Her eyes lift to mine, wide, blazing, like I’ve just ripped her world apart, every thrust a fucking revelation. Like she’s never been fucked like this. Good. Because no one should fuck her. No one but me. She’s mine—every scream, every shudder—and I’ll burn anyone who tries to take her.
“Look at me,” I snarl, and her gaze locks on, softer now, dropping shyly, surrender in every blink.Govno, that submission—it’s gasoline on my fire, making my cock throb harder, owning her deeper.
“You’re so… big,” she gasps, voice trembling, a match to my fuse.
My hand snaps to her throat—not choking, just holding, my palm dwarfing her fragile neck. She’s such a tiny little thing, but her tits—bouncing wild as I thrust into her tight cunt—are a goddamn masterpiece, full and perfect, begging to be marked.
“Big enough to split your tight little cunt,” I growl, voice thick with lust. “You’ll feel me for days.”
Her breath hitches, eyes wide, pinned, wanting.
My other hand slides down, fingers rubbing her clit—fast, rough—blood shooting to her face, cheeks flaming red.
She’s close, trembling, but I’m not letting her come.
Not yet.
I want her desperate, aching, so I pull out—cock slick, leaving her empty.
Her whimper’s pathetic, hips chasing me, andgovno, I want this to last—want her so much it burns, want to prolong this fire until we’re both ash. I don’t want it to end, not when she’s this alive under me.
“Stay,” I snap, fingers still circling her clit, slow now, teasing until she’s squirming, silk sheets twisting under her. “Fucking look at me,krasavitsa.”
Her eyes flick up, then down—shy, pleading—and she whispers, “Please, Konstantin,” unprompted, breaking faster than I thought.
It’s perfect, her need feeding mine, and I lean in, sucking a hickey on her collarbone—dark, claiming—while my fingers dip lower, grazing her dripping cunt, not entering, just torturing.
“This tight cunt’s mine,” I murmur, voice low, “No one else gets you like this.”
She nods, frantic, and I’m back inside—thrusting hard, pinning her wrists above her head. Her nails rake my arms, scratching red lines, and I growl, loving the sting, loving her fight.
“Scream for me,” I order, and she does—“Konstantin!”—raw, shattering, as I drive deeper, silk creaking under us.
I slap her clit—not my cock this time, just fingers, quick, sharp—and she’s done for, coming again, clenching so tight I nearly lose it. Her nails rake my back, leaving marks of her own, and fuck, she’s fire, life, everything I forgot I could feel. She’s not just sex—she’s waking me up, burning through the cold I’ve carried for years—wars, blood, a decade dead inside.
I keep thrusting, slow now, dragging it out because she’s alive, and so am I, her moans cracking my grave open.
I’m close, too close. I hook her legs over my shoulders, driving deeper, her moans a fucking symphony.
“Beg for my cum,” I snarl, voice ragged.
“Please, Konstantin,” she chokes, eyes locked on mine.
“Yes, that’s right, squeeze me with your tight little cunt.” My fingers are rubbing her clit, and she breaks—gushing, screaming, cunt pulsing like a heartbeat.
“Fuck,” she chokes.
I thrust once, twice, then pull out, ripping the condom off. My cock pulses, spilling hot across her stomach, marking her again. I collapse onto her, chest heaving, her warmth seeping into me. Her breath’s ragged, too, and for a moment, we’re just bodies—sweat, silk.
And I’m alive in a way I haven’t been in years.
34
Bella
The first thing I register is warmth.
Then softness.
