“Put one foot on the floor,” I direct as I shove off my briefs and put on protection.

She slides her butt down enough to touch the floor with her right foot, as she watches me. Appearing enthralled, she reaches for my cock.

“That’s right, sweetheart. You want a ride on my dick?”

“Mm hmm,” she hums, nearly making me come when she tightens her grip and pulls me toward her entrance.

I steady her with a hand behind her back as I slide the head of my cock through her juices. “Same rule as last night. You want me to stop or slow down, just say so.”

She drags her lower lip between her teeth and nods.

“You’re beautiful,” I murmur as I press the head of my cock against her entrance. The soft flesh gives, and she takes me in.

I hook my hand under her left knee to pull it up, so I can get a better angle to drive into her. The position is perfect. I sink into her and bottom out, then ease back and give it to her again.

“Da…da,” she chants. I love how she reverts to Russian when she’s excited. It’s so damn cute.

I keep the tempo slow and steady, glorying in how easy this is. Even when it’s hard, it’s still easy. Nadia and I seem to know each other on a deeper level than two people who just started hanging out. We know each other on a soul level. But even our bodies seem to know each other. Because with Nadia, I understand the term, “making love.”

Even this round, which on the surface seems like base fucking, is an act of honoring. Of pleasuring each other with total freedom–an unfettered gifting and receiving.

And then I can’t keep to the slower pace. Energy builds at the base of my spine, and I speed up, hooking my arm behind her back, so she can arch over it, her lips parted with her moans, her eyes looking skyward.

“Oy…oh…oy!” she cries.

I fuck her harder, slamming in and out at a frenetic pace. “Yes, Nadia…yeah!” I exclaim. I slow down to drive in deeper, thrusting like my life depended on getting deeper, grinding my loins over her clit with each savage instroke.

“Please…pozhaluysta…yes!”

Her cries, her satisfaction, brings on my orgasm, and I beat into her, harder and faster until my balls draw up tight, and I have to release.

“I’m going to come,” I grunt.

“Come!” she screams. “Please, Flynn! I’m ready.”

I wring both of our orgasms out with powerful thrusts that end with me buried deep and both her legs wrapped tightly behind my back.

YA tebya lyublyu, she murmurs against my shoulder.

“What?” I ask.

“Oh. Nothing. I said it was good. So good.”

She’s lying. I make a point of trying to memorize the syllables she uttered, but my brain is so scrambled, I’m not sure I get it right. It was something like, “yeah, tibaya blue.” Maybe Oleg can translate it for me.

No matter. Nadia is in my arms, and it feels so right. I carry her like that into my shower where we take the time to wash every inch of each other, exploring all our edges and curves. Hard places and soft.

This is love. This is meaning. This is the way I was supposed to feel every time I shared my body with a woman. But I never knew it until now.

Nadia

After Flynn takes me to a corner bakery for breakfast–where I was absolutely fine–we return to his place. I sketch designs for the burlesque dancers on a pad of paper he found for me while he composes music.

Like last night, it’s more than comfortable. There’s an ease between us. A familiarity. Like we’ve been together in past lifetimes, so we just settle right in like it’s old times.

I don’t ever want this to end.

Gospodi, I said I love you to Flynn when we had sex this morning! Fortunately, I said it in Russian, and he didn't understand me.

I now realize why everyone was so afraid I would get hurt. It's not that Flynn would hurt me. But I'll hurt myself.

I have hurt myself.

Because now that I've tasted Flynn, now that I've been the focus of his attention, the recipient of his talents, now that I've basked in the glow he casts, I don't ever want to leave it.

Flynn puts his guitar down and picks up a notebook. He sprawls sideways in an armchair, his long legs extending over the armrest, far beyond the confines of the furniture. He holds the notebook on his knees and a pencil between his fingers. When he glances up at me, he catches me watching him.

Instead of reacting, he just looks steadily back at me, his brown eyes seeming to see deep into the depths of my soul.

That look alone makes me want to swear my undying love to him again. In English this time.

Tags: Renee Rose Chicago Bratva Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net