“Give me the name of the fucker who was standing beside you that day, and I will forget about the Russia episode.”
“I told you that…I can’t.”
His eyes rage to a frightening blue that stiffens my muscles, but that soon morphs into hot-red desire when he slides his knife down my throat, pauses at my pulse point before continuing his path to the slope of my breast, and then turns the sharp side on my engorged nipple. I feel no pain, but a trail of blood trickles down my breast and stomach and then pools in my navel.
The sight should be appalling, but pure fascination forbids me from looking away.
“Here’s how it’ll go, Sasha.” He continues the knife’s path over my stomach, hips, and then to the sensitive spot between my legs. “I’m going to keep torturing you until you tell me a name. So unless you give me what I need, you’ll stay here all day…” he trails off, a wolfish smirk tugging on his lips. “What do we have here?”
His fingers slide between my thighs, and a dark look fills his eyes. “Are you wet at the prospect of being tortured?”
“N-no.”
“Your pussy doesn’t sing the same tune your mouth does.” He strokes my opening and teases my clit. “Look how it’s soaking my fucking fingers.”
I have to physically stop myself from humping his fingers and getting off on them. I’ve been in this state of hypersensitivity for so long that I can’t take it anymore.
He glides his fingers through my folds in a torturous rhythm, offering me stimulation but not enough to get me off.
This is a first from him. Kirill was always about getting me off. Whether with his mouth, fingers, or cock. He had the sole purpose of making me come for him and preferably scream his name during it.
But now, he seems to not want me to get off at all.
His middle finger hovers near my opening, and my hips automatically jerk. It’s been such a long time since he touched me, and no matter how much I do it myself, it’s entirely different from when he does it.
I don’t know if it’s the thickness of his fingers, the sheer dominance of his touch, or his delicious intensity, but I’m always left starving for more from him.
Just more.
“You want me to fuck your tight little cunt, Sasha?” There’s harsh amusement behind his words. “Want me to relieve the ache and make you scream?”
I nod once, my cheeks heating, but I couldn’t care less about the embarrassment right now.
“I can do that.” He slides a finger inside, and my back arches off the bed.
Oh, God.
More…more…more…
I need this.
“I can also add another one.” He thrusts the second finger in. “And another. You take three of them like such a good girl. You’re my favorite fuck hole, Sasha.”
When he rams the third finger in, I think I’ll burst. Yes, I used to take three of his fingers, but that was months ago. Being celibate and having only my fingers for company doesn’t help.
“You’re so tight that you’re milking my fingers.” He curls them inside, and my nails dig into the leather belt.
“Kirill…”
“What?”
“Please…”
“You’re going to have to be more specific with your begging. What do you want me to do?”
“Fuck me.” And not only with your fingers.
As much as I love the feeling of them inside me, I need something more.
I need all of him pressed up against me and his muscles crushing me while he gives me the most intense pleasure I’ve ever experienced.
“You can barely take my fingers, and you want my cock?” He thrusts them in a fast rhythm that leaves me gasping. “You’re such a greedy little whore, Solnyshko.”
I’m supposed to feel offended by that, but I’m not. Not one bit. If anything, it makes me wetter, until my arousal drenches his fingers.
“I can do that, too,” he continues in that deep, sexy tone. “I’ll fuck you good. Fuck you hard. I’ll fuck you until you forget about all other cocks and worship only mine. You want that?”
I nod several times, completely delirious from his dirty talk. I want to keep looking at him, to get lost in this moment and have no means of return, but it’s hard to force my eyes open when intense pleasure is building at the base of my stomach with frightening speed.
Still tearing me apart with his fingers, Kirill lowers his head and whispers hot words near my ear, “Tell me his name first.”
My lips tremble, but I murmur, “I can’t…”
One moment, I’m on the verge of an orgasm; the next, it’s gone. Kirill wrenches his fingers from inside me, leaving me hot, bothered, and with a scream bubbling at the back of my throat.
“What…？ Why?”
His expression is now closed off, and if I wasn’t so frustrated, I’d be frightened. “This is a punishment. You’re not supposed to come when you haven’t confessed yet.”
“You can’t be serious…？”
He thrusts the knife's handle inside me, and I reel from the renewed pressure. Kirill all but fucks me with the knife, and I don’t know why it feels so hot. Depraved, yes, but it’s so erotic that my earlier intense buildup seems like a joke compared to the wave that’s currently sweeping me under.
“Oh, God…”
“I’m the only god you’ll ever have.” He goes faster, harder, and so out of control that I think I’ll faint from the intensity alone. “What’s his name?”
At the moment, I forget why I shouldn’t be confessing everything. But some brain cells remain functioning and forbid me to.
The moment I shake my head, Kirill pulls out the knife when I’m a second away from coming. This time, I scream with frustration, and tears line my eyes.
“Stop it, please,” I cry out.
Sweat coats my skin, my nipples hurt so bad due to the sexual stimulation, and my core screams for a release that he won’t offer me.
And since my hands are bound, I can’t do it myself either, so I’m completely at his nonexistent mercy.
Kirill’s face turns stone-cold as he teases my clit with his fingers and thrusts the knife’s handle inside again. “You’re the only one who can stop this by giving me his fucking name. The more you resist, the more creative I become about denying you one orgasm after the other. I know your body, Sasha, even better than you do. I know when you’re about to come. Your breaths are faster, your neck flushes red, and your hips involuntarily jerk. I’ll let you come close to the peak but never reach it. I’ll do this again and again and fucking again until you give me what I want.”
And then he proceeds to do just that.
Until I think I’m going to die.
12
KIRILL
I’ve never experienced frustration that’s so close to the level of self-fucking-destruction I’m feeling now.
I had to physically remove myself from the room before I did something I’d regret for the rest of my life.
My steps are controlled, but they hide a raging fucking war. Once I’m in the bathroom, I splash my face with cold water a few times, but it does nothing to kill the flames that are devouring me from the inside out.