I unclasp my bra and pull it off. My breasts spill free.
Aleks looks at me like he’ll die if he can’t have me.
“Now, your panties.”
I don’t delay with those. I shimmy them off my hips and they slide down my legs. Desire burns hot in his eyes for a moment before he nods. “That’s a good little girl. Come here and kneel.”
I bend down in front of him until I’m eye level with his erection. Then I unzip him and pull his dick free. He watches, impassive on the surface, but I can feel the heat of his lust scorching just beneath his skin.
I run my hand up his massive length, savoring the feel of him in my palm. I could just stay here forever, marveling at him.
But there’s more to come in this fucked-up dance of ours.
I drag my eyes up and unbutton his shirt to reveal his impressive abs. Russian words are tattooed across his left side. I have no idea what they mean, but I admire them nonetheless, running my fingertips over the flowing script.
Just more mysteries I can’t unlock in this man. More things hidden from the light.
He has a few other tattoos, none of which make any more sense than the first. An axe just above his right nipple, the silhouette of a tree on his chest.
I smooth my hands over the ink, admiring both them and the body beneath. Then I look up and see that Aleks is looking down at me.
And every thought in my head grinds to a halt, except for one.
I need to kiss him. Now.
I stand, wrap my hand around his neck, and pull his face to mine. I meld our mouths together, swirling my tongue in to taste him and tipping my head to the side to deepen our connection. I kiss Aleks until he moves against me, until his hands slide over my skin, until his cock is pressing against my stomach.
I gasp into his mouth as he sinks into his seat and pulls me onto his lap.
I raise my hips, desperate to feel him inside me. But before his cock touches my entrance, his fingers do.
I moan as he teases his fingers up and down my slit, spreading my wetness until I’m writhing around on top of him, pleading for more than just this faint temptation.
Then, when he’s done torturing me, he grabs my hips and sheaths himself inside.
“Oh, fucking fuck!” I cry out.
It only hurts for a moment. Pleasure soon washes away the pain. My body knows what to do from here. Truth is, I left my mind a long time ago, so I do the only thing I can do.
I submit.
I start riding him, bucking my hips against his until the sound of our bodies coming together drowns out everything else. Aleks alternates grabbing my hips and slapping my ass hard as I bounce on his cock.
When my legs begin to cramp, he grabs my hips and stands. His cock never comes out of me as he carries me to the table.
With a sweep of his hand, he clears half the place settings before setting my naked ass down on the edge of it. Then he pummels into me hard, his jaw rigid with concentration.
“Oh God!” I whimper. “Oh God… Aleks… Aleks…”
I don’t mean to say his name. In fact, I try to bite down on my cries.
But I can’t help myself. My world has narrowed until he’s all that exists. His eyes flash with lust as he shoves his cock into me so hard it feels like he’s in my stomach. Breaking me. Owning me so fully and completely that I know even in this moment that no one else will ever match it.
My arms flail around the table, searching for something to grip. I hear more things fall and break, but he doesn’t stop.
The orgasm that courses through my body then is so intense that I scream. Loudly. I’ve never done that before. Not like this.
My thighs clench around his hips. I lean backward, trying to lay down, but Aleks’s arms around my back hold me up. He bends down and sucks my nipple in his mouth, adding pleasure even though I’m already maxed out. My body is oversensitized and spent.
But he keeps fucking me relentlessly, pushing me towards another orgasm that I don’t think I’m ready for yet.
He doesn’t give a shit about that, though. No mercy in anything. Not even this.
“Please,” I gasp, as the pleasure twists in my nerves and turns me limp and lifeless. “Aleks, fuck…”
I jerk upright when the second orgasm takes hold against my will. My fingernails dig into his shoulder blades, and I know how unforgiving my grip is. I feel the heat of his blood when I break the skin. But he doesn’t so much as flinch.
I doubt he can even register the pain. He’s singularly focused on where our bodies are connected. Every ounce of his attention on me. I feel like a goddess and a ragdoll at the same time.
After the second orgasm, I can barely hold onto him. My limbs are heavy, and I’m not sure how much more I can take.
Then, suddenly, he pulls out and pumps at his cock. I watch with fascination as his hand rocks back and forth along his thick shaft.
With a guttural roar, he erupts. The first spray of his seed lands on my neck, just above my breasts. But I catch a few drops on my face. I can only gawk at him as he pumps his load onto me.
I’ve never had a man come on me before. And certainly not on my face.
I don’t know why it’s so exciting. Shouldn’t it be demeaning? Insulting? But it’s the farthest thing from it. The moment he drenches me, I feel awash with adrenaline. Alive. Owned and thus freed, in the strangest way possible.
When he finishes, he releases his hands from my body. I almost fall back against the table, knocking over another glass in the process. It clatters to the floor, but thankfully, it doesn’t break.
While I struggle to gain control of my extremities, Aleks tucks his still-hard cock away and zips himself up. It makes me more aware of the fact that I’m still as naked as the day I was born.
Not just that, but we’re out in the open, in the middle of the garden. The terrace has some foliage that separates it from the greater expanse of the garden, but still… anyone could have walked in on us.
Someone still could.
“My clothes,” I say, panic creeping in now that the high of my orgasms has receded somewhat and the cold logic of reality has come rushing back in.
“Go on,” Aleks says. “They’re right over there.”
My legs are shaky and the ground is littered with everything that was upended when Aleks swept them off the table to make room for me.
He stands to the side and observes me as I pick my way barefoot between broken pottery to the pile of my discarded clothes.
“You could help me,” I say, glaring back at him.
He shrugs. “And miss the show?”
My annoyance blots away some of the self-consciousness, which is good, because he never takes his eyes off me. Now that I think about it, maybe that’s part of why I stay so damn mad at him all the time—because it’s a better alternative than acknowledging what he’s doing to me deep down inside.
I pull my dress up over my breasts, although I know there’s no way I can zip myself up without his help. But he doesn’t offer and I’m not going to ask.
He grabs a glass of wine from the table and sits back down as if the area isn’t a complete disaster of spilled cutlery and broken glasses.
“Well?” I ask, turning to him.
He looks at me with amusement. “Well, what?”
“I did what you wanted me to do.”
He frowns before taking a sip. “I don’t follow.”