Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
I’m so full and stretched, but he’s so gentle it barely registers as pain. He’s trembling from the effort of holding back.
His eyes roll back, and he curses out loud. “Fuck, you’re so goddamn tight and hot. Jesus, Vera, your hot little cunt’s like a goddamn masterpiece.”
I wrap my legs around his waist, my heart surging in my chest. My need for him pounds in my veins. Finally, he thrusts.
I hold my breath, pleasure mixed with pain as he eases nearly all the way out before he comes back in, his cock filling me. Again, he thrusts, this time a tiny bit more forceful. Again, pleasure-pain consumes me, and my moans join his until he builds a rhythm that takes over all thought and replaces it with utter bliss.
Every thrust brings me closer to another surge of pleasure, and I hardly know what to expect.
The tightness around my wrists intensifies as he thrusts again, this time harder than before. I whimper.
“Did I hurt you?” he asks, his forehead crinkled in concern.
“No, God, no, don’t stop,” I beg. “Please. . . please, Daddy, take me.”
“You’re perfect,” he whispers in my ear. “Perfect, Vera. Thank you. I’ll never forget what you gave me.”
Thrust after thrust, he builds a steady rhythm of perfect bliss, carrying me and sending me higher and higher. I wanted to be as close to him as humanly possible, and this, this right here, is the only way.
He curses in my ear as he spills inside me, and my own climax, this one sweeter and fuller and somehow more perfect, overtakes me at the same time. We ride the high of ecstasy until he falls beside me and utters something in Russian.
And while I run my hand silently down the length of his muscled, inked back slicked with dampness, I realize. . . it’s the first time in my life I feel like a woman.
“Markov,” I say quietly. Thoughtfully.
“Mmmm?” he asks, his head buried on my chest. It makes him almost look boyish.
“What just happened?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Vera
“You gave me the greatest gift a woman can give.”
“My virginity?”
“Your trust. Your openness. Your vulnerability. And yeah, baby. Your virginity.”
He kisses my cheek.
I giggle at the memory of what I just did. “I called you Daddy.” I smack his shoulder. “You made me.”
“I did,” he says with a satisfied chuckle. “And you liked it. I knew you would.”
Of course I did. It was all kinds of taboo and hot.
“I never called my own father Daddy. I barely called him anything. Why did that not feel wrong?”
He grins. “Because you’re kinky as fuck, sweetheart. And you like what I give to you—protection. Nurturing. A safe place.”
Mmm. Yes. All of that.
“My mind is trained to find the why behind things and I—I need to stop that sometimes.”
He smiles. “You do. Sometimes, we don’t need to know the reasons behind why we do what we do. Why we love what we love. Why we love who we love.”
Love.
He went there. He totally fucking went there, but we’re still obviously talking on hypothetical terms. Still. . .
We’re lying in bed. It’s inky dark outside, and the window is cracked just enough to let us hear the tell-tale sign of late-night crickets. It’s a marvel to me that in a place where humans can’t understand differences in language, the late night sounds of crickets are a universal language.
“That’s amazing,” I whisper. I feel split wide open. Exposed but in the best possible way. Bared. And the effect is making me quite contemplative.
“What is?”
“I don’t understand a word of Russian, and there are people here who don’t speak English. But the language of the crickets has no barriers. They all speak the same. What if humans never had such limitations?”
“We’d kill each other,” he quips. “Sometimes a language barrier is the only thing keeping people from fighting.”
“True,” I say with a smirk. “When I was little, my sister and I invented this language to speak to each other. It was fun.”
“Cute. My brothers and I did something similar. We had hand signals, and we thought we were something else.”
He buries his face in my hair and inhales.
“You like that?”
“I do. You smell so damn good. I feel like I’m in the middle of a field in spring, surrounded by violets.”
“I guess that expensive shit’s worth it, then.”
He inhales again, deeper. “Indeed. When my brothers and I did our hand signals, my father thought we were mocking him, so he put a swift end to that.”
“Dammit. Those strict Russian fathers. How many brothers do you have?”
He doesn’t answer at first. It’s a simple enough question. Why the hesitation?
“I have five brothers and one sister,” he says. “And you?”
“Wow. One older sister. So that’s a lot of brothers.”
“Mmm hmm,” he says. “But I don’t want to talk about my brothers in bed.” He leans over and nips my ear lobe. I squeal.