by Danika Dare
And he certainly wasn’t now.
But somehow even knowing the calculation behind it, even knowing it was all for her and not me, I still enjoyed the room, the flowers, the champagne, the music.
“She’s very beautiful,” I remarked.
He shot me a look full of disgust. “You liked her, didn’t you? Don’t let her fool you. She’s a soul sucker, and you should hate her. I guarantee she hates you. She’s still possessive of me, still thinks she owns some part of me.”
“And doesn’t she? Why else would you go to all of this effort, if she didn’t?”
The disgust on his face deepened, and I knew it was more for himself than for me or my questions. “It’s complicated, but no, no, she doesn’t own any part of me, not anymore. I’m not the forgiving kind. This is about spite, not jealousy.”
I wasn’t sure I believed him, but I dropped it. It was clear that the subject did not put him in a better mood, and besides that, I wasn’t crazy about talking to him about another woman, especially her.
I wanted him thinking only about me in the short time we had together.
He moved across the large living room. He set down his glass of champagne, snagging a chair from the desk in the corner. He dragged it to the middle of the room, and sat facing me, his eyes running indolently over my body.
I got an inkling of what he wanted before he even spoke.
“I want a lap dance,” he told me with a wicked grin.
“How many times do I have to tell you? Lap dances aren’t my thing.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
That made me smile. He was good at turning things around on me.
“Take your dress off. Let me see those perfect tits, and that gorgeous cunt,” he ordered, the impertinent Russian.
I tipped the champagne flute back, finished it off, and set the empty glass on a table.
I reached up, undid the buttons at the back of my neck, and let the tiny dress drop to the floor, leaving me in nothing but stilettos.
He chewed his thumbnail while his cold eyes ran over me. “Get to it,” he said with a wicked grin.
I ran my hands over my breasts, pinching at the soft pink buds of my nipples. “The music is all wrong,” I told him, watching his eyes on my hands and loving what his gaze did to me. “I need a stronger beat.”
He nodded his head at the table with the champagne in the bucket of ice. “The remote’s over there.”
I found it, and started skimming through channels until I found a good hip-hop station.
I grinned at him when I found the perfect song. Get Low started playing and my hips started shaking accordingly.
He grinned back. “You can take the girl out of the strip club.”
“But you can’t take the strip club out of the girl,” I finished for him, flipping my hair as I got into the beat.
I walked over to him slowly, a sinuous strut, my hands fondling my breasts, kneading at them.
I moved very close to him, pushing my breasts a mere whisper from his mouth.
His tongue darted out, licking the soft bud of my nipple.
“Same rules,” I told him playfully. “No hands on the girls.”
He smiled blandly. “That wasn’t my hand.” He licked me again, then latched onto the aching bud and started sucking like his life depended on it.
I wrenched away with a gasp. “That’s going to put a very quick stop to the lap dance, mister.”
He patted his lap, giving me a grin that was all teeth. “Do your worst.”
I glanced down. Even through his slacks, it was obvious that he was aroused.
I turned around and gave him exactly what he was asking for, grinding to the music.
I bent my knees, arching my back, gyrating on him.
I didn’t tease. I got right to the point, pressing my ass to his straining cock, circling my hips.
It drove him mad in thirty seconds flat.
“Turn around,” he growled, yes growled, into my ear from behind.
He didn’t wait for me to comply, but turned me himself, whipping me around by the hips until suddenly I was straddling him, and his gorgeous eyes were blazing up at mine.
I started grinding on him again, and this time it was even better, because I could grind my clit against his hardness, nothing but his slacks separating us.
I moved away suddenly, taking a few unsteady steps back, and pointing at his shirt. “Take it off. I want your skin.”
His eyes were on my sex as he started working on his tie. “Spread your legs and show me your pussy.”
I moved closer, perching a stiletto on his thigh, giving him the view he craved.
He touched me briefly, holding up two wet fingers. “All for me, Greta?
I nodded.
He sucked his fingers clean, then pulled his tie completely off.
He brought a hand to my face, pushing his index finger into my mouth. I opened, sucking it in. He pushed it in and out, again and again, a parody of the act.
“Suck harder,” he told me, and I drew on him roughly. “Use your teeth, just a bit.”
I did, and he cursed, pulling his finger loose, dragging it down my body, and pushing it into my wet pussy.
I moaned, squirming on his finger. It was a protest. A plea. “Please,” I told him. “I want you.”
He grinned, and it was triumphant. He pulled his finger out, and started unbuttoning his shirt. “Remember when you said you wouldn’t fuck me?”
“Yes.”
“Have anything to say now?”
“I’ve changed my mind, or maybe I wasn’t being honest with myself. I want you to fuck me.”
“Say please.”
“Please.”
“Please give me that big cock,” he prompted me.
“Please give me that big cock,” I repeated back.
I didn’t want to make it this easy for him, but my self-control was shot. I wanted this too much not to ask for it. To beg.
“Please shove that big cock in my pussy and fill me with your cum,” he coached me.
“Please shove that big cock in my pussy and fill me with your cum,” I panted back.
He grabbed my sex, shoving two fingers in. “This pussy is mine. Say it.”
“This pussy is yours.”
“My fucking property. Say it.”
“Your fucking property.”
“Get on the bed,” he said, accent thickening. “On your back, legs spread.”
I laid down on the rose petal covered bed, never taking my eyes off him.
“Perfect. Now grab those big, fat tits, push them together for me. That’s it. Pinch those pink little nipples. I want to feel them rubbing into my chest as I get my bare dick in you. God. Do you know how long it’s been since I rode a woman bareback? For-fucking-ever. I can’t wait to get my cock wet in your sweet little cunt. To fill it with my cum. Are you ready?”
I nodded, feeling desperate, achy, needier than I’d ever been. His filthy Russian mouth had me squirming on the bed, doing whatever he said before it even finished coming out of his lips.
“Are you going to ask me nicely?” His smile was downright diabolical.
“Please, Kashnikov.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
He stood at the foot of the bed, his gaze running over me. He scratched his jaw, and did nothing but take me in with his eyes for a solid minute.
I loved his body, it was perfect, gorgeous, and I wanted to look at him, to drink him in as he was me, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of his, not for one second.
There was something in his gaze as he did it that made me feel like he owned me, that claimed me as his property.
Finally he spoke, glancing down at his cock. My eyes followed his.
“Look at it,” he said thickly. “It’s already dripping with cum, just thinking about getting into your wet pussy.
I stretched my legs wider apart, impatient for him, my sharp heels digging into the soft mattress.
Finally, he seemed re
ady to get down to business. He pinned me to the bed, lining the head of his thick cock up against my slick entrance. Sleek muscles sharply defined his broad shoulders as he held himself like that for one frozen beat of time, burning the image into my mind vividly.
He’s perfection, I thought dazedly.
We both looked down and watched as his tip played with my entrance, barely penetrating my pussy, just wetting the end of his dick with a few shallow strokes. One, two, three.
A beat later he thrust into me with one hard, brutal motion, piercing me balls deep.
I cried out. Loudly. The patio doors were open to let in the pleasant breeze, and my mind gave it a brief thought, a slight millisecond where I registered that we’d be heard, but it was gone in a flash, my brain unwilling to focus for long on anything but the pleasure of being filled and pounded by the bossy Russian.
He didn’t stop for a beat, didn’t let my body become accustomed, before he was thrusting fast and hard, setting an inexhaustible pace that had sweat beading on our bodies, making each delicious slide of skin on skin slick and hot and all the more intoxicating.
Purest pleasure hummed through me, my core filled to bursting with a wash of sensations that I could never have imagined.
I couldn’t keep back my cries at the exquisite feelings rocking through me.
His cold eyes watched me the entire time, studying my features, his own face harsh with need.
And all the while, he never stopped talking with that bossy, filthy mouth of his.
“You’re so wet, I can feel your juices running down my nuts, that’s how much your cunt needs my cock,” he crooned into my face. “And your pussy is gripping me so good. This pussy knows who its owner is, doesn’t it?”
It was hard for me to meet that intense gaze, especially with the things coming out of his mouth, but at the same time, it was harder to look away. The intimacy of it added to the pleasure, even while it stripped away all of my defenses and made me feel almost too vulnerable to bear.
He pulled out nearly completely, had me pleading with him to stay, before he pounded back in with a growl.
He really let loose after that, slamming his hips against me, pounding me into the mattress. At some point he started speaking Russian, the words coming out like curses, and I didn’t have to know the language to understand them.
It was the hottest thing I’d ever heard.
He reached a hand down between us, rubbing my clit without slowing his punishing pace.
I came in seconds, loudly, crying out his name. “Alexei! Oh, Alexei!”
His touch, his words, his eyes, his hard, long thrusts took me apart, remade me, took my whole body and put me back together as an instrument made for his pleasure. He put his mark on me, every pump inside of me making me more his creature. Owning me completely.
My whole body fell to pieces, became whole. Became his.
It was the most memorable orgasm of my life. After just one fuck, he’d already ruined me for other men.
He followed me as I came, burying himself balls deep, tremors wracking him, his neck arcing beautifully with his release, his eyes staying on mine all the while. “Greta,” he said roughly, repeating it with some Russian word, over and over, in a chant. “Greta, lapochka. Greta, lapochka. Greta. Lapochka. Greta. Lapochka. Greta. Greta. Lapochka. Lapochka.”
His voice saying those words did things to me. Wonderful things. I wanted to record it, bottle it up, make it my ringtone, masturbate to it.
As I started to come down from the impossible high of my very best orgasm, the waves of pleasure still rocking through me, but gentler now, he gripped my chin and starting kissing me passionately, desperately, rocking against me, grinding me on the base of his cock, milking every last bit of his cum into my cunt.
It was a long time before he broke the kiss, pushing up onto his elbows, his hands and eyes going to my breasts.
He was stroking and kneading at my pliable, fleshy tits, gaze on what he was doing, as he said in an idle voice, “You must be starving. I’m starving. I’ll order some food.”
With that, he pulled out of me.
Both of our eyes were drawn down between our bodies to watch his still hard, wet cock slide out of me.
He sucked in a breath at the sight, but swiftly moved away, picking up the phone beside the bed. He spoke to me as he punched in a number. “Come here,” he ordered. “Sit on the edge of the bed right here, and suck my dick clean while I take care of this.”
I don’t know what it was about him that made me do just what he said, no matter how outrageous, but I was quickly sitting in front of him, mouth full of his semi-hard dick, sucking him clean, his hand in my hair, gripping and pulling, as he ordered us room service.
I wasn’t paying any attention to what he was ordering until he pulled the phone away from his mouth and addressed me politely, his voice even and completely unaffected by the fact that his dick was in my throat. “Does that sound appetizing, dear? Should I order anything else, or will that suffice?”
I nearly laughed as I pulled my mouth off his cock with a wet little pop. “I’m sure whatever you ordered will be fine,” I said sardonically.
“Very good,” he responded, pushing his dick against my lips, thrusting back in. “That will be all,” he said into the phone, and hung up. “Fuck,” he said, a catch in his voice now. “I love fucking your mouth. Keep it up, but I’m not coming in your throat this time. Get me nice and ready to fuck your pussy again.”
It didn’t take much before he was rock hard and bucking into my mouth again, humping his erection deep down my throat, rutting so relentlessly that I was sure he was going to come in my mouth this time.
He pulled back suddenly, popping wetly out of my lips. “Turn around, baby. On your hands and knees, on the edge of the mattress, ass up in the air, face down on the bed. Show me that pussy.”
I did it, feeling languid, relaxed, and somehow needy for him again.
I’d barely gotten into position, on my elbows and knees, ass up in the air, when he thrust into me so quickly, his hips slamming hard into my ass, that I was filled before I knew his intent. I was wet and ready but I was so tight and he was so big that it caused a delicious friction that bordered on pain.
My head fell forward, and my mind went feverish. He hiked my hips up into the air and slammed into me, dick bottoming out. He did it over and over again, pulling almost all the way out, then slamming me back onto his cock.
It was brutally pleasurable, the angle just perfect, and I went out of my mind with the ecstasy of it.
“I’ll never get enough of my raw cock in this juicy little pussy,” he grunted into my ear, humping into me, hips slamming into my ass with every hard, jarring thrust. “Because it’s mine. Who does this sweet, tight pussy belong to?”
“You.” I could barely get that one word out. Pleasure had nearly taken away my powers of speech.
Nearly, but not quite. It felt so good, him rutting rough and so deep inside of me, that I may have started praying out loud at some point. Of course, the one I was praying to was named Kashnikov, the god of spectacular sex.
It got really phenomenal when his language switched from English to Russian. I was quickly learning that this meant he was close to coming, his thrusts jack-hammering into me, the very feeling in the air intensifying.
I was closer. I started clenching around him, mind going blank as my body came apart, wracked with pleasure.
His cock twitched inside of me for long minutes after he finished, and he gave these impossibly sexy, involuntary thrusts as he rubbed out every single bit of his long orgasm. “You feel that, lapochka? You feel my cum spurting into you, filling you up? Your cunt feels it. It knows who it belongs to. That’s why it’s milking me so good.”
Room service arrived soon after, and I barely moved. I ate too much, mostly because Mr. Bossy fed me every bite, and he wouldn’t let up until he thought I’d had enough.
He pulled my limp body into the shower, washing ever
y inch of me personally and thoroughly, his touch soft but insistent.
It was jarring, his switch from rough to tender.
“Is there time for a nap? You wore me out.”
“Yes. You can sleep for a bit before dinner. We don’t have to be on time. How do you prefer your coffee? I’ll order some from room service for when you wake up.”
“A cappuccino. Thank you. Will you nap as well?” It was a struggle to keep my tone even as his soap covered hands caressed my breasts.
He rolled my nipples between his fingers, his mouth at my neck as he answered, “No. I wish I could, but I don’t think I’d let you sleep if we laid down together. Besides that, I have some work to do.”
He dried me himself, and put me in bed, even tucking me in. He kissed my forehead sweetly, then went and shut the balcony doors, and drew all of the curtains, darkening the room.
“Goodnight. I’ll wake you when it’s time to get ready for dinner,” he said before he moved into the next room, closing the door.
I’d never met anyone like him. He constantly surprised me. My mind was on Sheila, and what a fool she was for blowing it with a man as tenderly addictive as Kashnikov, as I fell into a deep sleep.
It felt like I’d barely drifted off when I was gently wakened with a press of lips against mine. A warm tongue was exploring my mouth, and my arms reached up, trying to pull a hard, addictive body closer against me.
Kashnikov chuckled and pulled back. “That backfired on me quickly. I only intended a taste, and now I’m hard as a rock, and we definitely don’t have time to do anything about it.”
“We can be quick,” I assured him. I wanted him again. I felt insatiable.
“Not that quick, lapochka. We’re already going to be an hour late.”
He was already dressed and ready, I noticed, looking gorgeous in a black suit.
“You could have woken me earlier,” I told him, sitting up.
He handed me a cup of coffee. “It’s fine. Just get dressed.”