“Please,” I whisper. “I want it. I want your tongue on me. I want to come on your face. I don’t care what you do to me—just make me come.”
His eyes flash with something darker than lust. Control? Ownership? He grips the backs of my knees and shoves my legs farther apart, spreading me open like he owns the right to. Then he blows hot breath across my moist valley and smirks up at me.
“That’s better,” he says, dragging his tongue slowly and firmly up my slit. I cry out, fists clenched in his hair as he tortures me so deliciously. He groans against me, like he’s tasting something he’s been denied for too long, and the vibration goes straight to my gut where it tangles with my hesitation and battles for dominance, suffocating any remaining trace of doubt.
I want this man. I want his cock. And I want him to fill me.
“You taste like sin,” he murmurs into my cunt, voice muffled by the wet mess he’s making of me. “And you’re going to come for me, right now. You don’t get to hold back.”
He circles my clit with just enough pressure to unravel me. His tongue fucks into me, his grip bruising on my hips, holding me still while I writhe against his mouth. One thumb mercilessly toys with my clit, pressing, swirling, and making me inch closer to the edge where I will jump over as soon as he allows me.
“God, Maksim… Fuck!”
He growls and doesn’t stop, tongue working me harder, his fingers digging in until I’m moaning and trembling, thighs clamping around his head.
The pressure builds in waves, but my body clings to the edge, strung tight and aching. I pant, sweat dampening my neck ashis mouth works me mercilessly. Every flick of his tongue, every graze of his stubble against my thighs pushes me closer… but not over.
“Maksim,” I gasp. “Harder. Please, don’t stop.”
He growls low, animalistic, and shifts his grip, forcing my thighs wider. His fingers on one hand dig into the meat of my ass, holding me open while he drags his tongue over my entrance in slow, brutal circles. Every motion is deliberate. Designed to destroy. Played out to make me detonate like a nuclear bomb.
“You want to come?” he rasps, lifting his head just enough to speak. His mouth is slick, his voice rough. “Then take it. Rub yourself on my fucking mouth. Use me.”
The words wrap around my chest and make shame and need tangle deep in my chest as I obey, grinding down against his face, chasing the friction he gives so willingly. He turns his head from side to side slowly, only further torturing me. His stubble scrapes me raw, but I need it. I need more.
“That’s it,” he groans. “Fuck my mouth, Zoya. Come on my tongue.”
I roll my hips, shameless, desperate now. His tongue flicks harder, faster, matching the rhythm of my thrusts. He grips my ass and groans against me, soaking up every sound I make.
“Oh, fuck. Fuck, I’m close!”
My legs begin to shake, the tension coiling in my belly so tight it’s almost painful. I can’t stand it anymore and I don’t want to.
“Maksim, don’t stop, don’t fucking stop.”
He sucks my clit into his mouth, and the sound I make isn’t even human. It rips out of me, raw and wild, as my orgasm crashes through my body like fire. It consumes me one cell at a time until my thighs clamp around his head, my hands claw at his scalp, and I come hard, soaking his face as he groans against me.
My body jerks and convulses, my pussy clamping around his digits as he fucks them into me, and I can’t breathe. Stars explode behind my eyelids in white heat. Every muscle goes stiff and rigid, then turns gelatinous and hot.
When I finally relax, my body limp and shuddering, he stands and wipes his mouth again—smirking this time as he lets his shirt slip from his shoulders.
“Fucking perfect,” he mutters, reaching for his belt. “Now bend over. I’m not done with you yet.”
Suddenly, I need so much more than just his mouth. My core pulses, my belly burning with desire, and I slide off the table and turn. I’m delirious with lust, desperate to feel how deep he can go, and my God, do I understand how stupid and dangerous this is, and it only makes me want him more.
I brace myself on the table, still catching my breath, still trembling. My skin feels too hot, too tight. Every nerve ending is lit up and hungry for more. I hear the sound of his zipper, the rustle of fabric. Then the blunt head of his cock slides past the waistband of his boxers as he shucks the material and kicks it away with his shoes.
"Shirt off," he commands, and like a good, obedient girl, I pull the sweater away and toss it, along with my bralette.
I’m still shaking when I hear the material hit the floor behind me, and the chill of the air hardens my nipples.
“Bend over,” he says again, voice rough. “Hands on the table. Now.”
I obey, placing my palms flat against the wood and lowering my chest. My legs stay spread, the insides of my thighs slick with need. I don’t look back. I hear him stroke himself once, then again. His hand comes down on my ass with a sharp crack.
I gasp and jolt forward. Heat radiates across my skin, but I don’t move away. I bite the inside of my cheek and wait for the sting to subside, and in its wake, a deeper need pools in my core.
“You think I haven’t seen the way you look at me?” His voice scrapes low. “Like you want to be fucked. Owned.”
