Page 93 of Koroleva

"Because I still want you to fuck me." My hand reached for his dick, which was as stiff as he was. He pushed it away violently, and I looked at him enticingly.

"Wow, so I'm not as indifferent to you as you pretend..."

"Just because you make me hard doesn't mean anything."

"To you maybe it doesn't mean anything, but it does..."

"What happened, happened. End of story."

"Your dick seems to disagree."

"My dick doesn’t get a say in this matter."

"It thinks otherwise."

"It doesn’t think, because if it did..."

"What?"

"Nothing. I need some air, don't move, you're grounded."

Andrey stormed out of the car, slamming the door. And I felt frustrated, because I couldn’t leave, I shouldn't leave... I saw him walk off to the side, where plants and a very wide tree blocked my view.

Where had he gone?

Screw it!

I got out of the car and headed towards where he disappeared. He was leaning against the trunk, shielded from prying eyes. His head tilted back at an awkward angle. His eyes were closed.

He muttered a curse in Russian upon hearing my steps.

"I told you not to move."

"I've never been good with orders, unless they're from my boss, and as far as I know, you're just the guy who fucked me." Andrey huffed.

"You were supposed to be keeping watch."

"Well, you should have stayed with me," I murmured, placing my hands on the trunk, one on each side of his face. The Russian opened his eyes and pierced me with his gaze. How could he be so handsome! In a rugged, surly, sexy way.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting myself beaten up. Is that what you need to stop being an idiot with me? To hit me?"

"You're asking for it..."

"Then go ahead. Hit me," I whispered, moving closer to his mouth, "and make sure you knock me out, or else..."

"Or what?" he questioned, not avoiding my approach.

"I'll have to kiss you," I said seriously, coveting his lips.

Our breaths, oblivious to everything, mated without permission, panting, hot, sinuous. The tree bark wrinkled from the uncontrollable desire pressing our zippers.

I rubbed mine against his and moaned at the feeling. Hard, tight, longing.

Andrey could say whatever he wanted, because what matters is never said, it's felt, and I felt it too much. The layers of clothing, or the impregnable armor he raised between us, mattered little, because the lightness of that touch was enough for everything to come crashing down.

"Hit me," I provoked him, brushing against him again. "Hit me, damn it!" I spat, pounding on the rough surface.

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