My goal was to distract him from his worry, but my own heartbeat accelerates as his breathing quickens and his gaze shoots up to meet mine. His pupils are already dilated, turning the silver of his irises to dark steel. I’m acutely aware of the heat emanating from his fingers as he holds my wrist, and the proximity of his tall, strong body makes me want to melt against him, to rub my aching breasts on the broad, hard plane of his chest.
“Ptichka…” His voice is low and thick. “You’re playing with fucking fire.”
My nipples pinch into tight, hard buds, and liquid heat soaks my panties. Holy fuck, am I turned on. That tone, combined with the hint of violence in the too-tight grip of his fingers on my wrist, does more for me than hours of foreplay. Other than the blow job I gave him in the hospital, we haven’t had sex for several days, and my body is desperately craving his possession.
Stepping forward, I rise on tiptoes and press my lips to his, wrapping my free arm around his muscled neck. For a moment, he’s stiff, as if taken aback by my aggression, but then his instincts take over, and I find myself backed against the refrigerator, with his hard body pressing into me and his mouth devouring me like there’s no tomorrow.
I can feel the bulge of his erection as he grabs my other wrist and stretches my arms above my head, pinning them against the cold steel of the fridge. More heat ripples through my insides, and I moan into his mouth, lifting my leg and hooking it behind his ass, so I can rub my aching, swollen sex against that bulge. I didn’t feel comfortable borrowing Yulia’s underwear in addition to the clothes, and the jean shorts are rough and scratchy against my bare folds, the sensation uncomfortable yet perversely exciting.
“Fuck me,” I breathe as he lifts his head to gaze down at me, his eyes glittering and his jaw tightly clenched. Clasping both of my wrists in one big hand, he unzips his pants, freeing his erection as I beg, “Fuck me now.”
“Oh, I will. Believe me.”
His breathing is heavy, his gaze fierce as he releases my wrists and unzips my shorts, then roughly yanks them down my legs. Shaking with need, I step out of them, and he grips my ass, lifting me up. As I clutch his shoulders, he spreads my thighs wide and lowers me onto his thick cock, spearing me in one hard stroke.
Air whooshes out of my lungs as my legs wrap around his hips and my nails dig into the coiled muscles of his shoulders. Fuck, he’s big. My body had somehow forgotten this part. My inner tissues feel painfully stretched, my arousal tempered by the stinging burn of his entry. That is, until he begins to move.
Still holding my gaze, he pulls out and thrusts back in. There’s no waiting, no teasing me with shallow thrusts; right away, his rhythm is hard and driving, as merciless as the man himself. And that’s exactly what I need. The growing heat and tension lessen the discomfort, my body softening and liquifying, welcoming him deep inside. Each stroke hammers at my G-spot; each time his pelvis slams against mine, it presses on my clit.
My orgasm is as violent as it is sudden. It blasts me long before I’m mentally prepared, the pleasure tearing at me, ripping me apart. Gasping, I cry out his name, my legs tightening around him, but he doesn’t stop.
He hammers into me until I come again.
I’m still riding the orgasmic aftershocks when a vein starts throbbing in his sweat-slickened forehead, and his thick cock further swells inside me. With a groan, he thrusts as deeply as he can, and my inner muscles squeeze around his shaft as it jerks and pulses, bathing my insides with his seed.
66
Peter
Breathing heavily, I reluctantly withdraw from Sara’s tight, slick pussy and carefully lower her to her feet. She looks just as overwhelmed as I feel, and a sharp pinch of regret chases away the warm afterglow.
I was too rough with her.
Again, I was too fucking rough with her.
I know she likes it that way now, but she’s pregnant.
Traumatized and pregnant.
What the fuck was I thinking, losing control like that? I need to be coddling her, keeping her rested and relaxed, not fucking her brains out against the fridge like some out-of-control animal.
She sways on her feet as I release her and step back, and I grip her arm, steadying her as she reaches for a paper towel to mop at the wetness between her legs.
“Ptichka… Are you okay?”
She grins, throwing the balled-up towel in the trash. “Never better. How about you?’
I frown, then remember my injuries. Now that I’m paying attention to it, my side does hurt a bit, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.