He enters me from behind with a single, savage thrust that yanks a cry out of me. The angle is so raw and deep, I can feel him in places I didn’t know existed. If I didn’t do yoga every day, I’d never be able to take him like this without hurting.
I’m still going to be sore tomorrow.
Each time he slams into me, my body jerks forward, the sheer force sliding my arms, my chest, and my face over the sheets. I try to push back, to anchor myself, but my limbs are pudding, my brain barely attached to my body.
The sound of flesh colliding echoes in the room, tangled with his ragged breathing and my broken sobs of pleasure. All I can do is accept him.
All of him.
Welcome each merciless thrust that threatens to break me open.
I don’t even notice that I’m being shoved off the edge of the bed until I feel the cool air on my cheeks and the sudden give of gravity.
My face and shoulders slip over the side. His hands on my hips keep my ass propped up while my upper body hangs. Helpless. Barely above the plush carpet.
I’m too far gone for shame.
There is only the hot, unbearable need, the connection between us, and the coiling pressure low in my belly that mounts and mounts.
My body’s a plaything, whittled down to nerves and sensation.
His mouth closes on the back of my neck and shoulders, his teeth scraping, biting, and branding me. When he twists my nipples, I yelp. His fingers find my clit and circle with obscene precision.
Everything fades until I’m nothing more than a bundle of need and sensation.
Another orgasm slams through me, my scream muffled by the duvet, then by Kirill’s fingers invading my mouth. All my strength has vanished, leaving my body limp.
The only reality is the blunt thrust of his cock and the rush of blood and fire under my skin.
Another brutal, impossible orgasm spirals up inside me, but I can’t stop the whirlwind.
He says something, but the words are lost inside the cyclone of pleasure and the roaring in my ears. I can’t catch them. I can’t catch any thought at all.
I’m reduced to desperate moans, to the searing thump of his hips against my ass.
He whispers in my ear. “Sounds like you can’t think right now.”
His rhythm stutters, then grows wild and erratic. He releases a deep, guttural groan, and I feel him spill inside me. That final rush tips me over a fourth time, the orgasm shattering me so completely that I see stars, white and silent and blinding.
When the reality returns, Kirill’s collapsed on top of me. The weight of him pinning me down grounds me, providing a sense of safety among the wreckage washing over my skin.
We’re both drenched, our bodies singing with the aftershocks. I can feel his uncontained heartbeat pounding into my back.
I’ve never been fucked like this. Never been taken apart and pieced back together so many times in a single night. Wrungdry and emptied. I’m not sure my body and brain are still connected.
This…this is what it means to be alive. Not the watered-down version of life with endless affirmations, the forced gratitude, the glazed-over conversations. Not the persona I present to the world.
This is the truth. This raw, messy connection. I’m not performing or manifesting or faking.
I’m just here. Just real. Like him.
A man I can be my true self with. I’d never thought I’d stumble upon such a thing. Never dared to hope.
But with this man…this crazy, dangerous man…I don’t feel the need to hide anything. He’s already accepted everything I am.
Kirill finally shifts and rolls off me, but he doesn’t release me. He tugs me down beside him, his arms wrapping around my waist and pulling me close on the soft bed. For a while, we just exist together, tangled and shaking, our bodies humming as our breathing slowly evens out.
I should be thinking about tomorrow. The gala, my mother, how complicated everything will get. But I can’t.
