Page 60 of Corrupted Guilt

I took her to the bed and turned on the light on the night table, “So that I can see every inch of you while I fuck you,” I told her.

I sat on the bed and held her hips while she stood just in front of me. She wanted to bend down and kiss me again, but I held her back and undressed her slowly, pulling her panties down past her ass, down the slender thighs, and around her ankles, then lifted her foot to take them off completely. I folded them carefully and placed them on the nightstand.

She stood there, self-consciously in only her babydoll nightgown, her knees bent together tentatively, waiting for me.

“Keep this little flimsy thing on,” I told her, rolling the gossamer fabric through my fingers and tugging it down. “I'm not ready to have you naked quite yet.”

I placed my hands firmly on her hips, guiding her onto the bed and leaned her back against the headboard, then opened her knees as I crawled up between them to her. My fingertips trailed over her body as I kissed her again, climbing up her to taste her mouth, her ears her jaw down to her throat the hollow between her neck and collarbones. Then down to her breasts and nipples until she moaned. She tried to shrug off the night gown, but I stopped her, held her still.

My hand reached down between her thighs to stop her from saying anything. I wanted her moans and her grunts and that was all I wanted right now.

I brought my mouth up to her lips again while my hand was between her thighs. My index finger probed, found her clit and I felt her body jolt as I brushed the knub under my thumb and felt that low whimper in her throat.

She broke the kiss, her head rolling back, her body urging me to touch more of it.

I could feel her skin warming, her stomach muscles clenching, sweat starting to pill on her skin. Her breasts tight, nipples pebbling. I know exactly when she can’t stand it any longer. That's when I replaced my thumb with my tongue on her clit.

“I want you inside me right now. Right now,” she begged me, a command. I couldn’t help but laugh. A real laugh tumbling out of me shaking my chest.

“Whatever you say,” I say to her pussy, then do as she says.

I pull the nightgown off her and grab her by the hips top pull her down supine on the bed until she was underneath me and my cock pressed against her entrance. Her eyes flipped open, the dull pleasure haze washing out of them to lock onto my eyes.

“I love you,” she says boldly, not hiding anything from me now. “I needed to tell you that and for you to know that. That's all.,” she closes her eyes and turns her face away as I entered her.

“I love you,” she says surer of herself this time. Grabbing my hips, pulling me into her.

She was in control and followed her, guiding me to the rhythm. She wanted all of me, moaning every few moments those words again, ‘I love you,’ as a surrender. She kept saying it.

The tears rolling down her cheeks. And again she got to me in that deep, secret place inside me no one had ever touched. However long we had together, it was going to be like this. She was mine and I was hers and nothing would ever stop that. I didn't even notice that I was crying too until it was done and I collapsed on the pillow next to her and wiped my eyes as everything had turned blurry.

27. Katya

I try not to think about it, but I felt every second, every minute, every hour, taking us down to that time when we would never be together like this again. It was days, not weeks, not months, not years, not decades, not forever.Seconds, minutes, and hours were all I had.

Somehow, I was able to live in the present and enjoy his company just being together, no matter what we were doing.

Talking, making food, watching TV or a movie— or not doing anything at all.

And of course, we fucked like rabbits any and every chance we had. It was wonderful, and sad, and fun, and joyful. But I couldn't help but notice he was getting stronger every day. No longer my little kiska, weak as a kitten, safe in my bed. And that was an ending too.

Once he was strong then he’d be back to being the old Yuri. He would put on that mask and this Yuri would be gone.

Yuri wanted to destroy Petya—had to destroy him because only one of them could take over my father’s Bratva. But the cost of that was this Yuri, my Yuri would go away again, hiding behind that mask of the Bratva don. He would never be this vulnerable again. He would never make loving him this easy for me again.

I tried not to dwell on how it could be between us. I knew how much it would break my heart when he turned his back on this Yuri, turned his back on me, us. Then, perhaps, every now and then hewould drop his guard for a moment—an hour, a day, a night—only to put his mask back on again when it was over.

I couldn’t live like that could I? Waiting to be loved for an hour, a day, a night then have it shut off like a light switch, leaving me in the dark, bereft? I could look forward to an hour or a day every month? Every 6 months? Once a year? Less? On our anniversary? As a Christmas or birthday present? It was too terrible and sad to contemplate. I couldn’t live like that. Like someone crossing a desert, hoping to stumble upon an oasis before I die—never knowing if or when it would come. And the last one was the very last one.

Ever.

I couldn’t survive on that. And nothing would change with a baby. It would be worse if worse was even possible.

I tried to stay present and not contemplate this dark, cold future. The talking was the best part—and what I was going to miss the most. I'd never heard him talk so freely before; all that cold-heartedness and innate reticence seemed gone from him as we talked. He shared opinions about everything, many were silly or terrible—but at least he talked openly about them. He wasn’t hiding anything from me for once.

Desire felt like a rope tying us together, connecting us like kids using tin cans over a taut string—the vibrations of desire and togetherness always present between us. I tried to store everything up: every look, laugh, and touch in a little treasure chest—a box I could open whenever I needed.

He wanted me all the time, it was mutual. By the third day, he’d taken me roughly; there was something in that intensity that made me think maybe this was our last time together, the penultimate moment before ‘the before’ and ‘the after.’

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