I grab the paddle, pressing it against her cheek.
“This is going to hurt more,krasotka. Tell me what you are hiding?” Another smack. Her body jolts, a strangled cry escaping.
Her pussy glistens, dripping with need.
Ignoring my question, she bites her lips.
“Fuck me, Leonid,” she begs in my mind.
My fingers squeeze harder, stroking faster. I’m so close.
I remember how tight she was five years ago. How she writhed beneath me.
“Mine,” I snarl, imagining sinking into her wet heat. “You’re fucking mine, Red.”
In my mind, I tease her, rubbing my cock along her slick folds. “You want this for your tight little cunt, huh?”
“Fuck, yes,” she moans, arching her hips up. I press the tip against her clit, making her whimper again.
Without warning, I thrust in, but not deep. Not yet. I pull out slowly, torturing her with shallow strokes.
My fingers find her clit, circling slowly. More juices flow from her gorgeous pussy.
“Please, Leonid,” she begs, voice breaking. “I need you. All of you.”
I thrust in and out, slow and steady. She tries to push back, but I hold her hips still.
“Say it. Beg for it.”
“Fuck. Me. Harder. Please.” Her voice is fierce, demanding.
I can’t take it anymore. As I pump my cock harder in reality, I imagine thrusting into her, hard and deep.
I squeeze my hands with such force that they feel like her tight, wet pussy. My mind is consumed with images of her moaning and writhing beneath me as I lose myself in the intense pleasure. Every muscle in my body tenses and strains as I continue to thrust into my hands, desperate for release. The sound of my own heavy breathing and water cascading down on the floor fills the room as I imagine her calling my name in ecstasy.
With a roar, I come. Thick ropes of cum coat my hand, splattering onto the shower floor.
thirty-two
Clara
It's like the first conscious thought crashes into my brain with the subtlety of a freight train.
You shouldn’t be this comfortable in your enemy’s bed, dumbass.
I jolt awake, sitting up so fast the room spins. A large shadow looms by the door, and before my eyes can adjust, a familiar scent hits me. Leather, musk, and… is that fresh bread and butter?
My hand flies to my mouth, feeling a trail of dried drool. I scrub at it furiously, then freeze.
Wait, why the hell do I care?
Great.
I’m a captive of the man I failed to poison, and here I am worrying about drool.
Get your priorities straight, Clara.
Looking like a hot mess should be the least of my concerns right now.
