That I have been this whole time.
My fingers rake his back, and I know I’m leaving long angry red welts over his muscles. Each streak of pain I leave on his skin gets him to move just a little harder, only for him to start slowing again. I kiss him harder, wrap my legs around him, and scream into his throat.
The final orgasm rips through us both, and I don’t dare break apart from the kiss as I cum. I cling to his body as my pussy flutters around his cock. And then I feel a deep rumble in his chest as a groan escapes his mouth. A shudder rushes through us all at once. My toes curl. His arms tighten around my waist.
Then a searing warm wet heat surges deep inside of me, and we come together in a mess of sweat and tears.
And through it all, he continues to hold me as his cock twitches inside of me.
After what feels like hours, he pulls out of me slowly, and I almost beg for him to come back and not leave me feeling so hauntingly empty like this.
49
SLAVA
The silenceafter sex has never felt like this.
I pull out of Bella and watch a bead of cum roll down her inner thigh, catching light from the city below. She slides down the glass wordlessly, panting and shaking.
A trail of sweat and condensation follows. Her handprints and the ghost shape of her ass remain on the window.
I step back with a ragged and uneven breath. My cock is still half-hard and slick with her. The penthouse air feels too cold after the furnace-heat of her body, and I desperately want to pull her back, wrap her in something warm, and press my mouth to hers in apology.
But instead, all I say is, "Was that what you fucking wanted?"
I mean for the words to sound cold, like that of a pakhan. But all I hear is a man who just destroyed something precious and is desperate to know if it can be rebuilt.
Bella doesn't answer. She's still catching her breath, her forehead pressed against the glass, her body is a canvas of marks from my hands, my mouth, and my teeth.
“I asked you a question,malyshka.”
She glares at me through a shock of messy dark hair, and then pushes herself off the floor.
Fuck.
She's not done.
She crosses the distance, her feet slightly unsteady. Before I can stop her, her hand is pressed flat against my chest. The pressure is light and gentle, not nearly enough to move me. But my feet retreat as she steps forward, until my back hits the edge of my desk and I'm half-sitting on it.
"Bella—"
Her hand wraps around my cock—still sensitive and wet—and draws a ragged gasp from my throat. Then, she starts to stroke, and my vision whites out at the edges.
"Not by a fucking long shot," she hisses.
She’s working me with a ruthlessness that borders on violence, her grip too tight, her rhythm unforgiving, her eyes locked on mine like she's daring me to stop her. Like she knows I’m powerless to stop her.
I get hard again because my body has never been able to resist her, even when my mind is screaming warnings that if I let her take control, it’ll be the death of us both.
"Bella." I breathe. "Wait?—"
"Lie back."
She pushes against my chest, and I’m falling down, down, down, until the desk meets my back. Her hand gives my cock a temporary reprieve, just long enough for her to climb onto the desk, and straddle my hips.
Her makeup is ruined—mascara tracks down her cheeks like war paint, her lipstick is smeared across her jaw where I kissed her too hard, and her eyeliner is bleeding at the corners. Her hair is a wreck, half-escaped from how hard I yanked it over and over again. It’s tangled and wild around her face. There are bite marks on her shoulder. She looks like she's been through a war.
I did that.
