Another lubed finger joins the first and the fullness clouds my head. All I can do is remain still, mouth open, arse in the air as he thrusts in me.
The pain slowly disappears, replaced by an acute sense of…pleasure?
Oh fuck.
“That’s it, baby.” He thrusts his cock in and out of my mouth, hitting the back of my throat with the piercings. “Fuck your ass on my fingers.”
I realize with utter shock that I’m rocking back and forth, lips parted so he can fuck me with his cock and I’m helping him drive in and out of my arse.
Fucking fuck.
He’s dragging out a foreign version of me, clawing and tearing at every safety measure I had in place.
He gets close and I’m giving up control.
He touches me and I’m stumbling, rolling, falling, falling, falling…
Nikolai’s fingers scrape something inside me and I nearly lose balance.
“There it is.” The lust in his voice undoes me, shoving me to the edge. “Fuck… I’m gonna come…”
He pegs his fingers against that secret part once.
Twice…
On the third time, heat engulfs me and any sounds I want to make are drowned by the cum that explodes all over my mouth, lips, and face.
But that’s not the part that makes me want to scream. It’s my own dick shooting cum on Nikolai’s chest, face, and hands.
It goes on and on, spraying everywhere and decorating the sheets.
Please don’t tell me I just came without any stimulation to my cock.
I jerk away from Nikolai and he slips his fingers from my arse. My hole clenches around them as if wanting to keep them there. What the— “Mmm.” Nikolai traces his other hand over the cum on his chest, smearing it on the tattoos before he drags his fingers to his mouth. “You definitely made a mess this time. Hot as fuck.”
I try to escape, but I end up tripping on his limbs and I fall beside him on the bed.
Nikolai doesn’t seem to sense my feelings of trepidation, because he rolls, flips around, and hovers on top of me. His majestic body, while huge, doesn’t feel threatening. The tip of the necklace skims over my throat like a caress. His loose hair frames his face and I have to stop myself from touching it.
“You’re going to kiss me, aren’t you?” I ask, my defenses depleted.
He grins, eyes shining with mischief. “You know I will.”
“What if I ask you not to?”
“We both know your mouth is a fucking liar unless I’m devouring it.” He darts out his tongue and licks his cum off my jaw and lips, then thrusts it into my parted mouth, feeding me his cum, making me taste him again and swallow every last drop.
Whenever he kisses me, I feel like I’m losing a piece of myself that I’ll never recuperate. And yet I can’t help sinking my fingers into his hair, moaning in his mouth, gliding my tongue against his, sucking, biting, and forgetting.
For one moment, I forget and let myself get lost in the dream.
He pulls his mouth from mine and I have to physically stop myself from chasing his tongue and hooking it against mine.
Nikolai gives my bottom lip one last tug before he releases it and pushes off me, his finger teasing my nipple on his way up. “I’ll be right back, baby. Don’t move.”
My head turns to the side, watching his inked back muscles flexing, his hair messed up from how much I pulled and fisted the inky strands.
Somewhere in the center of my chest aches.
Why the fuck is he so beautiful and why am I…this attracted to him?
Wasn’t I supposed to be broken?
I stare at the white platform ceiling for a few seconds, but then as the pleasure haze disappears, I blink away my confusion and sober up.
My legs barely carry me as I stand up and snatch my clothes, then put them on awkwardly as I jog to the lift.
I pause inside, my forefinger hovering over the yellow ground-floor button, and then I do what I’ve done my entire life.
Run away. Deny. Pretend.
Nausea rushes up my throat when I push the button.
As the door closes, my fingers find the hairs at the back of my head and I pull, but no amount of pain drowns out the sense of loss crawling up my limbs.
I couldn’t sleep last night.
For the first time in eight fucking years, I didn’t get a wink of sleep.
Not one.
I tossed and turned, took three cold showers, drank more herbal tea than in Victorian England, and went to my studio, but nothing helped to put me down.
I even jammed my Swiss Army knife in my arm, but the sharp point only caused a small cut and the blood that dripped out didn’t manage to chase away the ink that swallowed me up to my waist, murdering any form of pleasure I’d experienced the previous night.