“I can’t…” He lets out a gasping breath, and his hand grips the back of my neck, holding my face up to his. “I’m going to fuck you,” he growls. His mouth comes close to mine. “I’m a bad man,ptitsa.”
My bad man,I want to whisper back, but I can’t. Because the words are no sooner out of his mouth than he pulls out, all the way to the tip, and slams back into me again.
My mouth falls open, and I shriek.
It’s pain and pleasure, raw and intense, too much and exactly what I need. His thumb finds my clit as he starts to fuck me, hard, his hand gripping the back of my neck and holding me in place as he thrusts, all of that pierced length dragging in and out of me. I can’t breathe, can’t think. I feel his skin give way under my scratching nails, and he groans as if the burn of my fingers in his skin only makes it better for him. I claw at him, buck against him, completely lost in the burn and the pleasure, the fire that wants to consume me and bring me to life all at the same time.
Nothing has ever hurt so much or felt so good, and I don’t want him to stop.
“Good girl,” he gasps in my ear. “Good girl, letting me fuck you like this. Taking my cock so well. So perfect for me."
His thumb doesn’t stop, circling my clit again and again, and I can feel the pressure building inside me. Every thrust drives those piercings against places inside me that make my vision blur, the sensation like nothing I’ve ever felt before. The edge of the sink digs into my thighs. His fingers are bruising on my hip, on the back of my neck as he grabs me, holds me against him, his cock brutally thrusting into me again and again. I'm completely at his mercy, pinned and helpless and so desperately close to coming apart that I can barely form words.
"Andrei—" His name breaks on my lips. "I can't—I'm going to?—"
"Yes." His voice is rough and commanding. "Come for me,ptitsa. Let me feel you."
He slams into me harder, deeper, his thumb pressing down on my clit with perfect pressure, and the wave crashes over me with devastating force. I scream his name as my orgasm tears through me, my entire body convulsing around him, my pussy clenching so tight around his pierced cock that I feel every ridge, every bar, every inch of him as pleasure explodes through my body. It's too much, my back arching, my skin feeling as if I’ll come apart at the seams… and I still never want it to stop.
My eyes are teary from the intensity of it, and I can feel that my nails have dug into his skin, drawing blood. This isn’t sex, not the way I’ve known it before. This is something else, something so violently passionate, so deep and primal that I don’t know what the word for it could possibly be.
Andthisis the man I’m experiencing it with. I can’t let myself think about it for too long. I can’t really think about much at all, just ride the waves of sensation as they crash over me again and again, as he fucks me through my orgasm relentlessly.
"That's it," he growls against my ear. "You’re so beautiful when you come. So perfect.Fuck, you feel so fucking good.”
His hands knots in my hair and I feel his thrusts come harder, faster, his lips at my ear as he holds me against him with his other arm around me. “This pussy feels like it’s fuckingmine.”
I gasp, a ragged moan spilling from my mouth as I flutter around him again, and he groans, a deep, almost pained sound. His cock stiffens, going impossibly harder, throbbing inside of me as I feel him tip over the edge into his own release.
He makes a sound that's almost a snarl, his hips slamming forward one last time as he buries himself to the hilt. I feel himpulse inside me, heat flooding me, and the sensation triggers another small orgasm that makes me cry out. His hand tightens on the back of my neck, holding me against him as he empties himself inside me, his breath coming in harsh gasps against my throat.
For a long moment, we stay like that. Neither of us moves… I don’t know if either of uscan.His forehead drops to my shoulder, and I feel the rapid beat of his heart against my chest, matching the frantic rhythm of my own.
Then, slowly, he pulls out. I whimper at the sudden emptiness, and he makes a soothing sound low in his throat. His hands are gentle now as he lifts me off the sink, my legs too shaky to support my weight. I cling to him, my arms wrapped around his neck, and he carries me the few steps to his bed.
We collapse together onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs and sweat-slicked skin. I'm still shaking, small aftershocks of pleasure rippling through me every few seconds. He pulls me against his chest, one arm wrapped around my waist, the other hand stroking my hair. I can’t reconcile the brutal man I know with this man who is touching me so gently now, but my mind is so scrambled that I can’t sort anything out enough to even try. He’s murmuring something in Russian, and his body is tense despite the violence of his release only a few moments ago. As if he’s fighting something inwardly… or afraid I’ll run away from him as soon as I come back to my senses.
I can feel his release leaking out of me, warm and wet between my thighs. The sensation should probably disgust me—we didn't use protection, I barely know this man, he's mycaptor—but instead it feels intimate, like he's marked me in some way that I can't undo. My pulse speeds up at that, fear beginning to creep in around the edges, but I feel dazed still. I can’t move. He’s wrecked me completely, and I don’t know what to do next.
His chest rises and falls beneath my cheek, his heartbeat gradually slowing from its frantic pace. There's blood on his shoulder where my nails broke skin, thin red lines that stand out against his pale flesh. I trace one of them with my fingertip, and he catches my hand, brings it to his lips, and kisses my knuckles.
The gesture is so unexpectedly gentle that it makes my throat tight.
We don't speak. I can’t imagine what there is to say. We just lie there, breathing together, our bodies cooling in the aftermath. Eventually, his breathing evens out, and I think he might be falling asleep. But then his hand moves to my face, his thumb wiping away the remnants of the tears that trickled down my cheeks during my orgasm.
I’ve never cried because someone made me come before. But no one has ever made me come likethat.
"This is not your fault, Liesl."
His voice is quiet, almost gentle in a way I've never heard from him before. I go still against him, not understanding.
"What happened tonight," he continues, his accent thicker now, softened by exhaustion. "The failed extraction. The men who died. None of this is your fault."
I pull back slightly so I can see his face. His blue eyes are serious, searching mine.
"You didn't ask for any of this," he says. "My men—they made a mistake. They grabbed the wrong woman. That is on them, not you." His hand cups my cheek, his thumb stroking my cheekbone. "Your father, he refuses to pay the ransom. He’s chosen war instead of bringing you home. That is on him, not you."
Something in my chest cracks at his words. He's trying to comfort me. Trying to absolve me of the guilt that's been eating at me since I realized men were dying because of my presence here.
