Taken by the Russian
“This teasing little pussy has driven me out of my mind,” he grits out, his face tipping toward the sky to shout my name. “Sitting on my lap. Cuddling Daddy’s cock through thin panties while you did your homework. You will learn now what you’ve tempted.”
For the next few minutes, I’m nothing but a plaything for his driving manhood. Sweat falls from his forehead onto my body, my face, his pumping body sleek and commanding. Relentless. There’s no gentleness now, only the proving of ownership. But as my teeth clack together, my breasts bouncing up and down, I can’t deny I love this sensation of my body being used to slake Sasha’s lust. It’s turning me on even more, the way his entire universe seems centered on where our bodies join. Over and over and over.
I open my legs even wider and take my nipples between my fingers, playing with them. A hot zing of pleasure travels to the flesh at the juncture of my thighs, and I gasp. “Oh.”
Through a haze of need, I meet Sasha’s half – mast eyes before allowing my attention to travel down his flexed chest and abdomen muscles, the dozens of versions of my name. When I reach the spot where Sasha rams himself in and out of me, I watch his thumb settle on my clit, loving it with a series of jiggles and strokes. “Cover Daddy’s cock in your sweetness, little angel. You will be taking my cum soon and I want your body receptive.”
“Yes, yes…” My inner walls begin to spasm around the hard invasion of Sasha. “Yes.”
“Good girl.” He suctions his mouth to mine in a wet tongue kiss, and a loud rumble begins in his chest, eventually releasing from his lips. “You will take now.” Tensing, he throws his head back and moans. “Take.”
I’m still in the throes of my climax when I’m flooded between the legs. There’s no other way to describe it. Sasha overflows me with his hot, sticky essence and continues to pound, pound, pound, growling at the sky with eyes clenched shut. It goes on for so long, more and more liquid sliding down the insides of my thighs and pooling beneath my bottom, that I have another orgasm, my back arching off the ground as I scream.
When I’m pulled into Sasha’s arms some time later, a blessed, comfortable blackness is already creeping in to claim me. “I love you, Sasha,” I murmur, turning my face into his mighty chest. “I love you so much that I have to fight until we get our life exactly right.”
“I love you more than should be humanly possible, Anya.” He stands and lays a lingering kiss on my forehead. “But do not fight me, for we are already exactly right.”
Ignoring my sense of apprehension, I drift into a deep sleep as he carries me to the house. Our house.
Chapter Eight
Sasha
What is the level above obsession?
Whatever its name, that is my affliction.
Power and need pump through my veins as I watch Anya sleep, her slight body swallowed up by our enormous bed. I have not bothered to dress for two reasons. One, I would need to stop staring at my beauty in order to do so. Two, I am enjoying the sight of her virgin blood on my cock far too much. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.
I realize I haven’t taken a deep breath in a full minute, and inhale through my nose, easing the pressure on my lungs. Already my seed is taking root inside her. I am not God and yet this is something I can sense. She glows among the bedsheets, her little pink nipples beckoning me closer. Perhaps I will wake her with my tongue between her legs. Yes. When I told Anya her pain would be rewarded, there was no greater truth. I have the stamina of two bulls and an eager tongue. When I drown the angel in pleasure, drape her in silk and feed her tonight, she will cease this talk of fighting and battles.
We will only be interrupted a short while by the priest, who waits downstairs in the living room to pronounce us man and wife. After that, she will be made to forget her arguments with me and accept the happiness I’m driven to provide her. And I can provide for her every need. For a very long time. My profession might be considered unpleasant to some, but being the best at what I do made it very lucrative. Which is why the priest doesn’t mind waiting for Anya to wake from her nap. I have paid him very well.
Only the promise that Anya will be my wife tonight forces me to tear my gaze off her sleeping form and take a shower. When I emerge from the en – suite bathroom, Anya rouses among the sheets, blinking at me sleepily. “Hi.” Her eyes are drawn to my stiff cock, which I haven’t bothered covering with a towel. “Wow,” she breathes. “This is going to take some getting used to.”