Another slap lands across the same spot. My pussy clenches in response.
Maksim slides his hand lower, dragging the head of his cock through the slickness between my legs. He doesn’t tease. He pushes in slowly and steadily, filling me inch by inch until my muscles tighten around him. He’s thick and long, driving into my cervix hard, and I clench my eyes shut.
The stretch knocks the air from my lungs. He releases a low, strained groan, one hand gripping my hip, the other steadying himself against my lower back. Then he starts to move—hard, controlled thrusts that drive straight through me. My hands flatten against the wood, my spine bowing under the pressure. He’s rough, but not sloppy. Every stroke feels like he’s showing me exactly what he’s capable of.
The table scrapes forward with the force of the movement. My breasts drag across the surface, the edge biting into my ribs.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “You feel that?”
I can’t answer. I can barely think. My body opens around him, greedy and aching, already close to the edge again. Every time he thrusts, it feels like he’ll leave me completely before driving back in, and all that glorious friction against my walls makes me go mad with desire.
“Fuck, this cunt was built for me,” he growls, pushing his cock deep with another brutal thrust. “You’re squeezing the life out of me.”
His hand wraps around my throat from behind, not choking, just holding—like he wants to feel every breath I take while he’s buried inside me.
“You like this,” he mutters. “Getting ruined by my cock."
I moan, hips pressing back against Maksim without thinking.
“That’s it,” he snaps. “Rub that messy little pussy on me." His hips grind deep, dragging his cock across every nerve that makes me cry out. I brace myself on the table, fingers digging into the edge as he fucks me fast and rough, like he’s trying to drive the memory into my bones.
“You want to come on my cock?” he growls. “Want me so deep you feel it tomorrow?” His arm wraps around me, fingers pressing on my mound.
“Yes,” I pant. “Fuck, yes, make me feel it.”
His fingers slide between my thighs and rub tightly over my clit, and the pressure builds fast.
“Come for me,” he snaps. “Right now. I want to feel you milk me dry.”
I shatter. My body clamps down around him, legs shaking, breath gone. I cry out as the orgasm hits hard, dragging every sound out of me. It starts deep, a sharp release that tightens every muscle in my core. My walls contract in steady, relentless waves, drawing him in even deeper. The tremors take over my legs, locking my spine, stealing every bit of control I had left. Each surge pulls another moan from my throat. I can’t speak. I can’t think. I can only take it, stretched full, shaking, completely undone.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he groans, slamming in deep. He spills inside me, cock pulsing, hands tight on my hips as he rides it out. His release comes in strong, forceful bursts. I feel every twitch, every hot flood of it as he finishes, locked deep inside me with no space left between us.
When he pulls out, it's joined by another smack to my ass. I jolt and straighten, feeling his cum slide down my inner thigh. Embarrassed, I reach for my shirt, but he snatches my wrist, standing proudly with his dick still glistening with our moisture.
"Don't," he cautions. "I like your skin." Maksim's eyes rake over my pearled nipples, and I shudder.
Fucking him is one thing. Letting him see me like this feels too intimate.
"I should..."
"You won't," he purrs, pulling me in for a kiss. I taste myself on his mouth, smell our sex in his stubble. "Now, where's the vodka?" he asks, as if he knows after all of that, I need a drink.
"Cupboard above the sink. There are two glasses, and the vodka is in the freezer." I swallow against the tightness still lingering in my throat and watch him walk into my kitchen.
Not an inch of his torso is pure skin. There is ink everywhere, or scars—but that ass is creamy and perfect and fuck, if I don't hope we will do this again soon.
Every instinct inside me is telling me to run, to take my fake identity and just get the hell out of here, but the lingering idea that I could somehow be Damir's salvation, the way he was mine when we were younger, keeps me here, rooted, staring at the slowly deflating dick of a man I should hate but whom I have to fuck in order to extort information from him.
Am I evil for enjoying that?
Am I wrong for wanting it again?
Or am I foolish for thinking I'll survive this?
8
MAKSIM
