He began to work on the buttons of my top. One by one, unhurried, peeling it open. Then he tugged my bottoms down my legs and off my feet.
“Ideal’naya zhena,” he said, and kissed my neck.
The perfect wife.
Each word landed like a blow—the air leaving my lungs in a slow invisible collapse, the kind of pain that doesn’t announce itself but takes up residence and stays. I pushed it down and breathed in again.
Filled my lungs.
Stared at the ceiling.
His weight moved over me, prying my legs apart before settling between them. His mouth dropped to my breasts, hands pushing them together, and the sudden wet heat made me restless against my will.
His tongue worked around each nipple in turn before his mouth closed and he sucked hard enough to make my breath labour.
I could feel every part of him covering me. The solid heat of his body. The hard length of him between my thighs, heavy and present and impossible to ignore.
His hands travelled the length of my arms until his fingers found my wrists and pinned them to the mattress.
His mouth sucked harder. I hissed.
Then he moved—dragging the length of his cock between my pussy in a slow deliberate stroke.
I tried to focus on the ceiling.
It was no good.
His lips travelled up my neck, soft wet kisses placed with the unhurried patience of a man who had nowhere else to be.
“I missed this hot little hole,” he groaned, easing the blunt head toward my opening.
I was so wet he slipped before he adjusted and this time he sank inside. The thick head pushed past the resistance before the rest of his girth began to spread me open. I clenched my fists and pushed against his hands but he tightened his grip and added his weight behind it.
“Wrap your legs around me,” he demanded, his hips beginning to rock.
I hooked my heels around his thighs and he sank deeper. A moan left me before I could stop it. My head fell back, neck arching, heels digging in harder. His soft chuckle against my throat irritated me in a way I couldn’t fully account for.
There was no rush. His strokes were deep and slow, as though he wanted me to feel every inch—and I did, which was the problem. When his balls grazed against me he paused and pressed himself in as deep as he could go.
“You feel that?” he rasped beside my ear.“Every inch of my cock. Just for you.”
What the hell was he expecting? Gratitude?
I feigned a yawn.
“Hurry up,” I said.“I have an appointment in the morning.”
His body tensed above me and he stopped moving.
“Is that right?” he growled.
“Da,” I said, entirely unrepentant.
I closed my eyes and felt the shift in the air.
This was what I preferred. What I was accustomed to. The monster I had married. Not the dark and the hand on my stomach and the soft wet kisses. This. I knew how to be here.
The first deep brutal thrust shoved my hips up the bed but his grip on my wrists held me in place. I thought I was prepared.
