When I pull my cock out, she whimpers in protest. “No,” she says.
I spank her ass hard. “Time for my cock in your ass. I’m going to fill it up with cum.”
“Yes, please, Valery. I need your cum in my ass.”
I slide the banana out and coat my cock in olive oil, before lining the head up with her already stretched hole.
Grabbing her hips hard, I slam my cock into her and groan at how good it feels. And then I pull her with me, sitting down on the kitchen chair.
I force her to spin around, still buried inside of her.
“Ride my dick with your ass,” I order.
She holds my gaze with determination and starts to move up and down.
I tear open her blouse and groan when I see her hard nipples and bare breasts. She’s not been wearing a bra lately either because her breasts are sore from the hormones.
Moving forward, I suck on them one by one as she fucks herself on me.
Her body moving with hard, violent movements as she tries to find her release again.
“I want you to come with my cock in your ass, malishka. I want to feel those muscles tight around my cock, forcing the cum into your ass.”
She moans as she gazes down at me, her cheeks flushed a deep red as she chases her second release.
Within minutes, I feel her muscles tighten as she heads for her second climax, so I grab her hips and meet her thrusts, pushing her over the edge faster.
“Fuck, that ass feels so fucking good,” I growl as I come too, spilling every drop into her ass.
We are both panting when we finish moving, spent and satiated.
Anya kisses me softly as I keep my arms wrapped around her, my still semi-hard cock buried inside of her.
When she breaks away, she murmurs, “Happy anniversary. I love you.”
“I love you too.” I kiss her, my tongue thrusting into her mouth. “And I have every intention of devouring you all night long.”
“Good,” she murmurs.
We kiss then, heat flaring between us as we sit there in the kitchen, my cock still in her ass.
I know without a doubt in that moment that all the struggles and difficulties were beyond worth it.
I’d give up my empire a hundred times over if it meant I’d be with Anya.
21
EPILOGUE
ANYA
Six years later…
“Mikhail, stop running in the house!” I shout, as our little boy rushes down the corridor off of the living room toward the kitchen. As always, he doesn’t listen to me. He’s as stubborn as his father. Just over five years old and a complete rascal, even if he’s a cute one.
My hand rests on the bump of my stomach as I look across the living room at my husband, who is buried deep in paperwork at his desk. Our second child is coming within months and I can’t wait to expand our family.
Who would have known that his abandoning Zelenograd would bring him far more wealth and power here in Boston?