That I was a bad girl who craved to be finger-fucked to orgasm. But he continued to deny me.
I moaned into his mouth. “Get me there.”
He chuckled darkly, and that was when I saw the wicked glint in his eyes. He raised his head. “Who have you loved?”
Caught by surprise, my lust-addled brain tried to make sense of his question until I remembered I scoffed at it earlier.
“Kirill,” I whined. “Does it matter?”
“Tell me.”
“Why? You’ll only get more vindictive.” I squirmed at the mounting pressure in my clit. At this moment I would tell him anything.
“Who?” he growled.
“I loved my college boyfriend.”
He chuckled. “The environmentalist.”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Was he filthy like this with you, Lusenka?” he rasped.
“Never. Kirill!” I cried in frustration. “Never. All right? Only you. And I loved him, but I was never in love with him.”
His brows pulled together. “What’s the difference?”
Two could play his game. “I’ll explain, but only if you make me come.” It didn’t take a genius to know that my husband had a possessive streak. This wasn’t about love. This was about ego.
He narrowed his eyes, and then his face disappeared. I was yanked flat on my back and stripped of my sweatpants. Without further hesitation, Kirill put his mouth on me and, just the way he speared his tongue and then sucked my clit, I shot off like a rocket. I screamed. My feet tried to find purchase on his back, but he was in a frenzy devouring me.
When I couldn’t scream anymore, when I begged him to stop, he rose above me and removed my top until I was completely naked. Then slowly, and with measured action, he stripped offhis clothes. He didn’t even wince at his injury when he pulled his shirt over his head.
Kirill’s focus was on me.
He fell on top of me and yanked my legs around him. Inch by inch, he slid his cock inside me. “Feel how hard I am for you?” he whispered. I was slippery as hell, but his girth was still a lot to take in. Finally, he was seated, I was locked in place, and he started to move. Our connection, our dance of lust, was a roller coaster of fast and slow. Feral and then gentle. It confused me, but it also explained our relationship. The ebb of trust and then the flow of lust and, somewhere in between, an affection threaded so intricately with our past antagonism, it was so hard to tell where we fell on the spectrum of love and hate. The rules had changed in our marriage, and we weren’t exactly on the same page. Or we refused to define it.
Kirill rocked my body slowly, and then he flipped me onto all fours before he gathered my wrists behind my back. But he didn’t fuck me wildly as I expected from this position. He was tender as he pumped in and out of me. He was taking his time. Touching my back as he held my wrists captive. Then he released my wrists and slid out of me again.
“I want this to last,” he grunted.
He sat against the couch and had me straddle him. We both groaned when I worked him into my pussy.
“Control the pace.”
“Are we going to fuck in every position?” I teased.
“Don’t say fuck.” His jaw tensing. “I’m close.”
He gathered my wrists again behind me. Without my hands, the only way I could ride him was to use my body against him as leverage. It made sense because I couldn’t grip his shoulders because of his injury.
“Do it, wife,” he prodded. “Fuck yourself on my cock.”
Oh, the indecent words leaving his mouth made me blush harder. My skin was on fire and every nerve ending was alive. It took a while for me to find my rhythm, but his praises drove me to a fevered pitch.
“That’s it, Lusenka.”
“Look at you. So glorious while taking my cock.”
