Page 94 of Koroleva

The Russian grabbed my shirt as he had in the car and switched our positions, slamming me against him forcefully. Not enough to hurt me, but enough to press me against his body and unleash his rage with his fists against the tree.

Andrey was panting, and I drank in the turbulence of his gaze.

"You were supposed to hit me, not the trunk. Aim better, come on..." I egged him on.

His Adam's apple bobbed abruptly. He still said nothing. He just looked at me with such intensity, such rage, that I felt it everywhere.

"Andrey..." I murmured hoarsely.

"Shut the fuck up already!" he barked uncomfortably.

"Make me shut up"I wanted to provoke him, push him to the edge, and I succeeded.

He cursed in Russian and plunged into my mouth.

I wanted to scream, push him to the ground and fuck him like never before, but I restrained myself to just raise my arms and feel the tingling of his short hair in my palms. A subtle, furtive caress meant to draw him closer.

His tongue was like him. Large, wide, intense. It made me gasp due to that torturous way it enveloped me.

Andrey was like one of those waves you don't see coming that flips you over when you least expect it. You end up covered in sand, spitting salt water with burning lungs. Yet, you laugh, breathe, and realize how small and fragile we are at certain moments. How fleeting life is and how unprotected we are against situations that slip out of our hands and make us feel too much.

Andrey descended and unbuttoned the fastening of my slacks.

With a sharp tug, he pulled them down along with my underwear to my ankles.

My erection sprang out at the thought of entering that tormenting mouth.

He grabbed my dick and licked the tip, driving me wild.

"Fuck!" I growled. My body demanded he continue, but my mind told me no, not like this."I can't believe I'm going to say this," I cursed myself, "stop." He looked at me puzzled.

"Do you want me to stop?" Yes, I couldn't believe it either.

"I don't have a condom, at least not on me, my wallet is in the car," I explained. Andrey twisted a smile, opened his palm, and spit.

Could there be anything more twisted than getting turned on by seeing a guy spitting in his own hand?

Well, it did it for me, a lot, so much so that when he stood up, taking my dick in his hand, I was close to coming like a premature ejaculator.

He began to jerk me off, without kissing, without touching me otherwise, just looking into my eyes.

And I couldn't stop gasping desperately. Melted against that splintered wood surface that dug into my skin as deeply as he did.

He rubbed like a savage, mixing fast strokes with slower, tighter ones, letting his saliva fall each time he felt my skin had absorbed it.

I was dying of pleasure, no one had ever jerked me off like that, as if he could touch my soul with each rise and fall of skin.

My breathing accelerated uncontrollably, my lung capacity diminished by the storm in his eyes, those caresses that struck like lightning and made me want to dance in the rain.

That was him, the wildest of storms, one you didn’t want to shelter from.

Every nerve in my body trembled, and Andrey knew it. It didn't matter that I was only naked from the waist down because he saw much beyond the clothes, I was sure.

In an intense, deep, visceral way. Delving into each scar, each death behind us. Because men like us also needed to feel understood, cherished, even loved.

And he was offering me the relief I needed, of his skin against mine, of his fiery gaze, devoid of fear, full of feverish desire.

"I’m going to... I’m going to..."

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