A grunt escapes me, cum swirling in my balls, eager to fill her up. My blood roars in my veins, demanding more, overflowing with a darkness that’s difficult to satiate. Only, my wife is not the fragile doll everyone thought her out to be. She can take me. Shewilltake me, just like she asked.
I pull back a few inches before my hips slam into her. It steals the breath out of her lungs—and mine. I know it hurts her, the pain so openly displayed on her beautiful face. But she says nothing.
So, I do it again. And again. And when she gets accustomed to the sensation, her legs wrap around me, taking me a little deeper than before. Her voice hangs between us, loud and sensual, and it’s a fucking sight to behold how well she’s milking my cock. Like she was made for it. Made forme.
I pick up my pace, sitting upright so I can see her splayed out on the mattress: the way her full tits bounce, the way her lips part, the way her face displays every sensation through the furrow of her brows. I’ve never seen something more erotic in my entire fucking life. Not because of what’s happening, but because it’s with her.Mywife.
I end up pulling out completely and flipping her on her stomach, only to enter her again from behind. The sight of her round, perky ass is just as glorious, paired with the delicate line of her spine. I bury my hand in her short hair, pulling her head back as I fuck her like I’m starved, blood and all.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
Her cunt takes every single stroke, squeezing and releasing around me until my cock pulses. My balls tighten painfully, my body still and taut as I coat those soft walls with the proof of my possession.
“O-Oh,” she moans, wiggling her ass. “That feels good. Did you just…?”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it, because from now on,” I say, breath stuttering, “you’ll be walking around withmycum plugged into your gorgeous cunt. You took me so well, sweetheart. I’m proud of you. Really fucking proud.”
30
Cecilia
Two nights later, I sprawl my hand across Mikhail’s side of the bed, expecting his warm body but touching only cold sheets. When I roll over and crack my eyes open, he’s not here.
I get up on my elbows, picking my phone off the nightstand to check the time. It’s past midnight. Has he gone out again? He didn’t mention it before we went to sleep. I drape my legs over the mattress and walk to the window to peer outside. His car is still here.
A smile tucks itself under the curve of my lips, butterflies erupting low in my core. Ever since that night when he asked me to sleep in his bed, things between us have been…different. Not just because we’ve consummated our marriage, but because for the first time since meeting him, I feel like he’s letting me in, if only just a little. He keeps giving me these glimpses of a man who feels more than he lets on.
I told him I was jealous, admitted it straight-up. I could tell he liked it, that he wanted to hear it again and again. And when he took me for the first time, God…it was perfect. He was sweet, and then he wasn’t, claiming me like he meant every single thrust.
Why do I want to please him so badly? What is it about this man that makes me want to be his?
Everything,a daring voice answers in my head.
Even now, when I know he’s probably downstairs doing something, I want to be near him, drawn by his energy like a moth to a flame. So, I go, picking up my cozy robe from the back of a chair and dressing in it on the way.
The house is dark and quiet at this hour, but I know the way now. The dark, the cold, and the foreign language have become my new normal. I used to walk around bundled in sweaters and blankets—now, I only need my nightgown and a thin robe.
When I reach the middle of the staircase, an odd sound stops me in my tracks.
What is that…?
The cool, smooth wood of the banister presses against my palm as I descend. At the bottom, there’s a faint murmur, like dry leaves skittering across stone. The air grows heavy, and with each step into the unlit foyer, a prickle of unease crawls across my skin.
And then?—
There.
In front of the main door, a small shadow shifts back and forth. I grip the edges of my robe, tightening it around me, squinting. “Svetlana? Is that you?”
The noise stops, and the shadow’s movements halt. The person’s face rotates toward me, and relief courses through me as I recognize the eyes staring back.
“What’s going on?” I ask, crouching next to Victoria. “What are you doing here at this hour?”
“I woke you up, didn’t I? I’m so sorry,” she says, sniffing.
“No, you didn’t. Don’t worry about it. Hey, are you crying? Look at me.” I pick her face up with my hands, and, sure enough, tears glimmer in her eyes. My chest squeezes, and I understand Wolfgang deeply in this moment, because I want nothing more than to fix whatever is upsetting her. “What happened?”
“Just…stuff.” She smiles, swiping a hand under her eyes. “I’m fine. Just needed a good cry.”
