I don’t answer at first. He strokes in and out of my ass, making me frantic with the need for him to either stop or give me more.
“Hmm?”
“No.” I sound petulant because I know he’s going to deny me what I need.
He thrusts a little harder. “No? I have all night, Natasha. You will definitely do as you’re told by the time I’m through with you.”
Oh, God. His words turn me on. I don’t know why I love it just as much when he’s mean to me as I do when he’s tender. I guess I know the meanness isn’t real. It’s a barrier he uses to hold back from loving me.
That’s the barrier I’m trying to knock down.
Dima thrusts deeper like it’s a punishment for my refusal. It’s too much, but it feels so good.
I moan into the bedcovers, keep my ass up, my legs spread. “Please.” I beg again without even meaning to.
“Da,” he agrees, pounding a little harder.
A little faster.
I’m already lost, spinning into the place of no thought, only lurid sensation.
“Dima,” I pant.
He groans, and the sound of his arousal nearly sends me over the edge.
“Please.”
“Will you be good?” He drills into me, and I’m incapable of speech. Incapable of anything but simultaneously melting and clenching, ready to come unglued at every seam.
“I need to… I need…”
“You need to come, amerikanka?”
“Yes.” Relief streaks through me.
“Say the magic words.”
“Please?”
His laugh is dark. “Wrong answer. This time’s for me, then.” His breath sounds ragged as he thrusts into me, and then I understand his meaning. He’s going to come.
Without me.
My pussy clenches on air, desperate to come with him, but when he does plow deep and shout, I can’t quite muster it.
I dry sob into the bed. “No, no, no, no, no,” I complain. When he pulls out, I roll my hips on the bed and squeeze my thighs together, trying to get enough friction on my clit to orgasm.
“You’re in trouble now.”
I dimly register Dima’s threat as he retreats and returns, using a warm washcloth to clean me. He’s buttoned his jeans back up, fully dressed while I’m fully naked.
Even though I didn’t come, I’m weak with need, limp from being used. I continue to up the bed. Dima takes mercy on me and runs his fingers over my sex until he finds my clit, which he rubs.
I come immediately, the orgasm wrung from me in quick pulses around air.
Dima unties my hands and rolls me to my back. “Like I said, I can keep this up all night,” he swears as he pushes my knees wide and lowers his head.
I moan my agreement to that plan when he licks into me. He’s masterful, licking and sucking my labia, tracing inside them, sucking my clit. He penetrates me with his fingers and somehow finds my G-spot, bringing out another shocking orgasm.
And that’s when things get hairy.
Because he doesn’t stop.
Dima throws one of my legs over his shoulder, turning me on my side, and he uses his mouth until I orgasm again.
And then it’s too much.
I’m a ragdoll, wrung out from the sex, but he won’t stop.
Vaguely, I recall there’s a name for this. Is it edging? No, that’s when you keep someone on the edge of orgasm but don’t let them come.
Forced orgasms. Or is it orgasm torture?
God, I can’t even think.
I try to push Dima’s head away, which only gets my wrists tied up with my bra again. He slides his fingers inside me, stroking my G-spot until energy returns to my core. My belly shudders in and out.
“Please,” I whimper. “It-it’s too much.” I roll my head back and forth on the bed. “I’m so sensitive. Everywhere.” It was true. Every nerve ending was firing. My nipples are hot and tight, my breasts ache. I can’t stop the fever that has me delirious.
He keeps stroking but brings his thumb to my clit, applying pressure to my way-too-sensitive little bundle of nerve endings.
“You know how to make it stop.” Dima’s accent is thick.
“Please,” I moan. “Dima, no more.”
“Nyet. This is your punishment until you obey.”
Tears leak from the outer corners of my eyes. Not from pain, just sexual frustration. I’m dying. “Please,” I beg again, even though it’s just mindless chanting. I don’t believe he’ll stop.
I’m also not going to give in.
My legs kick out. It feels like lightning striking, sending jolts of energy through me as I orgasm again.
And he still doesn’t stop.
“Nooooo,” I groan. I’m boneless. Brainless. Completely undone. “No more.”
He lowers his head between my legs and swirls his tongue around my clit.
“Stop. I hate you.”
Dima goes still, and I swear I can read him perfectly. He’s afraid he’s gone too far.
I manage to raise my head enough to hold his gaze, and I shake it. Of course, I don’t hate him. I’m falling crazily in love with this man.
I watch his shoulders relax. He relents and unties my wrists.
“Is it over?”
“You tell me.”
Godpodi. How far will this man go to avoid my question? “Was my condition… so awful?”
I see pain ripple over his expression before he shutters it. “I… can’t talk about it with you, Natasha. That wasn’t fair.”
“Neither is this,” I counter.
Dima reaches for my wrists, manacling each one in one of his larger hands and pulling me up to sit on the bed. “Come here.”
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“To the shower. I’m going to clean you up and fuck you some more.”
I can’t decide if I want to laugh or cry.
All I know is Dima has me out of my mind. He may end up winning this battle after all.