But I’m drunk on hormones now. I need Kateryna as badly as she needs me, and pulling back or pulling away has become an impossibility. I press into her slowly, easing in because I’m big, and she’s tight. Inch by inch, I feed my cock into her until I’m fully seated.
I stroke her hair back from her face then fist and release it, giving her a firm scalp massage. “You good?”
She presses back against me. “Yes.” She sounds breathless.
I ease back then slam in again. The pillow lifting her hips gives me a good angle. I can get deep inside her and hit her G-spot on the way.
“Tak…tak,” she moans, apparently already on the way to satisfaction.
The pleasure is mutual. I haven’t had a girlfriend since I left Russia to find Nadia over a year ago. I’ve had a few hookups but nothing hot like this. Nothing so unapologetically kinky, so over-the-top sexy.
And Kateryna is by far the hottest girl I’ve been with.
I play with grabbing fistfuls of her hair and releasing it, sometimes tugging her head up to make her arch her back for a few strokes, then letting her back down to recover. I hold her nape down like she’s pinned to the bed. I play with one nipple while bending her backward with a hair tug.
She’s pliant. Enthusiastic. Every time I do something forceful or dominant, her pussy gushes for me. She apparently loves being mistreated.
I apparently enjoy being her abuser. The thought disturbs me, but I push it away. I can feel my own pleasure coming to a head. Surging forward to claim victory.
I ride Kat, slapping in harder and faster. I hook my hand in front of her neck to bow her backward while I fuck her. “You like it when I give it to you hard, malyshka? Hmm?”
“Tak,” she cries.
“You take it like a good girl, don’t you?”
She lets out a sobbing breath and squeezes my dick with her internal muscles. I can’t hold back any longer. I rock into her with hard, forceful strokes, shaking the bed and making it bang against the wall.
“Yes!” Kat cries.
My vision turns hazy. The room swims and spins.
I give a shout and come, plunging deep inside her to fill the condom. She gives over in perfect tandem, her muscles milking my cum as she flutters and spasms her own release.
“That’s it,” I murmur, slowly rocking in and out to wring the last aftershocks from her. “Good girl.”
Kat
Good girl. Those words somehow both heal and wound me at the same time.
Maybe Delaney was right after all.
“Am I?” I ask, even though it’s a terrible, needy thing to say. I’m going to freak him out just like I’ve freaked out every guy I ever thought was boyfriend potential. Because I’m not a good girl.
I’m bad.
Rotten to the core.
But Adrian pushes my hair back from my face. “Very good,” he rumbles, a foreign warmth and approval in his voice making me turn my face to try to see his.
He drops a kiss on my temple. “You like to play bad girl, but you’re nothing but good on the inside,” he tells me.
I draw in a sudden terraced breath. I don’t know why I feel like crying again. Am I going to cry every time this man makes me come? It’s absurd.
Totally embarrassing.
Oh God, my eyes are already wet.
But Adrian doesn’t make a big deal out of it. He doesn’t freak out. He just thumbs a tear off the side of my nose.
“You’re a strong girl, Kateryna,” he tells me. He rolls us to our sides, keeping our bodies connected. He finds my clit with the pad of his finger and lightly circles it, wringing another small orgasm out of me.
I gasp and hold my breath then moan softly as I let it go.
“This quirk of yours–this fetish? It’s your strength. Your flexibility is your strength. You won’t break. No matter what happens.”
He says the words fiercely, almost like he’s willing it to be true. Or programming me to be able to handle an impending disaster.
And I guess there is one.
Because he plans to kill my dad.
But I no longer doubt he will let me walk away. He’s probably programming me now for our goodbye.
“After you kill my dad, you’re going to let me go?” I have to ask.
He goes still behind me. “You’re strong, Kat,” he repeats. “You’ll be all right no matter what happens.”
I’m silent, turning over his words in my mind. I’d heard the goodbye in them, which drew my initial attention, but now I’m really thinking about what he said. That I have a fetish.
That it’s a strength, not a weakness.
My father flew me across the continent to install me in a private English girls’ school. All because one of his men caught me giving a boy a hand job behind our house. My father had called me a whore. Had raged and spat and cursed at me. No daughter of mine is going to whore around like that. You will not be allowed back until you’ve proven you know how to behave.
So I’d proven I knew how to misbehave.
I’d played the bad girl.
Now Adrian is telling me underneath it I’m really good?
Is that why it hurts so much when he calls me that?
Adrian eases out and rolls away. I roll to face him, hating myself for being so needy. He stands on the side of the bed, removing the condom, but he turns as if he senses my weakness. “You okay?”
I hold his gaze and nod.
“Hungry?”
I shake my head. “Sleepy,” I say. It’s true. As the post-orgasmic relaxation engulfs me, I feel like I could drift off to sleep.
“Me too.” Adrian disposes of the condom and returns to the bed. He pulls the covers out and tucks me under then climbs in beside me.