I lift my head, pin her arms above her with one hand, then reach down with the other to cup her breasts, teasing her petal-soft nipples into tight buds, tugging them with my fingers, flicking them with my thumb.
She gasps, then moans, a sound of unmistakable female arousal.
“God, I love your breasts.” Natural and soft, they yield to my hand as I cup and palm them, their tips so sensitive that she shivers at the merest flick of my thumb. And then I can’t wait another second, I duck down, greeting each puckered peak with an eager flick of my tongue, then close my mouth over her right nipple and suck.
She cries out, whimpers, arching her back, offering herself to me, her arms still pinned above her head.
“Oh, Viktor!”
The way she calls my name—the urgency in her voice—sends pleasure rocketing through me.
Driven by her pleas and my own desperate hunger, I tug on her nipple with my lips, flick it with my tongue, suckle it, cuppingher other breast with my free hand, my thumb tracing circles on the sensitive underside.
God, she’s so responsive!
She’s breathing fast, her body trembling, her eyes squeezed shut, a look of torment on her sweet face.
Brain buzzing with lust, I shift my mouth to her other nipple, grazing her with the edge of my teeth, then sucking hard. I want to please her, want so goddamn bad to please her, want to make her burn for me the way I burn for her.
“Viktor, please!” She squirms against me, her hips lifting off the bed, seeking relief.
I raise my head, release her wrists, and feel her fingers clench in my hair. I flick a nipple with my tongue, teasing her. “Please what? Please stop?”
She gives a frustrated moan. “Please don’t stop!”
Only too happy to oblige her, I lower my mouth to a wet nipple, sucking and nipping her as I nudge my hand between her thighs, lift her right leg and drape it over my hip, spreading her wide. My hand seeks the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, teasing her, working my way slowly upward.
Christ, I can feel her heat. It radiates from within her, her sultry, musky scent igniting every drop of testosterone in my blood. She whimpers my name, her nails digging into my scalp, her hips rising each time my hand draws near, then twisting in sexual frustration when I pull my hand away again. When I’m certain I have her on the edge, I cup her damp curls and ease a finger inside her.
She lets out a breathy moan, her hot, slick walls gripping my finger tight.
I hear myself growl like some kind of damned animal, my hips flexing as if my cock is buried inside her instead of thrusting against her thigh.
Slow down, Balshov.
I force breath into my lungs, doing my best to relax. I stroke her, sliding a second finger inside her, stretching her. “In a few minutes, my cock is going to be inside you, stroking you just like this.”
She shivers in response, her body tensing up, and I know she finds the idea both arousing and a little frightening.
And that’s okay, because so do I. I don’t want to hurt her, but damned if I can hold back much longer.
I gather her body’s moisture, then withdraw my fingers and rub the silky wetness over her clit, the little pink bud swelling at my touch. Then I penetrate her again, sliding my fingers in and out, taking care to catch her clit with each deep stroke.
Her breath comes in ragged pants as I keep up the rhythm, her face turned against my chest, her eyes squeezed shut, her body racked with tension that seems to arc through her and into me, shooting straight to my groin.
“I want you, Natalya.” My words come out in urgent whispers as I flick her nipples with my tongue, unable to keep my mouth off hers, my cock so hard it aches. “I want to fuck you so bad it hurts.”
Then she gasps, seeming to hold her breath as the tension inside her peaks and shatters. She comes with a shaky sigh, her inner muscles clenching around my fingers, a look of excruciating pleasure on her beautiful face.
I ride through it with her, keeping the rhythm steady, trying to make her pleasure last, raining kisses on her breasts, her throat, her lips, as the quaking inside her slowly fades.
When her climax has passed, I hold her, a bittersweet ache in my chest at the sight of her lying in my arms. Her eyes are closed, her lips slightly parted, her breathing soft and easy. Her hair lay in a tangle around her face, her lashes dark against her cheeks, her lips curved in the faintest of smiles.
And I made up my mind. If she’s had enough, if she falls asleep, I won’t push her. I’ll just go take a cold shower like I’ve been doing these past few days. Or maybe wank myself.
But she doesn’t fall asleep. Almost as soon as I finish arguing with myself, she opens her eyes, gives me a shy smile, then turns on her side to face me, her lips closing over mine. I wrap my arms around her, and pin her beneath me.
I pause to look at her, taking in her beautiful, dazed face and disheveled hair. “You are so beautiful. Like alepestok…”
