Page 135 of Stricken

"Like I'm yours," I whisper, the truth of it hitting me like a thunderbolt.

He kisses my shoulder blade. "You are. And I'm yours. Completely."

My heart swells. I've spent years hiding my true self. But here, with him, I'm laid bare—and for the first time, I'm not afraid. For the first time, I don't hear Yuri's ugly voice telling me it's beneath a Solovey man to bend for another man.

No, fuck that.

It's a bliss, being this close to someone. No secrets.

Nico gently urges me up. "On your knees, babe. Hold the headboard."

I comply, gripping the ornate wood as Nico positions himself behind me. His hand wraps around my cock, stroking slowly.

"Nico," I moan, rocking into his touch. "Please... fuck…" Some words in Russian spill out of me too. I don't bother to tell him what they mean. He knows. Same way I know what he means when he murmurs things in Italian.

Just as I'm on the brink, he abruptly yanks at the plug as if wanting to hear my reaction.

It's instantaneous—I moan.

"Time to take my cock,gattino."

He carefully removes the plug and I whimper at the loss. His finger slides inside next, quick and unexpected, moving in and out a few times. "Ah, you're so slick and ready for me. I'll take care of you." He grabs at the base of my dick with one hand and angles my upper body down a little for better access. He strokes me a few times next before asking, "Do you want to use a condom?"

"Did I say I wanted to feel a piece of rubber?" I ask. "I want you."

He kisses my shoulder. Then I feel something pressing against me. Something hot and wet.

Nico's voice is rough with desire when he growls, "Say you want it like this. Say it again."

"I want it. Want your cock to fuck me so hard I can't walk. Want to feel you so bad. Without a fucking condom."

"Then let me be your first." He pushes inside me. Just a little.

My breath is stuck in my lungs.

"You'll be my last, too," I whisper.

"If that's what you want," he whispers back. Then he enters me with agonizing slowness, each inch a burning revelation. The stretch is exquisite torture, pain and pleasure fusing into something transcendent.

I gasp, my knuckles white on the headboard.

"Don't forget to breathe," Nico instructs gently. "I've got you."

His words anchor me as he sinks deeper. I feel split open, raw, remade. When he's fully sheathed, we both shudder.

"Vlad," he groans, grabbing my chin to turn my head sideways. "You feel like paradise."

I capture his lips in a fierce, sloppy kiss as much as the angle allows me. "Move," I command, voice ragged. "Move before I lose it and come."

Nico obliges, withdrawing almost completely before thrusting back in. This time he's not gentle at all. He's doing exactly what I asked him to do. Destroying me. Destroying my asshole. The sensation steals my breath. He sets a steady rhythm, each stroke igniting sparks along my spine and in my prostate.

"God, you're perfect," he pants. "So tight, so good for me. Could fuck this tight virgin asshole all night."

His praise washes over me, stoking the fire in my veins. I push back against him, matching his tempo. We move together like waves crashing against that California shore where we met, relentless and wild.

Nico's hand starts stroking my cock in time with his thrusts. I'm drowning in sensation, lost in it.

"Close," I warn, teetering on the edge.

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