by Kresley Cole
Cupping them from the bottom, he nearly circled them with his big hands. Avoiding my nipples, he kneaded with a practiced touch that was just this side of rough. But I loved it, arching to him.
Again and again, he palmed me, plumping the mounds until the rest of my body begged for contact—which he seemed determined to withhold.
“What are you doing to me?”
“Sexually torturing you.” He tightened his grip on my breasts.
They began to swell, the skin heating and reddening. My nipples stiffened and distended, until the sight of them was lurid, turning me on even more. I looked from them to his transfixed gaze, then back. Still he massaged; still my flesh swelled.
When I felt his heavy breaths on the sensitive tips, I squirmed with a perfect mix of misery and delight. I noticed the sheets were damp beneath me and realized I was going to come like this. My eyes went wide with discovery. I could orgasm without a single touch on my neglected pussy.
I thought I’d known what my body was capable of, yet now it was behaving in unfamiliar ways. He seemed to know what it could do better than I did.
Never lessening his grip, he leaned down, letting his breaths torment the peaks even more. Avoiding contact with them, he darted his tongue to flick kisses along the sides, all around the tips.
If he touched my nipples I would scream. If he didn’t touch my nipples I would scream. “Sevastyan, kiss them!” I was panting with distress, writhing from this excruciating arousal. I twined my fingers behind my neck, but I didn’t know how much longer I could last before I touched myself. “Do something.”
“Like this?” With a sinister look, he blew on one tip, then the other.
A cry broke from my lips, my back bowing to get me closer to that frustrating stimulation.
“Still.” He pinned me down, giving my breasts an even harsher squeeze. “Submit to me.”
Just the word submit made me tremble, made my clitoris throb. Until I was helpless not to touch it. Releasing my hold at my neck, I trailed my hand down.
“Ah-ah.” He snatched my hip, shoving me to my side, baring my ass to him.
“What are you—”
With one of his callused hands caging my neck to hold me in place, he used his other to slap my bottom. With enough force to startle me. “If you don’t obey me, you’ll be punished. Understand?” Another harsh slap.
He’d told me I would fear him; with each swat, alarm began building inside me. I swallowed hard against the hand at my throat.
“Understand?” His palm cracked across my ass again.
“Ow!” That one hadn’t been a love tap either. “Yes!”
“Say, ‘I understand, Sevastyan.’”
“I-I understand, Sevastyan.” But I didn’t. His eyes were flashing with excitement, his chest heaving; the tip of his bulging cock had moistened the material of his pants. He got that turned on from whipping me?
Did I? Obedience was one thing, but this was corporal. Yet I was as wet as I’d ever been, my ass tingling so deliciously that I craved another slap.
Which couldn’t be right. How could I crave something I should fear?
Between breaths, he said, “Don’t like a man giving you a correction?”
My body screamed, Yes! But my mind resisted. The truth? “I’m undecided.”
That made him scowl anew. “Hands, Natalya.”
When I twined them behind me, he positioned me on my back again. Grasping my breasts once more, he lowered his head, mouth almost to my nipple.
Suck it. Make me come. “Please, your mouth.” I could hardly utter my thoughts. “Your tongue.”
“If you were mine, I’d pierce these. Force you to wear my gold.”
Pierce. Mine. Force. His gold.
Every word was dripping with domination. He was talking about piercing me—and merely imagining it made me undulate up to his clothed crotch for relief. But he kept that beautiful bulge in his pants from touching me.
His hot hands continued to squeeze. Just when I thought my tits couldn’t get any bigger, any pinker, any more sensitive, when I was rocking my hips in abandon, he rubbed his stubbled chin over one nipple.
“Sevastyan!” I was almost levitating with pleasure, babbling, “Please, please, please.”
“What would you give me to suckle you?”
Easy. “Anything.”
Voice rough with lust, he demanded, “Would you be my slave? I’d want to bind you, make you helpless. I’d use you in unspeakable ways.”
As long as he made me feel like this—with my ass on fire and my breasts so swollen I could hardly think of anything but my own inflamed flesh. “Yes, yes!”
“You’d feel the bite of leather across your breasts, its sting between your legs.”
I arched to him. “Okay!”
His grip tightened even more. “This was supposed to punish you, to punish me. But you fucking love it. You need it, even if you don’t know how badly.”
My head thrashed, and I murmured over and over, “I love it, need it.”
“Put your hands over your mouth. Muffle your scream.”
My what? Still, I did as he said.
In Russian, he muttered, “God help us both.” Then he sucked one of my engorged nipples between his firm lips, into the waiting heat of his mouth.
His wet tongue lashed the peak as his teeth grazed—
My orgasm ripped through me. Violent, scorching, startling. Melting me as waves of pleasure contracted my untouched pussy—clenching inside, clenching so hard. Bucking my hips, I pressed my hands tight over my mouth to muffle my ecstatic screams.
The release was so intense, two tears spilled down my temples.
He sucked my other nipple, and the waves returned, my core convulsing.
Rapture . . .
When I was spent, he released me and drew back on his knees. I struggled to catch my breath and marshal my thoughts—failed on both counts—so I gave him a tentative grin.
As his gaze swept over my body and then to my curling lips, he looked like he struggled with rage—with actual rage. Which couldn’t be right.
I scrambled up to kneel before him, my breasts feeling so lush. My nipples were damp and throbbing against his rock-hard torso. I whispered, “More.”
I could feel his body shaking. So why wasn’t he throwing me down, plunging inside me?
My hand tripped down his body. When I palmed his huge, hot cock, he made a growling sound. As I traced it with my fingers, I found the wet spot from his pre-cum, and shivered with want. “More.”
Between gritted teeth, he said, “Fuck—you.”
“I don’t understand. What did I do?”
He grabbed the length of my hair, wrapping it around his fist. “Ty ne dolzhen byl byt’ takym.” You weren’t supposed to be like this.
Tugging my head down to the side, he slanted his mouth over mine. He kissed as wickedly as he did everything else, with sensual flicks of his tongue stroking mine. I threw my arms around his neck, pressing our chests together.
His skin felt like it burned with fever, his heart thundering. When one of my nipples glided across one of his, he groaned into my mouth, deepening the kiss.
Tongues tangling, breaths mingling. Slow, sinful, shattering. Until I was rubbing my body against his in abandon.
Yet then he broke away. “You don’t know better, but I’ll teach you.” I heard him tear open his zipper. He used his grip on my hair to tug me down to my hands and knees; with his other hand, he yanked out his shaft. Bigger even than I’d imagined. Exquisite.
Under my captivated gaze, his veined length bobbed. I watched it pulse even harder. A bead of moisture clung to the head, glistening in the moonlight, and I was hungry for it.
He merely waited while I stared, his hand shaking in my hair. If he’d wanted to frighten me away, why hadn’t he forced my mouth onto it? Shoved it back in my throat?
He muttered words in Russian, his voice so hoarse I had trouble understanding him. Something about needing t
o drive me away, while faltering to.
I wanted to pay attention, to ask him to explain, but that bead taunted me. Unable to help myself, I eased forward and swiped my tongue along the tip, tasting his arousal, stoking mine to a fever pitch all over again.
A guttural sound broke from his chest. I glanced up, saw his head thrown back, the muscles in his chest rippling with strain. His arm muscles twitched.
I’d given blow jobs before, but was by no means an expert. Yet I’d always thought enthusiasm trumped lack of talent. Encouraged by his reaction, I sucked him into my mouth, tracing those veins with my tongue.
He began to rock his hips in a sensuous rhythm, slipping his shaft deeper between my lips. Holding me in place with his grip in my hair, he leisurely fucked my mouth.
With his free hand, he brushed his knuckles along my jawline, then the shell of my ear. As if he couldn’t help himself.
One hand gripped my hair, demanding I obey; his other caressed my face as if to thank me for it.
The contrast was maddening. This man was maddening. And he tasted so sublime, I found myself tending him . . . lovingly.
“Beautiful little Natalya,” he grated, “with her eager mouth.” More tender strokes along my cheek. “I’ve imagined you doing this.”
I pulled back to run my lips down the side of his shaft. “When you were watching me?”
He grunted in answer. So I’d been walking around minding my own business, and this gorgeous Russian had been fantasizing about me giving him head? That turned me on like crazy!
When I increased my suction, I tasted another shot of pre-cum, and wanted more, more. Stiffening my tongue, I delved the tip right into the center of the plump crown.
“Ahh!” he yelled, rolling his hips sharply, filling my mouth with cock.
The head hit the back of my throat. I might’ve gagged, but I was too hungry, had only been awaiting it. He’d wanted me to submit; my mouth and throat had, relaxing for him to use.
“Take me down, then.” Another sharp buck at my mouth. When my lips met his zipper and I moaned for more, he repeated, “Fuck you.”
I didn’t understand him, was too far gone to care. As I sucked in delight, my hand grazed down my body to cup my wetness, rubbing my clit with the heel of my hand.
“Ah-ah, Natalya.” He pulled me off his dick, then tore open his belt and pants, shoving them down his legs. My eyes drank in the sight.
The cords of muscle in his powerful thighs. The dusky perfection of his heavy testicles.
I reached forward to fondle the sac he’d bared for me, making him buck uncontrollably.
Then, in one deft move, he was on his back and I was turned around to straddle his head, with his shaft like a rod in front of my face.
Was he going to lick . . . with me in this position . . . while I . . .
He murmured in Russian, “Just a taste. To cure me.” I perceived his breaths against my slick folds. His fingers spreading my wet lips. When he’d opened me, I felt his gaze on that most private part of me—
“So beautiful.”
Then came his wicked tongue.
Bliss. “Oh, God,” I breathed as he licked and laved. I’d never had anyone go down on me. Or up, as it were. I moaned, wondering, How exactly have I lived without this?
He fisted his cock, bending it toward me. Between licks, he said, “Suck.” When I reclaimed him with my lips, he gripped the curves of my ass and forced me closer to his mouth.
As if feasting, he tongued me greedily, breaking away only to command me, “Harder.” Down came his palm across my ass, making me arch like a cat in heat.
I hollowed my cheeks, and in return, I felt the lightest graze of his teeth over my clit—just as his finger began rimming my opening. Oh, God, oh, God . . . Awaiting the penetration, I spread my thighs wider over him and went still, which earned me another slap across my ass, reminding me to get busy.
He was controlling me utterly, and I couldn’t get enough of it.
When his finger inched inside, I rocked back, wantonly rubbing my clit over his mouth, wriggling for more. As he probed deeper, filling my tightness, his shaft pulsated even harder.
With his tongue snaking and his finger pumping in and out of my core, he made growling sounds like he was in heaven. “Fuck, woman, fuck. You couldn’t be tighter. Wetter.” Then he drew my clit between his lips and sucked on me.
I tripped over the edge. As I started to orgasm, my scream was muffled again, this time by his thick girth. When I spasmed around his finger, he went crazy, sucking, setting in with a vengeance, his yell vibrating my clit.
Wave after wave rocked me, pleasure too scorching to be true. So strong that my vision flickered. . . .
When I grew too sensitive to take even another lick, I released him from my mouth to move away.
His answer was a slap across my ass.
“No, it’s too much!”
“You’ll take it for me.”
As he started licking again, I shuddered and twisted atop his tongue. I thought it was a mercy when he removed his finger—until he began lapping directly at my core. “Sevastyan!”
He pressed my mouth back to his cock. “Take my cum from me. I’m about to give you your fill.”
I groaned at his words, wanting it. Mouth locked on the head, I ran my palm up and down from the base to my lips.
His hips rocked to my fist, heels digging into the mattress as his massive body hurtled toward its release. His mighty thighs shook around my ears. “I want you to swallow me.” His accent was so marked I could barely understand him. “You, Natalya.”
“Umm,” was all I could manage, now welcoming his tongue, knowing he was about to force another orgasm from me.
He took my pussy with a frenzied, openmouthed kiss, growling, “Every last drop, pet.”
The idea of swallowing him sent me teetering on the brink of climax, with a rush of wetness for his awaiting mouth. He reveled in it, groans muffled. As he licked me for more, his shaft thickened between my lips, seed surging up his length.
The pressure he must be feeling as that knot of cum ascended! Readying to erupt . . .
“Imagine I’m pumping it into you right here—” He speared me with his tongue, breaching my core just as he began to ejaculate creamy liquid heat for me.
With that first shot of semen, he fucked me with his tongue and yelled into my flesh. As I went over the edge once more, my eyes rolled back in my head. Delirious with pleasure, I drank hot spurts of his cum, swallowing, swallowing.
Every last drop. . . .
Chapter 9
With a vicious curse, Sevastyan tossed me aside and exited the bed as if it were aflame, while I scrambled to the headboard.
What had just happened??
As he yanked up his pants, I pulled the sheet over me. Unless I was still dreaming, I was pretty sure I’d just been grinding this man’s face while deep-throating him.
Who the hell am I tonight? When Sevastyan hissed as he tucked that beautiful semihard shaft back in his pants, my traitorous mind thought: Whoever she is, I can’t wait to be her again.
I braced for a flood of anxiety. Instead, my body purred with satisfaction.
“That shouldn’t have happened.” He looked disgusted again—but this time with himself.
There were myriad emotions he should be feeling right now. Confusion, wonder, awe. Not disgust.
I was dazed, but in a good way, like I’d just defeated a fever and had come out stronger for it. I was different. I knew all about sex, but I’d never felt the power of it—the power of knowing that a man who obviously worshipped control hadn’t been able to control his reactions to me. Just as my own had been uncontrollable.
He searched my face, studying my expression. For what? Disgust to match his? Regret?
The fear he’d faltered to deliver?
The worse he appeared to feel about this, the more comfortable I grew. I guessed I was contrary like that. Joke him if he couldn’t take a fuck.
&nbs
p; “So is this the part where you get mad and tell me to cover myself?” For good measure, I let the sheet drop as I stretched my arms above my head. To remind him of the breasts he’d just sucked and the nipples he wanted to pierce.
He swiped a palm over his face. “This was a mistake.”
“Of course it wasn’t. What we did was amazing.” In this bed, my dream man had just rocked my world, making me come harder than ever before—three times—and my blow job hadn’t been too shabby either. I was beginning to think I was a born fellatrix.
Out the window, I spied a glorious sight. The moon shone over the ocean. The ocean! My vacation was off to a promising start.
He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees. “It made you happy, to be used by me?”
Perhaps not so promising. I raised my brows with amusement. “I orgasmed three times; you did once. Who’s using whom, Siberian?”
His lips parted in surprise. Well, that shut him up.
Tonight I’d realized something. I’d always thought that when I lost my virginity, I would be ceding something. Now I comprehended that with a man like Sevastyan, I’d be gaining something.
Pleasure to boggle my brain and memories to last my lifetime.
My entire mind-set about the deed was evolving. Insight: if a guy I had sex with ever carved a notch into his bedpost, I’d tell him to carve one into mine too—and then to go make me a fucking sammich.
Sevastyan said, “This was an indiscretion that must never be repeated.”
“Because I’m taboo?” I frowned as a thought struck me. “Tonight wouldn’t, like, get you killed by Kovalev or anything. Right?”
“Of course not. He’s not a murderous tyrant.”
“Then what is it?”
“I took advantage of his daughter. I can scarcely believe I’ve touched you.” In the moonlight, I could see color tinting his cheekbones as he muttered, “Struck you.”
“I ended up loving every second of what we did.” I, Natalie Porter, had gotten my rocks off while being spanked. And I was going to roll with it.
I felt like a phone that had downloaded a new platform, but never been reset. When I’d orgasmed with him, I’d blipped, I’d blinked, and now I was ramped up.
