Page 72 of Maksim
Letting go of my shoulder hesitantly, he pushes his tip against my opening that feels slick, welcoming. I close my eyes and relax while he rubs himself over my entrance then glides his shaft over my clit.
My head tips back against the wall, and I sigh at the sensation as he starts to thrust slowly, grinding himself against a magical bundle of nerves I’ve yet to explore with another person.
Maksim’s lips, now tender, find my neck, and he kisses me like he’s tasting me, his tongue swiping each time. It’s silly, but it makes me want to cry. I didn’t think I cared what the pigs thought of me when I was being sold, but being made to sit in filth and constantly being appraised as disgusting must have stuck in my mind somewhere because it feels good that he wants to taste me. That he wants me.
That I’m his.
When his kisses reach my collarbone, I puff out my chest for him. He uses both hands now to lift me up, his arms hooked beneath my thighs while I wrap my legs around his waist.
I watch, mesmerized as he takes my nipple into his mouth to cause a sharp, pleasant sensation that travels inward and down to my swollen clit. When he sucks, I gasp, fisting my hands into his hair and tugging, unsure if I’m pulling him away or closer. Either way, he doesn’t stop.
He licks and sucks my nipple until the other screams with deprivation, and then he grants it mercy, causing the same sharp sensations to travel down to my clit that begins to feel so full, it aches.
I catch the sight of people over Maksim’s shoulder but don’t care. They don’t matter. Nikita doesn’t matter. The past doesn’t matter. My body cares about none of it. It only cares about here, now, replacing the phantom touch in my core and relieving the ache in my clit.
“Touch me,” I say, breathless.
A wave of self-consciousness passes through me as his eyes find mine, but I can’t regret my words. I need this too badly.
His head tilts. “Am I your whore, lislchka? Do you command me?”
“Please,” I groan, arching my hips toward him.
Take the ache away.
Take his touch away.
Please.
He stares at me a few more seconds, a man unaccustomed to being told what to do by a mere woman like me.
But there’s hunger in his eyes. I’m guessing he’s hungry enough to listen.
He shifts me so he’s holding me with only one arm while my back is pressed against the wall, then with a delicious slide of his hand up my thigh, his fingers find my sex.
Not making me wait another second, he slips one finger inside me and starts to massage my walls, making my eyes heavy and my body sag. Desire builds, but more than that, my body breathes a long sigh, the recent violation no longer as pronounced.
Maksim seems to search for something, and when sparks fly in my core, zapping my arms and legs and making me jerk, I know he found it.
“Mmm,” I moan, my back pressing against the wall as he strokes me faster.
When his thumb moves to my clit, I cry out.
“Is this what you wanted?” he asks, slowing his pace so he can rub teasing circles around my clit.
Yes.
“Hmmm?” He shoves another finger inside me, and I knock my head against the wall.
“Yes!”
I must look ridiculous, and I know he’ll be smirking, so I keep my eyes closed as he brings me more pleasure than I’ve ever felt in my life.
I think of all the times people whispered about my mother behind her back, calling her a whore. She chose an unconventional route of picking a life partner, unheard of in our culture. Sex outside of marriage is shameful. Having children outside of marriage is an abomination.
I vowed to never have either. If for no other reason than to never be looked at the way my mother was. I would not be a whore. I would wait until marriage. And I got close. I waited until my engagement, too afraid that without sex, the marriage would fall through.
But now it seems it was all in vain. I’m in what must be a whorehouse, acting exactly that, with my legs spread wide for a man who claims he owns me.