And then he pushes me back onto the desk. The motion is quick, and I gasp in surprise at how quickly the cool wooden surface meets my body. A burst of wetness rushes between my legs, and he holds me there while I turn so that my face is pressed against the cold surface.
"This is what you wanted in the first place, isn't it?"
It is.
I can't say that.
I spread my legs further.
His hand shoves between my thighs and I’m already soaked. Long fingers stroke me from top to bottom, and then one of them buries itself deep inside me. I moan like a whore as my pussy clenches around it. Another finger joins it, and I spread my legs further, my body arching to bring him deeper in to sate my own appetite.
“You’ve wanted me to hurt you this whole time, haven’t you?” He snarls as his fingers work me relentlessly.
“Yes…” I say as I writhe, but his hand continues to pin me down.
He bends over me, lips brushing over the shell of my ear, and bites his way down my neck, along my shoulder while wet obscene sounds fill the office.
His mouth and hands drive me at a pace that leaves no room for thought, which is exactly what I want—sensation to replace logic, feeling to burn away my guilt. Here, at last, with my betrayal fully laid out before him, I can savor his rough touches.
The orgasm builds faster than I expect and crashes through me harder than I'm prepared for. I come with a sound that I bite back too late—it's already in the room before I can catch it, real and undefended—and I'm furious at myself for it, and I don't care, and both of those things are true simultaneously.
I scream loudly, fire burning the air out of my lungs. My hands reach forward to claw at the desk as I come harder than I’ve ever come before. He pulls his finger out of me and grabs both my hands, coating them with my pleasure, and pins them behind my back.
“No you don’t,malyshka.” His mouth is at my ear again, dripping dark honey as he snarls. “You don’t get to have that mercy."
And then, he enters me from behind.
Hard.
I cry out, involuntary and helpless. The sound punches out of my throat before I can stop it. My body stretches to accommodate the sudden rough intrusion, and my eyes roll into the back of my head as I moan loudly.
It feels so good. So pure. I ride that edge where pleasure and pain mix until they become indistinguishable, and my moans turn into screams.
That’s when he releases my hands, and closes his wet hand over my mouth. A finger slips into my mouth and I suck greedily to taste myself on him. He’s dominating me completely, stripping away all choices—exactly like how I want him to.
I didn’t have to ask him for this, didn’t even have to beg him for it. He knows that this is what I wanted— to be held down, covered, silenced, to have him take control of even the sounds I made.
It’s freeing and exhilarating.
He sets a pace that's relentless and deliberate and I love it. I love the way he's holding me down. I love the ruthlessness of his cock pumping me in and out. I love not being able to move my hips or voice anything except what he allows to escape between his fingers. Fire moves through my veins from the base of my spine. Another orgasm is already building.
This is what I wanted, and it’s also exactly what I’m losing.
Both things live in the same body and I can't separate them, and I decide I'm not going to try.
The orgasm crests. I'm almost there.
But maddeningly, I can’t reach it.
Something shifts in Slava’s pace—a minor adjustment but it makes all the difference between a man who's punishing and a man who's starting to remember something he's trying to forget. The edge begins to dull, and the rhythm starts losing the vicious intent behind it.
He's not fucking me hard enough.
Which means he still doesn't hate me enough.
The monster has a crack in it. As long as the monster has a crack, the man is still in there, and the man will want to find a way out.
I can feel it in the way he’s moving. He’s telling me to give him a way out. To tell him to stop. Tolethim stop.
