You Don't Know Me (The Russian Don 3)

He looks down at me, a strange expression on his face, then he plunges back into me, going as deeply as he can. I look at his face, contorted with passion and I memorize it. The day will come when these twilight hours when I have been so happy, will no longer fill me with grief. Then I will learn the art of being happy that I had them at all. For they are a gift. I will weather the winter and one day, April will come again.

Slowly, I become completely consumed with the intense feeling rushing through me that I notice even the littlest change in his face. I see he is ready to climax, but he can think only of making me come.

His thrusts become rougher and more forceful as he slides in and out of me. I see his breathing quicken, his nostrils flare, and the muscles of his neck and shoulders work as he pumps into me. His eyes stare into mine, wanting, needing me to come. He won’t let go until I do.

I feel the climax approaching as if from a long tunnel, almost, but not quite there. I realize it’s not going to come. Not when I’m in this mood.

‘Sorry. I don’t think I can come,’ I apologize.

‘There’s no rush. Just relax and let it come, Tasha.’

All his muscles are tight. His control is barely leashed. ‘Don’t wait for me,’ I whisper.

‘You’re coming with me, or nobody is coming tonight,’ he says, his brow clinched together in concentration.

He bends his head and sucks my nipples causing a jolt of electrifying pleasure in my body. My brain becomes cloudy. My fingers clench into his shoulders. The jolts of sensation magnify in intensity. I groan and he increases the pace of his thrusts.

I wrap my legs around his hips and let go, come what may.

His movements become even harsher and faster.

The train starts hurtling towards me until it body slams into me and the strangest thing happens. For a moment I disappear. The moment is infinitesimally small, but its impact is massive. During that second I’m no longer me, an individual, or confined to my body. I dissolve into the unity of the all, knowing no limitation, infinite.

There it is, the true secret of sexual orgasm in its purest form.

Melting and becoming one with the trees, the stars, the sky, the rocks, the ocean, the man inside your body. It is merging. The sinner and the sage, the good into bad, night into day, death into life, and back again. That single moment without distinction is holier than spending years in a monastery or temple. It is that moment Baba spoke of when you enter a lake and meet your own soul.

Then the moment is over and I am just a woman underneath her man.

I look into his eyes and they are so … so very sad. I want to reach out a hand and touch his cheek. I want to tell him I love him, but I can do neither, my hands are immobilized, and my mouth will not move.

I look up at him from underneath drenched lashes. He seems very still, resting on his elbows, his breathing deep and heavy as he stares down at me.

Twenty-eight

Tasha Evanoff

Beneath Your Beautiful

‘Have I hurt you?’ he asks softly.

I blink in amazement. ‘No,’ I whisper. ‘Of course not.’

‘Then tell me why you’re crying.’

‘I’m crying because everything has been just beautiful. I couldn’t have asked for more.’

He trails his fingertips down my cheek. ‘It will be all right. You’ll see. I’ll make it good for us.’

I want to burst into tears, but I don’t. I nod.

‘Will you trust me?’

I nod again.

‘I’ll sort it out. I promise.’

‘Okay. I need to go to the bathroom,’ I say.

He moves and I get up. I pick up my dress and underwear from the floor and go into the bathroom. I close the door and lean against it. I thought I was going to stay all night. I thought I could do it, but I can’t. My heart is breaking. I can’t stay here a moment longer. My legs give way and my body slides down to the floor.

‘Tasha,’ Noah calls from outside.

I press the heel of my hand against my teeth. ‘Just give me a minute,’ I say.

I hear him walk away.

I stand up and dress quickly. My hands shake so much I can hardly pull the zipper up. I run my finger through my hair then, squaring my shoulders, go out into the room. He is sitting on the bed, and he has pulled on his sweatpants.

‘What’s up?’ he asks, his face expressionless.

I exhale the breath I’m holding. ‘I should go home.’

‘Yeah?’

I take a step towards him and shrug. ‘And I won’t be coming back again.’

His eyes narrow. ‘Why not?’ he asks calmly.