She keens into my mouth, body jerking like I’ve shocked her.
Fuck, the way she clenches around me—hot, wet, fluttering, it’s obscene. The metal drags against her walls, and I feel it too: the tight friction, the way her pussy grips and releases around each ridge like it’s trying to milk me dry.
It’s torture for both of us, and I love it.
I bottom out with a low groan, hips flush to hers, and hold there for a second, forehead dropping to hers again, breaths mingling in harsh pants.
Her eyes are wide, pupils blown, lips swollen and trembling.
“Fuck” I rasp, voice wrecked. “I own you and this fucking perfect cunt.”
She tries to roll her hips, desperate for friction, but I pin her harder against the wall with my body, one hand braced beside her head, the other gripping her ass to keep her exactly where I want her.
“Not yet.”
I pull out almost all the way—slow, torturous—letting her feel the drag of me, then slam back in. Hard. Deep. She cries out, head thunking lightly back against the brick.
I set a brutal rhythm like she enjoys, rough, relentless, chasing something deeper than release.
Each thrust is possessive, punishing, intimate. Forehead still locked to hers, I watch every flicker across her face: the way her brows pinch, lips part on broken moans, eyes fluttering like she can’t decide whether to fight or fall apart.
“You don’t get to come until I say,” I breathe against her mouth. “Not after you tried to fucking fall. You want to die for me—” I cut off, teeth sinking into her lower lip hard enough to sting. “Do it on my cock.”
She’s shaking now, thighs quivering around my waist. Her nails rake down my back through my shirt, probably drawing blood. I don’t care.
I fuck her harder, faster, the wet slap of skin echoing off the rooftop, the city lights painting stripes across her flushed face. She’s close—so close her whole body is trembling, breaths coming in sharp, panicked little gasps.
“Maksim, please!”
I swallow the plea with my mouth, kissing her messy and deep, tongues clashing while I grind against her clit with every thrust.
The piercings keep catching, keep stretching, keep filling her until she’s sobbing into my kiss.
“Now,” I rasp against her lips. “You made me feel something. So now you feel everything. Come.”
She shatters.
Her cry is muffled against my mouth, body locking down around me, clenching so tight it drags a guttural groan out of my throat.
Wave after wave rips through her, milking every inch of me until I can’t hold back. I bury myself to the hilt, hips jerking as I come hard; deep, hot pulses filling her, marking her from the inside while her walls flutter and squeeze around the piercings like she’s as desperate for me as I am for her.
We stay locked together, panting, foreheads pressed, her legs still wrapped around me like she’ll never let go. The wind whips around us, but neither of us moves.
I’m fucked.
I’m so fucked.
***
Vaska.
Vaska has my the fucking estate smelling like like warm dough and vanilla.
He sets a box on the counter like he’s delivering contraband, calm as always, eyes bright with the kind of amusement he saves for me. Inside is medovik—thin layers of honey cake drowned in condensed milk cream. Sweet enough to make your teeth ache. Soft enough to piss me off.
He knows I’ll eat it.
He knows I hate that he knows.
