“O боже,” she struggled against the scarves at her wrists, blindly seeking an excuse to writhe under his fingers. She arched her back, inviting his touch but he was otherwise occupied between her legs and the vision was too blurry and too perfect to ever ask him to leave.
Even with her head thrown back, she knew he was smirking when he came up for air, the heat painting the walls, barely brushing his burning flesh. The candles were all close to melting leaving the couple in a blinding heat with just enough light to see the task at hand. “You will tell me what I want to hear.” He ordered; his voice deep and vibrating through her body. She shivered, her body heaving, hair clinging to the sides of her face.
“нет” she breathed, closing her eyes against the absence of his rough tongue and thick fingers against her skin. Her body pulsed with the thought of him. She looked up to find his eyes still burning with amusement and desire as he reached a hand up to the valley of her chest and pressed her back into the bed. She went willingly if only to feel the sweet press of his tongue against her body as she opened her mouth in the pleasure of it all. The stars fluttering behind her eyelids as her blood set heavily down her liquid body. His fingertips scrapped her skin on its journey down her skin. He brushed over the wax that had settled into her bones from an eternity ago, it seemed. Maybe an hour – she’d lost track of the months since she’d had coherent thought under this man’s touch. The wax had hardened onto her stomach and chest, leaving her stiff and aching to move beyond her bonds. But he’d never let her go.
“Tell me what I want to hear and I’ll let you go.” Or maybe she didn’t want to be free if this was her torture. Naked in his bedroom for the hundredth time while his tongue and fingers found new ways to make her cry out in pleasure and pain.
“Never.” Again she welcomed his touch but it never came. He simply stopped his tongue lashing to peek up at her.
“Ah, so the little Muscovite speaks English. Good to know.” Oops, he couldn’t get the upper hand, could he?
“иди к черту.”
He clicked his tongue knowing she had better ideas for that muscle – so did he, as a matter of fact but he wouldn’t give in just yet. “Such language for a ведьма.”
Her head shot up. “Oh sure you remember that word.” He cocked his head, tightening his grip on her thighs, twisting her flesh until it opened further. “Let’s see if you remember this phrase:” Her hooded gaze and hungry mouth were enough that he didn’t need to remember “трахать мне.” And he didn’t need to be told twice. How had the tables turned so quickly? Had the tables even turned? Was she just manipulating him the whole time? He pinched her clit and she rose off the bed, allowing him to play her while she closed her eyes to the symphony behind them. He wrapped his arms around her hips and tugged, leaving her stretched out in the middle of the bed caught between pleasure and pain while her boyfriend continued to work his tongue along her pussy. Long, slow strokes, taking his time, soaking in ever shake and twitch and moan of delight. Short, laps like he was feasting on her, devouring her body with pure lust. The more she struggled against the bonds the tighter they felt until she lost feeling in her fingers and they floated away, forgotten in the haze. Nothing else existed but the feel of him inside her and the fantasies fulfilled in a single touch.
And then he stopped. It took a moment for the memory of him to fade from her skin before she reached for him, her chest heaving, hard nipples aching with need. A look from her was all it took. “You haven’t told me what I wanted to hear.” He clicked his tongue again. Was he tasting her on his tongue? She couldn’t focus. Some remaining rational thought scolded her but she lifted her hips, aching for him, biting her lip to keep from betraying how desperate she really was. Her body was pulsing with need for release; she was so close. Instead of obeying her as he should have he simply smiled at her. That cocky half smile that she was loved and now despised. “You don’t get rewarded for bad behavior.”
“Jebem ti pas mater u sto picki materina.” She spat.
He smirked. Bastard. “I don’t know that one but I’m guessing it wasn’t good. Therefore…” He had the nerve to lean away from her, to leave her in this state. She was wrong. This was torture at its finest. She bit her lip and struggled against the binds on her feet but of course they didn’t budge. He was getting away.
“пожалуйста.” She whispered. He stopped but his smile grew wider.
“I’m sorry what was that?”
The growl that escaped her mouth was not her own, more a primal urge to strangle her caveman. Still, he didn’t budge; he’d learned well over the years that sometimes, there was nothing she could do to him – yet. When she refused to speak he shrugged and continued to back off. He was standing over her when she finally broke down. “пожалуйста. Please.”
The satisfied little bugger had the nerve to smirk as he leaned down to kiss her right knee cap before returning to his proper place. It didn’t take long before she was one the edge again, dangling there, waiting for that one flick of his tongue or press of his fingers to throw her off, falling into the black abyss of pleasure. “Say it.” He commanded, still working her at a rigorous pace. “Say it.” He repeated when her only response was a moan of delight. He started to pull out but she was too far gone.
She saw stars falling to meet her. So many metaphors jumbled together to try and fail to describe the immovable shade of lust and feel of his fingers still pumping inside of her. Somewhere when her back was arched and her mouth open with cries of pleasure, she could easily surmise that the words flew out into the boiling air but just to be sure, she whispered them as she was coming back from it all. “Я люблю тебя.” She didn’t have to open her eyes – or move, for that matter – to know that he was smiling at her with sweet, uncharacteristically giddy eyes for their current position.
“I love you, too.”