“I knew your cunt would be sweeter. The sweetest thing… my fucking obsession.” He sucked that bundle into his mouth and hummed, growled, and sounded like a crazed beast. “I want you to tell me you’re a whore for me, but only for me.” His words were muffled and wet sounding against my pussy and I cried out at how sensitive I was, how good it is.
“It’s too much. It’s too much.” I didn’t know if I was pleading that his words were crossing lines, or that his mouth was too forceful as he tried to pull another climax from me.
“It’s not too much and you’ll give me this. You’ll give me everything because you’re mine, Amara.” He stared at me in the eyes for a second before he spit between my legs, soaking my pussy in his salvia.
I gasped, watched his eyes became lit with fire for the inside out, and then he was eating me out.
He sucked my clit into his mouth and drew on it hard. “You’ll only ever be mine.” Another hard, painful… so, so good pull on my clit. “Now tell me, malishka, tell me what I want to hear and what you want to say.”
I gasped and gasped and gasped and then cried out through my orgasm, “I’m your whore. Only yours, Nikolai.”
I was vaguely aware of the animalistic sounds he made while he was relentless between my thighs, while he lapped and sucked at me…. while he spit on my pussy then licked it back up. It was dirty and wrong. It’s so right and feel too good.
He kept me spread open, refusing to let me get away.
I slowly—painfully—came down from my high, crying, begging, praying to a God that wouldn’t listen. My fingers tugged at his hair hard enough I knew it had to hurt, but he stayed right there between my legs and ate me out, his licks slow and gentle now.
And then he was away from me, the chilled air brushing over my pussy, which forced my eyes open. But he didn’t move far. He shifted on the couch so his legs kept mine open, his focus trained on my pussy. His hand was wrapped around that massive, girthy cock, and he stroked himself fast and hard from root to tip.
“Look at that,” he groaned and used his free hand to slide up my inner thigh. I moaned at how good that felt, that soft touch when he did something so dirty. But that was short-lived when a second later he brought his palm down and slapped my pussy.
“Ahhh.” I arched my back, my breasts shaking, the sting and burn instant.
“Again,” he demanded as he still furiously moved his palm up and down his cock. He slapped my pussy again and I cried, begged, curled my hands against the couch cushions so I didn’t move away.
Nikolai smoothed his hand over my erotically abused flesh, soothing, me, driving me up higher and higher and higher.
And when he brought his palm up to the crown of his cock and squeezed, his forearm flexing, the veins standing hard viciously, I held my breath.
His neck muscles clenched as he groaned then barked out a hoarse sound. He angled his erection toward me and hot, thick jets of milky white cum shot out of the tip and splattered my pussy, my thighs, even my lower belly. It was everywhere. He was everywhere.
And his orgasm seemed to go on and on, never-ending, and all I could do was lay there and take it all, let him bathe me in his seed, paint me with his mark.
When he was done the only indication he gave was a subtle relaxation across his shoulders and the rapid rise and fall of his chest. His eyes were barely open as he stared down at me, as he looked at all the cum on my body.
“God, you’re a fucking mess, malishka. Hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmured. He reached out and smoothed his fingers along the streaks of seed, smearing it, rubbing it into my thighs and belly, my pussy lips and then teasing my opening and pushing some in there, too.
I gasped at the feeling.
He held his hand up, showing me how glossy they were, coated with his orgasm, and he made me taste it, pushing those digits into my mouth and against my tongue. He was salty and sweet and darkly addicting. And I found myself sucking on those fingers, lapping up all his seed like I was starved for it.
I’d never known addiction, never felt the undeniable pull of needing something so badly it hurt. But as I stared up at Nikolai, I realized this must be what it felt like.
This must be what it was like to know you could never go back to what was before.
Chapter
Twenty
Amara
“Priv’yet malishka.” The way he said that was all sexually laced and filled with innuendos.
I might not speak Russian, but I recognized a few words since being with him, and knew malishka meant “baby”. Just knowing he called me that endearment had me softening in the most liquid way.
“I want to take you to dinner tonight.”
Nikolai’s rough voice drew me out of my book and I glanced up at him. He stood at the top of the stairs, leaning against the wall and looking far too sexy right after a shower.