Chapter 3
Bree
“Please, no,” I cry.
My emotions are a mixture of lust and dread. I don’t want to know what will happen if Mikhail fucks me without lube, but I also crave the depraved fear Mikhail causes.
His finger moves in my ass. I want more. My pussy is empty, and I need that to be rectified. “Fuck my pussy, please.”
Ice-cold sensation shoots through my body. He’s inserted something. It’s freezing. “I choose what I allow in your holes, not you. Got it?”
I don’t respond, lost in the blooming sensation.
His fingers pinch my clit. “Got it?”
“Yes!” I cry, but a part of me wants to push him to see what he will do if I say no.
“What’s a Christmas fucking without some ice?”
“You’re so twisted.”
His footsteps are the only thing I hear. “I am, but you, my pretty wife, talk too much.” He slaps my face with his hard dick. “Open up. Time for worship.”
He grips my throat, his favorite method when getting a blow job. Mikhail doesn’t like me to deep throat. He likes the idea that he could kill me via suffocation from his cock.
My mouth is open, but instead of him placing his between my lips, he spits. He slips his cock past my lips, and I wrap my mouth around him.
“That’s my good girl.”
He fists my hair with his other hand, controlling my head as he thrusts violently, yet I feel like I’m the one with all the power.
Sucking Mik’s dick is my favorite thing because I’m his undoing. Every groan, every pull of my hair, every squeeze of my throat becomes more severe and lets me know he’s on the edge.
Without a word, he pulls out. His hand is still on my throat. He lifts me off the altar as if I’m nothing more than a feather. He yanks my body to the end of the altar, the cold stone slab not a concern with the heat of his body near mine.
“Watch,” he orders as he pulls my head down with the use of my hair.
With my eyes locked on our centers, he lines his cock up with my entrance. He groans as he slowly pushes into me.
My hand moves to his mask, and I remove it. There’s my man. My Mikhail. My person. My other half.
“Perfect,” he grits. “That’s what we are, Bree. Perfect.”
I pull his face up and stare deep into his cobalt eyes. I don’t say a word because I don’t have to, and neither does he. Mikhail and I just are. It’s how we’ve been from the moment we met. We aren’t always functional; we aren’t always sane, but we always are.
His head lowers, and he takes my mouth in his. Unlike the sex, his lips are gentle and loving. With his lips, he tells me all I need to know. That I’m everything that matters.
“I’m wrong, you know,” he whispers, his forehead pressed against mine. “I’m not your god. You’re mine. You’re what I worship every waking hour, and you’re the paradise I dream about when I close my eyes.”
He moves inside me, increasing his rhythm. His arms wrap around me, pulling me to him. It’s as if he’s trying to crawl into my skin. These are the moments when I know he’s it for me and me for him. Mikhail and I get each other. We understand who the other is, both good and bad.
His hand moves down, and his fingers move along my clit. “Can you come again?”
“Would I be a good little slut if I didn’t say yes?”
His rhythm increases as he bites into my shoulder, and in that moment of pain, pleasure, and unconditional love, we come in bliss, tangled in each other.
“I love you, Mik.”
“Not nearly as much as I love you, Little Mouse.”
“I also loved my present. How did you pull it off?”
Mikhail smirks, pulling at the red Santa hat on his head. “Sometimes, being married to Psycho Santa with deep pockets isn’t a bad thing.”
“You’re going to have a hard time topping this for Valentine’s Day.”
“Wanna bang while skydiving?”