“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 pr**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, f**k. 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 pu**y 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 se**n, he f**ked 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?