I glanced at the ceiling when my hands made an unexpected discovery.
No bra.
“I got carried away,” she said, her voice losing its steadiness as I toyed with her nipples.“The dough had risen. I thought I had time—”
“It’s all right, Iskra.” I kept my voice entirely reasonable.“I’m a fair man.”
Her snort was immediate and unrestrained.
“Since you couldn’t make it to your bedroom,” I continued, tugging her sweater over her head in one motion,“the kitchen will have to do.”
“Oh.Nyet,” she gasped, and dropped into a crouch with both arms crossed over her breasts, as though the kitchen floor offered some kind of sanctuary.
I dragged her upright to face the kitchen window, pulling her hands away from her chest and holding them at her sides.
“If only there had been a way for you to communicate your commitment to yourpirozhki,” I murmured, peeling her leggings down her thighs.
“Vadim, please,” she begged.
I crouched down and worked them the rest of the way, past her calves, until she had no choice but to grip the countertop and step out of them one foot at a time. I straightened up and looked at her—bare from the neck down, facing the window, the late evening light catching the curve of her shoulders and the bruise still visible on her neck.
Mine.
“Kneel down and make it up to me,” I said.
Another groan. But her eyes went to the kitchen window—the grounds beyond it, the night pressing against the glass—and whatever she saw there or imagined there had her dropping to her knees quickly enough. She turned to face me.
I grabbed the messy bun on top of her head and dragged her face across my crotch, feeling her cheek rub against my straining cock through the fabric.
“Now this is how I expect to see you the next time I message you,” I said, and released her hair.“Lick my cock through my trousers. You need to earn it tonight.”
Her eyes widened. The black of her pupils swelled, darkening those blue eyes until there was barely any colour left. She blinked once, then dropped her gaze to the bulge in my trousers.
“Go on,” I said lazily, reaching down to cup her breast.“Earn some cock.”
Her tongue snuck out. Tentative at first—the tip of it tracing the outline of me through the fabric, learning the shape of what she was working toward.
I released her breast and leaned back against the counter.
The kitchen smelled of herpirozhkicooling on the rack behind me, sweet fruit and warm bread, entirely at odds with what was happening on the floor in front of me. The domesticity of it was almost amusing.
I watched her humiliate herself and said nothing.
She inched closer, licked harder, moving her tongue up and down my length while her fingers curled into my trousers for balance. A warm blush bloomed from her chest and rushed up to her cheeks as she worked her way down. Her mouth opened wide and she attempted to suck on my balls through the fabric.
It wasn’t the move that bothered me.
No.
It was the defiance in her eyes. That quiet, unbroken strength looking up at me from the kitchen floor, doing exactly what she had been told and somehow making it feel like a victory for her. Taunting me without saying a word.
I unbuckled my belt and pulled it slowly from the waistband, keeping my expression neutral. She didn’t stop. She sucked harder, emboldened, her eyes bright with something that looked very much like triumph.
She thought she had won.
The victory sparkled in those blue eyes—mischievous, satisfied, entirely too pleased with herself for a woman on her knees in my kitchen.
I looped the belt through the buckle.
