I cry out at the first touch of his tongue. It's so different from his fingers in the library—hotter, wetter, more invasive. He licks through my folds slowly, deliberately, like he's memorizing the taste of me.
"Pyotr!" His name escapes as a gasp.
"That's right," he growls against my sensitive flesh. "Say my name while I eat my pussy."
The crude words make me wetter despite myself.
His tongue finds my clit and circles it with maddening precision. I'm already sensitive from his earlier attention, and this—this is too much. Too intense. I try to pull away but his hands grip my thighs hard, holding me in place.
"Stay still," he orders. "Let me taste you properly."
He devours me. There's no other word for it. His mouth works me with single-minded focus—licking, sucking, his tongue pushing inside me while I writhe and gasp above him.
When he slides two fingers into me alongside his tongue, the stretch makes me tense.
"Relax," he murmurs, the vibration against my clit making me whimper. "You took my fingers before. You can take them again."
He works them slowly, carefully, letting me adjust while his mouth continues its assault on my clit. The dual sensation is overwhelming. Pleasure builds in waves, cresting higher and higher until I'm trembling on the edge.
"Come," he commands against me. "Come on my tongue so I can taste it."
His fingers curl inside me, finding that spot that makes me see stars, and I shatter. The orgasm crashes through me, my body clenching around his fingers while I cry out his name.
He doesn't stop. Keeps licking, keeps moving his fingers, drawing it out until I'm oversensitive and trying to push his head away.
Only then does he pull back, sitting up between my spread thighs. His mouth and chin glisten with my arousal. The sight should embarrass me. Instead it makes something hot and shameful coil in my belly.
"Delicious," he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I'm going to do that every day. Make you come on my tongue before I fill you with my cock."
He moves up my body, settling his weight between my legs. I can feel his erection pressing against my entrance—hot, hard, impossibly large.
This is it.
"Look at me," he commands, cupping my face. "I want you looking at me when I take your virginity."
I meet his eyes. Those ice-blue eyes that have haunted me for three days.
"It's going to hurt," he tells me, no softening of the truth. "Your body isn't used to being penetrated. The pain will be real. But I'm going to go slow. I'm going to make it as good as I can. Andthen I'm going to fuck you until you forget what it felt like to be empty."
He reaches between us, and I feel him positioning himself. The broad head of his cock presses against my entrance and panic flares hot and immediate.
"Pyotr, I don't think…"
"Breathe," he interrupts, pressing forward just enough that I feel my body starting to give way. "Just breathe,malyshka. Your body was made for this. Made for me."
The pressure increases. He's so big and I'm so tight and it feels impossible. Like trying to fit something that will never, ever go in.
"It won't. It can't."
"It will." He pushes harder and I feel myself stretching, my body trying to accommodate him. The burn starts—sharp and insistent. "Relax. Stop fighting me. Let me in."
But I can't relax. Every muscle is tensed against the invasion. He's splitting me open and it hurts and—
He thrusts forward, pushing past my resistance with one firm, claiming motion.
I scream.
The pain is white-hot, sharp, nothing like I expected. It's not just discomfort or pressure—it's agony. He forces himself inside and I feel the sting as delicate tissue stretches beyond its limit.
