Page 7 of His Order

The sun has come down, and the moon has risen to its full height. These are the times that I yearn for the most. My solitude.

I push the door of my bedroom open, and what I find is a sight that makes me pause in the doorway, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips. She’s on my bed—in my bed—lounging like it belongs to her. Legs stretched out; chin tilted in defiance, bare thighs visible beneath the hem of one of my black dress shirts. My shirt. The goddamn thing swallows her whole, and yet somehow, she makes it look obscene.

Her blonde hair is unbound, cascading over the pillow like a silken waterfall. One arm is flung carelessly over her head, the other coiled beneath her cheek. Her eyes are closed, and she is breathing shallow and even. She looks...peaceful.

For a moment, I just stand there, captivated by the unexpected vulnerability she displays in her sleep. It's a stark contrast to the fiery defiance she throws at me when awake. At this moment, she's just a woman, lost in the embrace of sleep.

But the illusion is shattered when her eyes snap open, sharp and alert. I wait for the heat of hatred that she usually displays to shoot at me, but there is a pause. At first, she doesn’t move; she simply looks at me, her eyes coated in light slumber, then her eyes relax, and a strange glint I have never seen them have before shines.

“Well, well,” she purrs, a smirk playing on her lips. “Look who's back.”

“I see you've made yourself comfortable,” I reply, leaning against the doorframe. My gaze lingers on the exposed expanse of her legs. She doesn't even try to cover herself up.

“Just admiring the view,” she says, a sly grin spreading across her face. This is a stark change from the woman I had encountered last night. The same one who had damned me to the deepest parts of hell.

“I see you have been released from the leash of whatever master you serve,” she challenges, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Your food is ass. That woman that brings it to me—she could do better. Next time, I want a steak.”

“I will get right on that.” I click my tongue on the roof of my mouth. “This isn’t a fucking restaurant, woman. You eat what I provide.”

“How about your cock satisfying me, asshole?” The words slip past her lips effortlessly.

“You're testing my patience, Anya,” I warn, my voice a low growl.

“And what will you do about it?” she taunts, her eyes flashing with defiance. She goes as far as to take her time and spread her legs apart. Her hand slides down to her naked pussy; she spreads her lips with her fingers as she dips one finger in, rolls it inside, takes it out, and then puts it in her mouth. Licking her juices off slowly. “Fuck, I think I should just eat myself. I taste better, anyway. What do you think?”

“You're playing a dangerous game, Anya,” I say, my voice laced with a mixture of amusement and irritation.

“A game you started, Pavel. Weren’t you the one offering to fuck earlier? Here I am at your feet. I am not screaming your name, though. Maybe you are less exciting than you appear to be.” She retorts, her voice unwavering.

I close the distance between us in two strides, towering over her on the bed. She doesn't flinch, but I can see the fear flickering in her eyes.

“You know exactly what I'll do,” I whisper, my voice laced with barely suppressed desire.

I reach for her wrist, my fingers brushing against her skin.

“What game are you playing, Anya? Last night, you were nothing but a shivering and blubbering puppy, and now—well, now you are trying to tempt me like a siren. Fucking yourself with your finger—really?”

She is looking at me straight into my eyes while her legs are spread, and she continues to roll her finger around her clitoris. Her plumped pussy is perfect.

“Are you going just to stand there or eat me as a dessert? I know you want to, Pavel. We are both adults. Let’s play this game.”

I hesitate for a moment. This was not the plan. Yes, of course, I want to fuck her! Who wouldn’t? We have a business to do; she is not here for my pleasure. This is a distraction, but what a beautiful distraction. Fuck it. I lie down on my stomach in front of her, grab her hip, and pull them closer to my face.

“Listen to me, zayka. I will eat this pussy until it gets nice and used to me,” I rasp, my voice dripping with hunger.

I start sucking her clit with a brutal tug that pulls a scream from her throat. Her salty taste is perfect. Her hips buck harder, frantic, as her nails dig deeper into my shoulders, and she is gone—loving it, craving every second of his worship, my tongue thrusting and twisting inside her. I pull out my tongue and dive it deep into her hole. One. Two. Three times. Then I roll back and lick her clitoris, take it into my mouth, continuing to suck it.

“I will make you cum, zayka,” he growls, lips sealed tight around my clit, tongue flicking relentlessly, and I shatter. “Makeyou fucking shatter so many times that just the sight of me will leave you wet and clenching.”

“Pavel!” she screams, voice hoarse, her cunt clenching hard, gushing hot and wet over my mouth, soaking my chin, trickling down her ass. Her thighs clamped around my head, trembling through the high. I don’t stop, licking slow and possessively, worshipping every shudder, leaving me panting, quaking, addicted. I cannot stop. She is convulsing in my mouth. This little defiant monster is now coming into my mouth.

“Fuck, you’re a goddess,” I rasp, pulling back, my lips dripping with her juices. Her eyes are dark and reverent. “But I’m not done breaking you.”

Before she can catch her breath, my fingers slam into her —three, thick and rough—stretching her pussy wide. She yelps, a sharp, feral cry bursting out as he pumps, fast and brutal. The squelch is loud, a nasty, wet rhythm filling the room, and her body jerks with each thrust—hips jolting, breasts heaving, the bed groaning under the strain.

“Such a tight, dripping hole,” I snarl. Fingers driving deeper, curling to hit that spot that whites out my vision. “I told you I am going to fuck it ‘til you’re sobbing for me.”

Her moans are jagged. “Pavel, oh fuck.”

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