It’s difficult, though, to conceptualize the extent of how badly she’s fucked up—the magnitude of this stupid thing she’s done, coming here again, sleeping over—when Aleksandr’s hands and mouth are moving down her body, kissing her hip, the inside of her thigh.
“We need to have rules,” she gasps out, as his tongue traces the line of her calf.
“Rules.” His breath is warm against her bare skin.
“Rules, yes—boundaries, understandings. We can’t just—”
I can’t just come here. I can’t just sleep over.
Aleksandr pulls away. He considers her for a moment.
He grins. “No, I don’t think so.”
In one swift move, he grabs her ankle, and pulls her down the bed towards him, bracing himself over her. He crowds out the light, he’s not wearing a shirt, and his lips gleam—with her, she thinks, dazed.
“Do you like running away, sweetheart?” he murmurs, nose brushing hers: not quite a kiss.
“No?” Lili says, disoriented, faint hum of residual alcohol making her burn a little looser. The urge to kiss him and the urge to struggle confuse her.
“You seem to,” he says, tracing her mouth with his finger. A gesture that should be romantic and soft, but feels—looks—decisively not.
Instead, sharpness edges into her breath.
It looks like he’s carving up property.
She should leave; she should leave now.
Leaning closer, Aleksandr’s mouth glances over hers. There’s a slip of space between them. Teasing her, daring her. Before she can think any further, Lili strains up towards him, body betraying her.
It’s absurd how fast all she cares about is him: how fast she grabs his shoulders, pulling his mouth to hers; how fast he crowds her, pushing her against the bed, and how it feels like relief, like a desperately deep inhale, as he kisses her back.
God,this—this is what she wanted: this sore need uncovered, this bruise hit again. As last night’s memories—gripping the cold sink, thud of music,It isn’t a good time to have you visit—reassert themselves, she kisses him harder. He meets her intensity, grasping her face, a hunger deepening into starvation. He’s an obscenely good kisser, and kissing him feels like a need growing, not a want satisfied—and that isn’t—that can’t—
“Rough,” she gasps, against his mouth. “I—I want it rough—like, like last time—”
He snatches her wrists, pinning them against the bed.
“Impatient,” he taunts. “Any other requests?”
Lili scowls, straining against his grip. “I didn’t come here to talk,” she snaps. “You have one job—”
He does not like that.
“One job?” he murmurs, humor gone.
A hard exhale—her own—as his free hand moves between her thighs, still warm and wet. “Tell me what my job is,” he says, brushing his nose over the line of her neck, as his fingers start to rub circles against her: slow but not gentle, forcing friction through the slip of how wet she is. Frustration flares; she wants him to hold her down and fuck her; she wants to get this over with, and never have to examine why she wants it.
“Just so you know,” she grits out, “just because I’m fucking you doesn’t mean I like you.”
“We’re fucking now? Ah, is that my job then, little one?”
“Screw you, I don’t even like you—ah—” He found a particular point of friction.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” She can hear the satisfaction in his voice.
“This is a one-time thing,” she gasps. “Just—one time.”
Against her neck, she feels his grin. “Oh, Lili,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to her skin, a hot open-mouthed kiss that she wasn’t expecting. “Whatever you say.”
