“Pyotr—” My name comes out as a strangled whisper against my palm.
“I know. I’ve got you.”
I pull my hand away, and she whimpers at the loss. But I’m already freeing myself from my pants and positioning at her entrance. When I push inside, we both swallow the sounds that want to escape.
I give her a moment to adjust, holding myself still even though every instinct tells me to move. She’s tight and wet and perfect around me, and it takes every ounce of control I have not to lose myself.
“Okay?” I ask.
“More than okay.” She wraps her legs around my hips and pulls me deeper.
She parts her lips as I start slow, and she flutters her eyes closed as she digs her fingers into my shoulders hard enough to leave bruises. I don’t care. I want her marks on me. I want to carry the evidence of this moment on my skin.
I hook one hand under her knee and lift her leg higher, changing the angle. The new position makes her gasp against my palm, and I feel the sound vibrate through my bones.
“Hold onto me,” I tell her. “Don’t let go.”
She wraps her arms around my neck, fingers threading through my hair and tugging hard enough to sting. I reward her by driving deeper, setting a rhythm that matches the frantic pace of her heartbeat, where her chest presses against mine.
This is about survival, proving we’re still alive when we could have been caught or killed. Every stroke is defiance. Every breath is victory.
“Look at me,” I demand. “I want to see you.”
She opens her eyes, and the vulnerability there nearly undoes me. No defenses. Just Daria, stripped bare in every way that matters.
I slow my pace, drawing out each thrust until she squirms with frustration. She tries to rock her hips faster, but I pin her in place with one hand on her hip.
“Patience.”
“Pyotr, please?—”
“Please, what?” I roll my hips in a tiny circle, hitting every sensitive spot without giving her the friction she needs. “Tell me what you want.”
“You know what I want.”
“I want to hear you say it.” I nip at her earlobe, then soothe the sting with my tongue. “Use your words.”
She groans in frustration, her nails biting into my shoulders. “I want you to stop teasing and make me come.”
“Good girl. I love it when you tell me what you want.”
I give her what she asks for, hard and fast. The counter creaks beneath us, and her breathing goes ragged. I feel the tension building in her body, coiling tighter with each thrust. She’s so close, and I want to watch her fall apart.
“That’s it,” I breathe against her temple. “Right there. Stay with me.”
I reach between us and find her clit, rubbing circles in time with my thrusts. The added sensation makes her body jerk.
“Oh, God?—”
“Say my name when you come.” I increase the pressure. “I want to hear it.”
She’s trembling now, every muscle drawn tight as a bowstring. Her inner walls flutter around me, the first warning of what’s about to happen.
“Pyotr—” She bites into my palm as her release hits, muffling my name against my skin.
I watch her face as she shatters. The way her brow furrows, then smooths. The way her lips part around a silent cry. The way her body goes rigid, then limp. She’s never looked more beautiful than she does right now, wrecked and satisfied and mine.
The sight of her pushes me over my own edge. I bury myself deep and let go, spilling into her with a groan I can’t contain. For a few blinding seconds, nothing exists except the heat of her body and the pulse of pleasure radiating through every nerve.
