Every toaster had blessings to share. Kirill's hand never let go, thumb stroking my skin in teasing circles, loaded with promise.
"Kirill..." I warned softly.
"What, Mrs. Orlov?" He leaned in, whispering. "You know there's only one thing I want right now."
His voice dripped desire, hot breath on my ear, sending shivers everywhere.
Finally, as the last guest left, Kirill yanked me toward the stairs, impatient.
"Kirill! Your arm's still hurt!" I yelped as he scooped me up bridal-style.
"Doesn't matter." He strode to the bedroom, eyes burning like fire. "I need you, Harper. Need to feel you're really back— like this."
He kicked open the bedroom door and placed me on that familiar big bed.
The room was dimly lit, shadows dancing from the flickering candles on the nightstand, casting a warm glow over the massive four-poster bed we'd shared so many heated nights in before. Kirill loomed over me, his eyes dark with hunger, the bandage on his left arm a stark reminder of how close we'd come to losing everything.
But right now, that vulnerability only fueled the fire between us—he needed this as much as I did, a raw confirmation that we were alive, together, unbreakable.
He shrugged off his coat with his good hand, letting it drop to the floor, then tugged at his silk shirt, buttons popping open one by one. His chest heaved, muscles rippling under tanned skin.
I sat up, reaching for him, my fingers tracing the hard lines of his abs, feeling the heat radiating from him. "Kirill," I breathed, voice thick with want, "be careful with that arm."
"Fuck the arm," he growled, voice low and gravelly, like it always got when desire took over. He captured my mouth in a fierce kiss, tongue plunging in, tasting me deeply, possessively. His right hand roamed, sliding up my thigh, bunching the silk of my gown higher until cool air hit my skin. I gasped into his mouth as his fingers found the edge of my lace panties, teasing the sensitive flesh there.
He broke the kiss, trailing hot, open-mouthed bites down my neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks—his marks, claiming me allover again.
"I've missed this," he muttered against my collarbone, voice muffled but edged with desperation. "Missed you. Every goddamn inch."
His hand slipped under the fabric, fingers parting my folds, finding me already slick and ready. I arched into his touch, a moan escaping as he circled my clit with expert pressure, knowing exactly how to make me unravel.
"God, Kirill," I whimpered, my hands fumbling with his belt, yanking it open. His pants hit the floor, and he kicked them away, his cock springing free—thick, veined, and rock-hard, the tip glistening with pre-cum.
It throbbed in my palm as I wrapped my fingers around it, stroking slowly from base to head, feeling him pulse under my grip. He hissed, hips bucking forward, his good hand shoving my gown up to my waist, exposing me completely.
"Look at you," he rasped, eyes devouring the sight of me spread out, panties shoved aside, my pussy wet and aching for him. "So fucking perfect. Wet for me already." He dipped two fingers inside, curling them against that spot that made stars explode behind my eyes. I cried out, grinding against his hand, the wet sounds of his fingers pumping in and out filling the room, obscene and intoxicating.
I pulled him down, our bodies crashing together, his weight pressing me into the mattress. His injured arm stayed braced carefully to the side, but his other hand was everywhere—gripping my hip, pinching my nipple through the silk until it pebbled hard.
"Need to taste you," he said, voice rough, sliding down my body. He ripped my panties off with one sharp tug, the lace tearing easily, and buried his face between my thighs.
His tongue was relentless, lapping at my clit in broad, flat strokes before sucking it into his mouth, teeth grazing just enough to send jolts of pleasure-pain through me. I threaded my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, hips rolling against his face as he devoured me.
"Oh fuck, yes—right there," I gasped, feeling the coil tighten deep in my belly. He added a third finger, stretching me, thrusting in timewith his tongue, the slurping sounds mixing with my breathless moans.
He didn't let up until I shattered, orgasm ripping through me like a storm, my walls clenching around his fingers, juices coating his hand and chin. I screamed his name, body shaking, but he kept going, drawing out every aftershock until I was a trembling mess.
Kirill climbed back up, licking his lips, eyes wild. "Taste so good," he murmured, kissing me again so I could taste myself on him. His cock nudged my entrance, hot and insistent, sliding through my wetness. "Gonna fuck you now, Harper. Hard. Make you mine all over again."
"Yes," I begged, wrapping my legs around his waist, heels digging into his ass. He thrust in with one powerful stroke, burying himself to the hilt, his thick length filling me completely, stretching me to the limit. We both groaned, the sensation overwhelming—him so deep, pulsing inside me, my pussy gripping him like a vice.
He started moving, slow at first, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in, the bed creaking under us. "So tight," he grunted, pace building, hips snapping forward with raw power. His right hand pinned my wrists above my head, holding me captive as he pounded into me, each thrust hitting that sweet spot, sending shockwaves through my core.
I met him thrust for thrust, nails raking down his back, leaving red trails that only spurred him on.
"Fuck, Harper—feel that? How you milk my cock?" His voice was strained, sweat beading on his forehead, good arm flexing as he drove deeper, harder. The slap of skin on skin echoed, mixed with our heavy breaths and my whimpers. He angled his hips, grinding against my clit with every plunge, building me up again fast.
I flipped us suddenly, careful of his arm, straddling him now. His eyes widened in surprise, then darkened with lust as I sank down on his cock, taking him in inch by inch until he bottomed out.
