My independence was of the utmost importance to him, and for that, I was thankful. Because even if I wanted to be by his side until the very end, I needed to learn to stand on my own, as well.
Mornings came slow here with the sunlight filtering through the windows upstairs—and the ones downstairs I’d had Dmitryinstall after I moved in. I didn’t want to feel like I was living in another prison.
Sometimes I caught him watching me when he thought I wasn’t looking. Not checking for fear. Not guarding me with his life. Just watching, like he was still calibrating the fact that I was real, that I hadn’t broken, and that I was his.
Nights were different, better, as he admitted to me one evening. Having me in his arms meant he slept deeper than he used to. I told him having his body heavy beside mine, with one arm locked around my waist like instinct had carved the shape of me there, made me feel like no one could ever touch us.
And every time he woke, it was with his mouth against my throat, his growls of pleasure in my ear, and his hard cock digging into my side as he whispered he needed me right then.
He never asked if I wanted to stay because he waited for me to choose it again every day.
Tonight was like any other night. Dmitry made me dinner, and afterward, I’d gotten a glass of wine, and a whiskey in a square cut glass for Dmitry. And then we’d go upstairs to relax until our need for each other became too overwhelming.
But just as I stepped into the bedroom with the glasses, he was in front of me, taking them from my hand and setting them aside before backing me against the bedroom wall.
His hands found their way under my shirt, rough palms sliding up my ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts.
His mouth crashed into mine hard, claiming my lips, teeth and tongue. I moaned into it, fingers digging into his shoulders, pulling him closer until there was no space left between us.
He broke the kiss only long enough to yank my shirt over my head, then his own. Skin met skin. Heat met heat.
His hands were everywhere—gripping my ass, kneading my tits, thumbs flicking my nipples until they ached and I arched into him.
“On your knees,” he ordered, voice low and gravel rough, the command sending a fresh rush of wetness between my thighs.
I sank down without hesitation, knees hitting the floor, eyes locked on his as I reached for his belt. He watched me, chest rising and falling, cock already straining against his pants.
I freed his thick, heavy cock, the veins standing out, precum beading at the tip. I wrapped my hand around the base, barely able to close my fingers, and stroked once, slowly, feeling him pulse.
“Open,” he growled.
I did and fed the head past my lips, stretching me wide. I sucked slowly at first, tongue swirling around the ridge, tasting salt and heat.
He groaned low, hand fisting in my hair, guiding me deeper. I gagged softly when he hit the back of my throat, tears immediately pricking my eyes.
“That’s it,” he rasped. “Take it all, malyshka. Let me feel that throat choke on my cock.”
I pushed forward, gagging harder, spit dripping down my chin. He thrust in with shallow, controlled motions, but he was relentless as he watched my face the whole time. I moaned around him, the vibration making him curse under his breath.
He pulled out suddenly, cock slick and glistening with my spit. He stroked himself once, twice, then tapped the head against my tongue.
“Spit on it,” he ordered.
I did what he said, spitting on his massive dick with a thick, messy string of saliva that dripped from my mouth and onto his shaft. He groaned, spreading it around with his hand, slicking himself up.
“Good girl,” he murmured. “Now open wide again.” When I obeyed, he thrust back in, deeper this time, fucking my throat in slow, deliberate strokes. I gagged loud and wet, tears pouring, spit running down my chin and onto my chest. I reached around and grabbed his muscular ass. Dmitry shook, a spasm trailing down his body. He pulled his cock out again, jerked himself off, then dragged his head through the mess on my lips, smearing cum and spit across my face.
“Look at you,” he growled. “Covered in me. Ruined for anyone else.”
He hauled me up by the arms, tore at my pants like a frantic animal, spun me around, and bent me over the edge of the bed, my ass in the air, thighs spread. He kicked my legs wider then dropped to his knees behind me.
His tongue hit my pussy first, hot and flat, licking from my clit to my pussy hole in one long stroke. I moaned into the sheets. He ate me like he was starving, sucking my clit hard, tongue flicking fast then pushing inside me, tasting everything he’d already marked. Dmitry’s hands gripped my ass, spreading me open, thumbs pulling my cheeks apart so he could get deeper.
I felt his spit drip down all thick and warm. It mixed with my wetness and turned me on even more. He pulled back just enough to spit directly on my pussy, and I looked over my shoulder to see him watching it slide over my clit. Then he dove back in, lapping it up with filthy, hungry sounds.
“This cunt is mine,” he growled against me. “All fucking mine.”
Dmitry sucked my clit hard then plunged two fingers inside me, curling them deep until I shattered, my pussy clenching around his fingers, wetness flooding his mouth as I cried out. My thighs shook, but still, he didn’t stop. Dmitry kept lickingthrough it, slower now, tasting every aftershock until I was whimpering and oversensitive.
