by Vivian Wood
I moan, my eyes sliding shut. He bites my nipple, and I gasp, then hold my breath as he bites just a little harder, teasing it between his teeth.
Holy fuck it feels good, like light exploding through my body, just hard enough to set every nerve blissfully on edge.
I grab a handful of his hair and he sucks slowly, then finally pulls away.
“That good?” he asks.
“Yes,” I gasp.
He bites my other nipple and I think I growl but then he’s standing, kissing me on the mouth again and I’m finally pulling his shirt over his head. I put the palm of my hand on the base of his cock, through his pants, and drag it up his length slowly as he throbs beneath me.
“God, you do things to me,” he whispers in my ear.
I get his pants off and kiss him again as he lifts me into the air and I wrap my legs around him, pressing the length of his cock against myself as he pushes me back against the wall. I’m pinned but I move my hips slowly, just barely rubbing him against myself, the delicious friction making me sigh.
“Fuck, I like that,” he says, and moves me again. I reach down and wrap my hand around the head of his cock, surprised to find it already slick as I rub it.
“You still haven’t made my hair curl,” I say. “And you promised.”
“I was so tired I don’t remember exactly what I said,” he murmurs. “You’re gonna have to remind me, zloyushka.”
He fucking remembers, he just wants me to say it.
“You said you’d fuck me slow until my hair curled,” I whisper, squeezing the tip of his cock.
He kisses me, then pulls me away from the wall and carries me to the couch. It creaks when I hit it, and for a second I wonder if we’re about to break a piece of furniture that’s a hundred years old.
Then he’s kneeling between my legs, and he grabs the back of my head and pulls my face to his.
“I think I said slow and hard,” he says, his hand drifting up my thigh until his fingers brush my lips, sending a tingle through my whole body. I lean back on the couch and grab the carved wooden headrest behind me so hard that the couch creaks again, and he slides one fingertip up my slit, in a loop around my clit, and then back down.
“Don’t tease me,” I gasp. “Come on, Kostya.”
“Why not?” he asks, doing it again.
I swallow hard.
“Because it’s already been too long and I fucking want you,” I gasp. “I nearly murdered Niko this morning.”
He slides his fingers inside me and I arch my back and groan, hanging onto the back of the couch like it’s keeping me afloat. Kostya hoists my legs onto his shoulders and then he’s licking me, hard and fast, in time with his fingers moving inside me.
I think I whimper, it feels so good and I’m so tightly wound. It’s taking all my self control not to grab Kostya’s hair in my hands or clamp his head between my thighs, and as it is I’m panting for breath and slowly sliding off this couch, but he just keeps going.
It doesn’t take much to get me to the edge, a sudden shiver slicing down my body.
“Stop,” I gasp.
He gives me one more long, slow lick that makes my body jolt.
“What for?” he asks.
“I’m gonna come,” I say, trying to sit up.
“And?” he says, his eyes crinkling. “I like making you come.”
I let go of the headrest, but I slide off the ugly velvet couch and tumble to the floor, practically on top of Kostya instead.
“Sorry,” I say, but his mouth is already on mine, and it tastes like me and it’s dirty and sexy and just makes me want him more.
He pulls back and licks my wetness off one finger. Then he kisses me again.
“You’re fucking filthy,” I whisper, reaching down to take his cock in my hand.
“I told you, I’m just honest,” he says, and licks another finger. “I like licking you until you come. I like the way you taste. I like you being naked in front of me. I like being inside you.”
We kiss again, and I stroke his cock slowly so he groans into my mouth. He throbs in my hand, and I swallow hard, suddenly nervous about what I’m about to ask.
“Can I still fuck you bare?” I whisper. “It’s safe.”
Kostya just chuckles.
“Please?” I ask, my voice sounding husky to my own ears. “I want to feel you, not something else.”
“It’s not safe,” he says as he runs a hand down my body.
“I’ve got an—”
He grabs my hips and flips me around, and I yelp. Suddenly I’m facing away from him, my forearms braced against the ugly couch.
“Not that,” he says, his voice growling in my ear. “I don’t feel safe about you. I feel like I’d walk through a burning building to be inside you, and that’s hardly safe.”
I reach behind myself, blindly, and rest my hand on the back of his neck. He slides the thick head of his cock along me and I arch my back until he’s at the right spot and he sinks inside me, just barely.
Then he stops and runs his hands up my back, like he’s hesitant, and I don’t need him to fucking hesitate, I need him now.
“You’re not gonna hurt me,” I say, pushing back against him.
“Let me be careful with you,” he whispers into my hair.
I reach back further behind me and try to grab onto his shoulder, something that will push him further into me, because I need this so bad it hurts.
“Kostya, for fuck’s sake,” I whisper, and he sucks air through his teeth. I dig my fingers into him and then he finally slides all the way inside me, his cock hitting every damn pleasure spot I’ve got.
“Oh, fuck,” I whisper, one fist tight on the ugly couch. I press myself against him because Jesus Christ, it feels good to have him buried inside me again at last.
“I promised you slow,” he says, kissing my shoulder.
“You promised me hard,” I whisper.
We start fucking, and he goes slow and hard just like he promised, and it makes me feel like every inch of my body is also getting fucked, like I’m lost in a haze of pleasure and there’s nearly no way out. I think I’m melting into this terrible couch, both fists probably ripping the ugly fabric, my face buried in it, and with every thrust I moan a little louder as he pushes me closer to the edge.
Then he stops. He drives himself into me so hard I shout and my fingers finally rip through the fabric, and then he stops.
“Don’t stop,” I gasp.
We’re both panting for breath, and I know I’m close to coming, pleasure already whispering through my body like ripples in a pond. He doesn’t move.
I look over my shoulder at him, leaning my head on one arm, and I reach the other hand back and stroke his hip, then flex my hips against him so his cock moves inside me, and god that feels good.
He pulls me up by the shoulder, then reaches in front of me and drags the couch forward until it’s right in front of me and we’re both kneeling upright, still on the floor.
“Do that again,” he growls, so I flex my hips against him and this time he moves too, fucking me shallow but hard, grinding our hips together.
“This feels so fucking good,” I whisper. I’ve got one hand clutching the couch and the other on his neck again, the only part I can really grab.
“There’s a spot inside you that makes your fingers curl,” he says, and thrusts, just a little.
My fingers curl on the couch and his neck, and Kostya growls, then does it again and again until I’m writhing and bucking against him. We’re still going slow and he’s got one arm across my chest, his hand on my shoulder as he buries his cock in me over and over and I feel like I’m a keg of gunpowder about to explode.
“Kostya, I’m gonna come,” I gasp. “Jesus, I’m gonna come.”
“Good,” he whispers. “You’re so fucking sexy when you do.”
I think I’m unraveling, and I turn my head into his shoulder and he grips me even tighter and he thrusts again, hard and deep.
&
nbsp; “Fuck, Kostya,” I whisper, and then I think my body flies apart.
He holds me and we rock together and I’m exploding in slow motion and it feels so good I swear I’m floating. I can hear myself saying god fucking yes Kostya Jesus yes oh fuck Kostya even as my body floats away.
“I love it when you come on my cock,” he whispers into my ear.
I swallow, trying to remember words.
“You’re fucking dirty,” I say, still panting for breath.
He’s still fucking me, and it still feels good.
“Only for you,” he whispers. “You make me dirty, zloyushka.”
“Come inside me,” I say. “Let me feel you.”
His arm tightens. I kiss his shoulder. He growls something in Russian, and I grab him by the hair.
“Fucking come for me,” I whisper.
He does. He pushes me against the couch, his arm tightening across me and I can feel his cock explode deep inside me as he groans in my ear. The only word I can make out is my name but he keeps saying it, rocking back and forth until he finally stops coming.
Then he leans his head against mine and wraps his other arm around me.
“Yeah bluetube,” I think he says.
I put my hands over his and turn my head to kiss his shoulder. He nuzzles my neck, and after a moment, he finally stands, only to collapse back onto the couch where he pulls me up after him and then wraps his arms around me. I let myself feel safe and warm and happy, despite everything.
On the wall, Maksim is still staring at us, his crazy eyes almost the only thing visible in his face.
“I think the beheader gets off on watching,” I say.
There’s a moment of silence.
“What?” Kostya asks, sounding totally puzzled, so I point at Maksim.
“He saw everything,” I say.
“Pervert,” says Kostya.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Kostya
Every time I move, trying to get comfortable, the couch creaks. Finally I shift, trying to get a lump out of my backbone, and there’s the unmistakable sound of very old wood cracking. Hazel freezes.
“We broke the couch,” she whispers.
“You mean we broke my couch,” I say, shifting again. “I’m the king. Ugly couches live and die at my whim.”
Hazel laughs.
I can’t help but grin, because I finally did it. She curls into me a little more, and then she looks up at me.
She stops laughing immediately and looks suspicious.
“What?” she asks.
“I can’t smile?” I ask.
Hazel just narrows her eyes.
“I told a joke and you laughed,” I explain.
Now she looks puzzled.
“You make me laugh all the time,” she says.
“This time was intentional,” I say. “We were standing right there the first time I tried to make you laugh.”
Hazel looks at me blankly.
“Before the dinner when I got really drunk and you had to come feed me bread?” she finally says.
“I told you I believed putting heads on spikes was frowned upon,” I say.
There’s a long pause.
“Oh,” she says.
“It wasn’t funny,” I admit.
She draws her legs onto the couch and then moves around some, trying to get comfortable.
“It’s a terrible couch,” I say, and pull her against me so she’s half lying on my chest, half off the damn couch. “We should just go get in my bed.”
Hazel leans her head against me and blows a hair out of her face.
“Everyone will know if we do,” she says.
“Let them,” I say. “We can worry about that tomorrow afternoon.”
She turns and gives me another weird look, like she’s about to ask me something, but then doesn’t. I think she’s given up asking what I’m hiding from her.
It’s for the best, because I’m not going to tell her. For the first time since my father died, I’m finally certain that I’m doing something right. I’m not even nervous, just satisfied.
We stand after another moment. I find my clothes and pull them back on, not bothering to tuck in my shirt, because I’m pretty sure the whole palace heard us and I couldn’t care less.
When I turn, Hazel’s topless, frowning at her bra.
“I didn’t break it, did I?” I ask.
She bites her lip, like she’s trying not to laugh.
“Kostya, do you know how to take bras off?” Hazel asks softly.
We look at each other for a long moment.
“I understand the principle,” I finally admit. “It’s harder to put into practice.”
“So you’re great at eating me out and you can’t get a bra off,” she says.
I put my hands on her arms and pull her in, kissing her.
“Say that again,” I tell her.
She laughs and blushes.
“You heard me,” she says.
“Come on,” I say.
“Fine,” she says, and drops her voice to a whisper. “You’re great at eating me out.”
I kiss her again.
“I prioritized learning certain skills over others,” I say.
“Of course you did,” she says, putting the bra on, clasping it behind her back with no problem. “You probably had a checklist.”
“Not technically,” I say.
She finds her shirt, and then we move the couch back, more or less, to where it was before. It’s got a definite wobble to it, but we’re not going to throw it out tonight.
I lift the bar from the door, but before we push it open, Hazel and I look at each other.
Tell her in English, I think.
I push the door open, and we leave the drawing room. If anyone else heard anything, they keep their mouths shut.
Hazel’s walking toward a man I don’t recognize, sitting at a table. I’m watching from fifty yards away, and we’re all on a big flat outdoor space on top of a concrete slab. Some kind of factory that was never built. This must be the gray district.
It’s hot, but she’s wearing lots of gear: thick jacket, thick pants, helmet. The man stands.
I know what’s going to happen before it happens, like I read a few pages ahead, but I can’t run. I can’t move. I’m standing in glue, or maybe concrete. I can’t even shout.
The scene shifts, and now there are trees where there was nothing before, interspersed with buildings. I still can’t move, but something is scratching at the back of my brain, like it’s trying to get in.
Hazel walks. She’s almost to the table, but she can’t get there, because if she does something bad will happen. I don’t know how I know, but I do.
I feel like there’s a screen between me and her, and I try to grab at it, tear it away, shout at her so she stops. She keeps walking.
The bomb is under the table.
Hazel and the man both fly backward, twenty feet, the flame blossoming and disappearing instantly. I watch her land wrong, her neck at a bad angle, and she’s still for long, horrifying seconds.
I wake up shouting.
I sit bolt upright in bed. Next to me, someone jerks and I turn and catch a wrist on instinct, breathing hard, my body covered in sweat.
“Kostya,” Hazel says.
I let her wrist go, yanking my hand back like she’s a hot stove.
“Prosti,” I whisper. “Dermo, prosti.”
She puts the hand on my shoulder.
“You’re in the palace, in Velinsk, in your room,” she says.
“Ya sdelal tebe bolno?” I ask.
“It was just a dream, you’re fine, you’re here,” she says, her hand moving in wide circles on my back.
I look at her, and blink.
“Did I hurt you?” I ask, in English this time.
“No,” she says.
“Are you sure?”
“Super sure,” she says.
I look at the clock. 3:30. I shouldn’t bother going back to sleep befor
e I have to leave.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Jesus, Kostya, quit apologizing,” Hazel says. “I’m fine. You grab me all the time.”
I lean on one hand and put my forehead against hers, and I stay there as I let the dream slide away, reminding myself over and over that she’s here, she’s in my bed, she’s safe. She’s going to stay safe.
I want to tell her not to be nervous about tomorrow morning, that she’s got nothing to be afraid of. That if I can do one fucking thing as the King of Sveloria, it’s protect her.
“Ya lyublyu tebya,” I say.
She just runs her hand through my hair, like she thinks I’m falling back asleep. I put my hand on her jaw, gently, my thumb across her lips, and she looks at me. Her hand in my hair goes still, and suddenly I’m bats-in-my-stomach, heart-in-my-throat nervous.
“What?” she whispers.
“I love you,” I say.
Her lips move like she’s about to speak.
“Don’t say anything,” I say. “Don’t say it back. I just wanted to tell you.”
After another moment, I move my thumb off her lips. My heart is still in my throat, and despite everything, I’m terrified of what she might say.
“I know,” she whispers, and kisses me gently.
“You should go back to sleep,” I say. “Before tomorrow.”
“You know I’ll be okay, right?” she asks.
“I know,” I say.
We lie back down, and as we do, I feel her hand on the back of my neck.
“What happened?” she asks, and I reach behind myself.
“What are you talking about?” I say.
“You’ve got these long red streaks,” she says, sitting up and getting closer. “It looks like somebody—“
She stops, then closes her mouth, looking sheepish.
“Looks like somebody raked their fingernails over my neck trying to get me inside her faster?”
My dick twitches, and I ignore it.
“Never mind,” Hazel says, and I laugh, then lay next to her and pull her close.
“I learned my lesson,” I tease, on my side curled against her, Hazel on her back.