She starts scrambling for his belt buckle, pulling at the metal clasp. “Come on,” she hisses, tugging his shirt out of his trousers. “Get to it—” She keeps interrupting her own words with how fervently she’s kissing him. “If that’s all this is to you, then just fuck me—ah—”
He grabs her hair, tight in a fist. “That’s not all this is to me,” he grits out, pinning her against the door, so she has to look at him as he tugs her underwear further aside, rough; the feeling of him, hard and thick, makes harsh relief scorch, as he lines himself up against her. “You bloody beautiful idiot—”
She cries out as he slams into her. The doorframe rattles in its hinges.
Tears blister in her eyes. “There,” she gasps, scrambling to hold him closer, as he fucks her past the initial protest of her body taken by surprise: a surge of brightness, scalding wash of pain, incomprehensible relief, anger chasing jealousy chasing want; her desire spins out, vulnerability rising to the surface of her skin—that he’s here, with her, again,finally. Part of her is furious at him for meeting this want in her—would she have been better off if she’d never known it could feel like this? Like parts of her were made for him, like parts of him were made for her? Every time he slams into her, he presses against something dangerous and coiled, what feels consequential. “Right there—”
His arm slips under her knee, wrenching her further up the door. She eagerly lets him, and a moan gathers in her throat with this new angle. “Fuck,” he groans, angry disbelief. “Fuck, how can you feel this good—this was all I fucking thought about—fucking missed you—”
Her heart lurches. She blinks away the frustrated sting of tears: meaning becoming coherent, wants becoming needs, things she has to blind herself to, because she stupidly missed this, too. “Harder,” she pleads instead. “Come on, harder—please—”
Tilting his hips, Aleksandr pushes deeper, and Lili moans:that, there.An intense rush sears inside of her. Taking advantage of the release in her body, he hitches her hips higher, giving himself more access; her stiletto slips off her foot, falling with a clatter, barely heard over the loud clamor of the door.
“Can you still get there on your own?” he breathes against her lips. He’s fucking her harder than he should, but Lili would break her own bones to keep having this type of sex—to keep having it withhim. “You had to think about me, didn’t you? While I was gone?”
She moans again, response crossed between fight and agreement. The pressure and pace, the force and friction and near-blinding heat of blood pumping rough into her heart—it’s too much, and her head falls against his shoulder. She feels full, like a redefinition that’ll leave her terrifyingly empty afterwards. Her hands fist in his suit, holding onto him—stay, she thinks, nearly fucked senseless,don’t leave again.
As he takes over entirely—setting the pace, holding her in place—she should be angry. It’s just—she feels near to something like potential between his hands, against his body. Like he can push her to these places inside of her, outside of her mind, that she can barely taste in daily life. Moments of peace, silence—moments of astounding, absurd release—something she can just start to reach now, through the brutal force of him, near sadistic.
“Oh, my God—Christ, yes—yes, that’s—Sasha—”
He grabs her hair suddenly, pulling her head back. His eyes are fervent, almost angry.
“What did you say?” he hisses.
“Sasha?” she whispers, a sudden rush of embarrassment; it’s intimate, Russian diminutives. “I thought... I was reading—should I not—”
Aleksandr kisses her so hard he swallows her breath.
The surprise of it makes her tense up, some ridiculous sound near a whimper, like what she’s faked during sex with other people, mimicking porn, but it’s unbidden now, a sound that he inhales. The kiss is hot and hungry, her body overwhelmed, panicking—scrambling with the sudden build in pressure, weight, sensation, the fast-approaching sense of a breaking point—her dress rucked up around her waist, her underwear just pulled aside, his clothes still on, as he’s reaching sensitivity inside of her that makes Lili feel dark depth in her throat. Her thighs—tight around his waist, bare skin against his black suit—start to shake, her frame shuddering each time he thrusts into her, wracking the door with the movement of their bodies.
“I’m going to fucking ruin you,” he groans. His breath is warm onher neck, grip so tight in her hair. Little sounds of pain hitch on her moans. He’s not stopping, not slowing, and she’s not asking him to, she’s encouraging him:pleaseandthere, right thereandlike that, yes, please, just like that, I need—
“Tell me what you need,” he says. It’s an order, but it’s as close to a plea as she’s ever heard from him.
“Nothing—nothing,please, I’m almost—oh—just don’t stop, right—fuck,there, just—”
His hand abandons her hair, sliding along the outside of her thigh, slung around his waist. He forces her leg up higher, and she’s about to be angry—she told him not to change what he was doing, that she was so close—except he’s somehow found more in her. The pleasure warping her body shimmers, excruciating, like an oil slick of color.
Blurry white spots falter over her vision. She can’t fully moan, only whimper, these unintelligible noises mingling with the sound of him inside of her, a difficult fit no matter how aroused she is, and that pain brings the chill of quiet, freezing her thoughts.
But no—she doesn’t want to lose her mind this time.
Lili buries her face in the crook of his neck, the fabric of his shirt. She pushes aside the craving for something almost like violence at his hands, wants to instead be aware when he comes inside of her.
The pressure folds, warps, caves. Even as it collapses through her, becoming full-throated pleasure, a complicated blur that feels too great for her body, Lili’s determined to stay aware, to stay here, to feel him.
Her voice breaks in her throat. He keeps moving, fucking her through it, and a few moments later, he groans against her neck, flooding her, heavy and warm, and she feels needed, and she feels claimed, and she feels necessary, and she feels owned, and she lets her eyes close; now that he’s back here, inside her, with her; now that she’s in his arms, again.
Moments, restoring their breath. Chests panting, she can hear the muffled sounds of the party press back in, distant cars and pedestrians floating up from the street. Ragged remains of her climax run through her.
“How—how was your trip?” Lili gasps out. Laying her hands on his chest, she steadies herself, feeling his hard heartbeat under her palms.
Aleksandr laughs, lifting his head from her neck. He rests his forehead against hers.
“Good,” he says. “Productive. How did your thesis meeting go?”
“Good,” Lili breathes. “Great, actually.”
