Finally, I met his gaze. “Can I go now?”
He held my stare for a beat, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Nyet.”
I sighed in frustration. “What else do you need from me tonight? I don’t care if you send me five peach emojis, I’m not giving you my anal virginity too.”
“Fuck,” he chuckled roughly. “Stop talking about being a virgin.”
“Why? Does it make you feel guilty?”
“It makes me want to be the first to take your ass too.”
Ignoring the heat rising up my neck, I raised a brow. “What’s the point when you’d take it for two seconds?”
His gaze hardened, then a ragged exhale escaped me when he grabbed my thighs and yanked my ass to the edge of the couch. I had to brace my hands behind me to maintain any sort of dignified pose.
“Don’t spread your legs, kotyonok.”
I glared at him, unwilling to let the trick work this time. Ripped fabric parted, revealing the curves of my breasts, my nipples hardening in the cool air. Why was I always the naked one? The only bare part of Ronan I’d seen was a few inches of his dick because the rest of it was inside of me.
“How sore are you?” he asked coarsely, his gaze slowly sliding up my naked body to meet mine.
My throat felt tight when I realized he did feel a little guilty. The thought aroused a weird sensation of solace, spreading something warm and heavy that melted all the tension within.
“Sore,” I exhaled.
He murmured something in Russian that radiated down my spine. When he pushed my legs apart, they complied.
He thumbed the top of one of my thigh-high socks, growling, “These fucking socks, Mila.” He tugged one down a little and nipped the flesh beneath it, sending a hot shiver through me.
Pulling back, the heat of his eyes warmed my sex, the ache inside coming alive again and pulsing. I was growing warm everywhere, the feeling interrupted by a cold wave of shyness when I recognized his intention.
“Wait,” I blurted and tried to pull free from his grip—but, as usual, it didn’t budge.
The look that lifted to my face was heated and narrow-eyed with a silent question.
“I bled.” My body grew tense in his hands, ready to flee from the embarrassing situation.
His dry expression conveyed he didn’t understand the point I was trying to make.
I grew flustered at the fact I even had to explain this. “It’s . . . gross.”
A second passed, and I thought he wanted to laugh, but the humor was contained by the intensity in his gaze. “As much as I wish otherwise, there is nothing about you I could find gross.”
The warmth that rushed to my face was consumed by fire when he went straight for the soreness around my opening, tracing it with his tongue. The pressure stung a little, but the heat of his mouth relieved it and sent a zap of pleasure to my toes.
Breath shaky, l readjusted my purchase on the couch, my thighs falling open at the next lap of his tongue, which he then slid inside of me. My head lolled back, a moan escaping my lips.
“Fuck, kotyonok. Dazhe tvoya kiska na vkus kak klubnika.”
I understood the gist of the statement given the mention of “cunt” and “strawberries.” The dirty Russian pushed all reservations to the wayside. Bracing one hand on the couch, I slid the other into his hair. I ran my blunt nails across his scalp and felt a shudder ghost down his back.
He was ignoring my clit, each lick making it throb in anticipation. Every time he came close to where I wanted him, I rocked my hips to make him get there, but he only drew his mouth back to my opening, which he soothed with undivided attention.
A fire brewed beneath my skin, sending a flush to every cell inside of me. My breath accelerated to little puffs of air, and the pressure in my core began to heat and build and blister. The flat of his tongue slid upward, so close to my clit I trembled, dying with need.
“Please,” I begged, my fingers tightening in his hair.
“Nyet.”