Page 32 of Hold the Line

The words sink into me like heat, curling low in my belly even as his fingers crook inside me, brushing that spot that makes my vision spark white. He keeps murmuring against my skin, filthy promises mixed with soft confessions in his native tongue, telling me again and again that he’s staying, that he’s done fighting this, that he’s mine. I can barely focus on anything except the stretch of his fingers and the sound of his voice — finally saying the things I’ve waited years to hear.

My hands are shaking with pure need as I fumble between us, fingers clumsy but determined as I undo Viktor’s belt and shove his pants down as far as I can reach. I don’t care about finesse anymore. I’ve waited too long, hurt too much, and now that he’s here — solid and real and touching me like I’m his — I need all of him. I push the fabric past his hips, groaning when his thick cock springs free, heavy and hot against my stomach.

Viktor makes a low, dangerous sound and presses his fingers harder against that spot inside me. “Does Alex know you’re not a fucking top, Cole?” he asks as he watches me fall apart.

I curse loudly, a broken “Fuck—!” ripping out of me as my back arches clean off the mattress, hips jerking helplessly into his hand. Pleasure shoots up my spine so sharp it borders on pain, my toes curling, thighs trembling around his waist. I’m whimpering, shameless and needy, but I refuse to let him win that easily.

“You’re such an asshole!” I protest as I wrap my fingers around his thick length. I stroke him slow and tight, dragging my thumb over the head on every upstroke, deliberately torturing him the way he’s torturing me. My grip is firm, teasing, drawing out the pleasure until I feel his hips twitch and his breath stutter against my neck. “Always gotta run your mouth at the worst fucking time—”

He bats my hand away from his cock with a low, frustrated growl, the sound vibrating through his chest and straight into me. Before I can even protest, he lines himself up. His dark eyes lock onto mine — completely unguarded for the first time in years. I barely have time to breathe before he pushes inside in one slow, deep thrust.

“Fuck— Jesus Christ, Viktor— you absolute fucking bastard— shit, you’re so big— fuck me—” A string of colorful curses spills out of me, loud and broken, as he stretches me open so perfectly. My back arches hard off the bed, nails digging into his shoulders as I try to adjust to the overwhelming fullness, the burn, the sheer pleasure of having him inside me after all this time.

Viktor snorts softly, the sound almost fond despite how wrecked he looks, and leans down to press his forehead against mine. “That’s it,” he murmurs in English as he bottoms out completely, hips flush against me. “Look at you. Taking me so well, soroka. So fucking loud for me. I missed this mouth of yours.”

I whimper, legs tightening around his waist as he stays buried deep, not moving yet. My body is trembling, overwhelmed, pleasure and emotion crashing through me so hard I can barely think straight. But I still manage to gasp out another curse, half-laughing, half-moaning, because it’s the only way I know how to survive how much I need him right now.

“Fuck— you feel so good, you stupid, massive— ah— Russian wall of a man,” I moan, hips jerking up to meet his slow thrusts, nails raking down his back. “Been waiting years for this and you’re still— shit— still being so fucking careful, like I’m gonna break or something—”

Viktor’s eyes flash with something dark and wild. His hand moves fast, wrapping lightly around my throat, fingers pressing just enough to make my breath catch and my words stutter. He doesn’t squeeze hard — just holds me there, possessive and steady, grounding me as he suddenly starts fucking me harder. Deeper. Each thrust punches the air out of my lungs and sends sparks shooting up my spine. The wet sound of skin on skin fills the room, filthy and perfect, and I whimper loudly, eyes rolling back as he drives into me with years of pent-up frustration finally breaking free.

“Quiet, birdie,” he growls, his thumb stroking over my pulse point while he fucks me like he’s trying to claim every inch of me. His hips snap harder, the angle perfect, hitting that spot inside me over and over until I’m shaking and moaning helplessly under his grip. It’s intense. Possessive. Exactly what I’ve been craving. But even through the haze of pleasure, I can feel it — the way he’s still holding back, muscles coiled tight, movements powerful but not quite reckless, like he’s terrified of letting go completely.

I manage to gasp out between moans, hoarse from his hand on my throat, “Stop— fuck— stop holding back, you asshole. I can feel it. You’re still scared. Don’t you dare treat me like I’m fragile. I want all of you. Give it to me, Viktor. I’m not her. I’m not going anywhere.”

His grip on my throat tightens just a fraction, his eyes darkening further as he stares down at me, breathing raggedly, clearly fighting the last threads of his control.

“Please…” I whine as I arch up into him desperately. “Fucking do it, daddy!”

The nickname hits him like a spark. Viktor groans, deep and guttural. His grip on my throat tightens just enough to make my head spin, and then he lets go — really lets go. He starts pounding into me hard, deep, relentless thrusts that feel like years of pent-up hunger finally unleashed. This is Viktor without the fear holding him back. Raw. Powerful. Brutal in the best way.

I yelp sharply on the first real thrust, my eyes flying wide as the force of it rocks my entire body. “Fuck—!” My hands scramble for purchase, fisting the sheets hard as the bed actually slides an inch across the floor with every powerful snap of his hips. I’m moaning, laughing breathlessly between the sounds, half-delirious with pleasure and relief. “Yes— shit, yes, just like that— God, you’re so fucking good, Viktor— don’t stop, please don’t stop—”

He growls in response, switching to Russian as he fucks me like he means it, hips slamming against my ass with punishing rhythm. The filth pouring out of his mouth in that low, accented growl makes my brain melt. “Such a greedy little hole for me… taking my cock so perfectly… been dreaming about wrecking this tight ass for years… gonna fill you up until you feel me for days…”

I’m so fucking glad I learned Russian. Holy shit. Every dirty word sends another bolt of heat through me, my cock leaking between us as I moan louder, body trembling under the onslaught. I can barely form words anymore, just broken praises and curses and his name, over and over, while he rails me exactly the way I’ve always wanted him to — no holding back, no fear, just pure, devastating need.

The pressure inside me builds impossibly fast, Viktor’s hitting that perfect spot with every brutal thrust, his filthy Russian praise pouring into my ear like liquid heat. I don’t even need a hand on me. Nobody has ever made me come untouched before — not once in four fucking years — but Viktor does it like it’s effortless. My whole body locks up suddenly, back arching violently off the bed as the orgasm crashes through me like a freight train.

The scream rips out of me, loud enough to wake the dead. Viktor’s hand slams over my mouth instantly, muffling the noise as he keeps fucking me through it, never slowing. I bite down hard on his palm, teeth sinking into the meat of his hand, and the sick bastard moans, clearly getting off on the pain. He twitches hard inside me as he growls something appreciative in Russian against my neck.

Before I can even come down, he pulls out suddenly, leaving me empty and whimpering. He flips me onto my stomach, yanks my hips up, and slams back inside so deep I see stars. His hand fists in my hair immediately, wrenching my head back at a brutal angle until my back is arched and I can barely breathe. The new position makes everything deeper, overwhelming. I’m smiling like a complete madman, pushing back onto him desperately, moaning curses between gasping breaths.

“Fuck— yes— harder, you bastard— don’t you dare hold back now—”

Viktor keeps praising me in Russian, low and relentless, his voice wrecked as he pounds into me. “Good boy… so fucking perfect for me… my loud, beautiful bird…” Every word pushes me higher even though I just came, my body trembling and oversensitive but still greedy for more.

Russian words start spilling out of me between gasps. My pronunciation is probably terrible — years of learning from the internet and half-drunk Duolingo sessions don’t exactly make me fluent — but I don’t care. I tell him how fucking good he feels, how I’ve dreamed about his thick cock ruining me for years, how I want him to fill me up and leave me dripping with his cum. The words come out butchered and messy, but they hit their mark.

Viktor’s rhythm stutters. A wrecked groan tears out of his chest as he loses whatever was left of his control. “Soroka—” he chokes out, his hips slamming into me even harder, more erratic. My awful Russian seems to drive him fucking feral, like hearing me try to talk dirty in his language is more than he can handle.

He snakes one strong arm under my body, wrapping his big hand around my cock and starting to pump me in perfect rhythm with his thrusts. The dual sensation is too much. I’m shaking, moaning, cursing in a mix of English and broken Russian as pleasure coils tighter and tighter in my gut.

“Viktor— fuck— I’m gonna— don’t stop—” I gasp, pushing back onto him desperately.

He growls something filthy and possessive in Russian right against my ear and snaps his hips forward one last time. We come together — me spilling over his fist with a broken shout, him burying himself deep inside me as he groans my name.

We stay like that for a long time, locked together and trembling in the aftermath. Viktor’s heavy body covers mine completely, still buried deep inside me as we both try to catch our breath. I can feel his heart hammering against my back, matching the wild rhythm of my own. Slowly, his grip on my hair loosens, and his hand slides down to stroke along my side, my ribs, my hip — gentle, reverent touches that feel like worship after the way he just fucked me.