A soft gasp left me from the sensation. It was like he had an iron rod between his thighs, intimidating and a little frightening, but my body softened even further.
The brand-new satin panties I wore were already soaked. The very idea of trying to fit Dmitry inside of me caused a dangerous need to spread through me, one that I knew could lead to addiction.
It would hurt. A lot, and not just because I was a virgin. I knew even if I’d been with a man before, Dmitry was built differently.
But despite the discomfort I knew would seize me, I wanted him to keep pushing inside of me, forcing his way deep into my body until he bottomed out and all I felt was him.
He didn’t move, wasn’t even touching me. He had his hands on the mattress beside my knees, his expression stoic.
The only way I knew he was as into this as I was, was the fire reflected in his blue eyes and the throbbing of his cock between us.
I swallowed, licking my dry lips, the shot of vodka I’d taken rushing to my head.
I’d never done actual hard liquor before. The only thing my parents ever allowed was a few sips of wine during dinner every now and again.
And I’d never had the desire to feel that heady sensation of intoxication claim you and wash away your inhibitions.
But I wish I’d taken one more shot, just another sip to send away the uncertainty and trepidation.
I shifted slightly on him, which caused my pussy to rub against his length. His body tensed further beneath mine, and a soft sound left me as my clit throbbed. I swore he grew impossibly harder.
“What are your plans now, detka?” His voice was a husky rumble that pierced deep into my core and squeezed tight.
Honestly I had no idea what I was going to do. I didn’t know what I was doing. But he’d wanted me on his lap, straddling him, and that had that little flame burning inside of me flaring once more. But despite him commanding me to be in this position, it seemed I had control.
“I don’t know,” I whispered and wished I’d kept my inexperience to myself.
Being a virgin in all things sexual was coveted in my world, guaranteed when you were sheltered and locked away. I had to assume it was the same with the Bratva. But I wished I’d known what I was doing, how to please Dmitry so I could bring him just as much pleasure as he had brought me.
I looked down between us, his dark belt buckle flashing under the light as if taunting me to be stronger. Braver. I looked up at him, seeing how tight his jaw was, how his nostrils flared when he inhaled.
Looking at his hands showed me the veins were standing stark under his tattooed skin. He grabbed the sheets before relaxing his grip.
Clenched his fingers and relaxed them.
To say it was a heady sensation to know I held this much power over Dmitry was an understatement.
“Be my khoroshaya devochka and take it out.”
The rough timbre of his voice had my inner muscles clenching and a fresh wave of wetness spilling from me. I couldn’t hold back my moan, which had him squeezing his hands again, his knuckles white. With shaky fingers, I undid his belt, popped the button, and slowly slid the zipper down.
The denim parted, and I saw an inch of black briefs below. Above that was nothing but hard, tattooed flesh, a hint of that V-shaped muscle peeking out.
“Touch me, Claudia.”
I loved hearing him say my name. I loved his endearments and the gruff Russian he groaned against my ear.
His accent was thicker, deeper, and I placed my hands at the hem of his shirt and slowly pushed it up, revealing more of that defined abdomen covered in dark ink.
Roses and skulls in intricate detail covered his body. On his side was a beautiful Russian cathedral. Each of his shoulders showed nautical stars.
There were knives and guns, and violent-looking pictures of death and blood splattered across his chest. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, artwork that was carved from desperation and survival.
I traced each one, wondering at the significance to them, their story.
I let my nails skate down his chest and watched his abdomen flex, his six-pack becoming even more prominent.
My breasts felt heavy, more sensitive than I’d ever felt before. My nipples were tight, hard points pressing against the soft material of the shirt he’d bought for me.
I was braless, and I wished I would’ve put one on, an extra barrier that would tame some of this sensitivity that coiled tightly in me.
“Touch me before I lose my fucking mind, detka.”
Although I was touching him, I knew what Dmitry wanted, what he was really asking for.