die.
"I do love you," he whispers, and I turn over my shoulder to smile at him.
"I love you too, Fyodor… I really do. And I want what you talked about."
He looks at me with confusion on his face and I smile as I turn to my back and reach up to cup his jaw.
"You said you could keep the violence from our life, me and Sasha, if we were in your home…" I wait for those words to sink in and his expression shifts. "I want that more than anything."
