Page 113 of White Wolf

She dozed, and came back to herself to find that she was warm and comfortable, lying beneath the covers cuddled up to Nikita’s side, his arms around her. She opened her eyes and found him watching her, something soft in his gaze.

“Oh,” she said, still too out of it to be properly embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. That was wonderful.”

“But you didn’t…” The heat of a blush rose in her cheeks.

Her braids had come mostly loose. He pushed a stray lock behind her ear and leaned in, breath tickling as he whispered, “I still could, though.”

She shivered, and her sex, still damp and sensitive, clenched in helpless response. She reached up to cup the back of his head, his hair like heavy silk through her fingers. Hooked her leg over his hip and felt his cock, still hard, against the soft inside of her thigh, just shy of where she really wanted him. “Yeah, you could.”

They kissed for long moments, leisurely turning wet, heated. She loved his mouth, the way it moved against hers, the way he asked and then asked for more, never demanding, never forcing. It was exquisite, kissing him.

When he eased her onto her back, she was panting and ready, legs hooked around his waist. He touched her again, stretched her a little more with his fingers, and then there was the blunt pressure of his cock nudging in with tiny little thrusts. Easing into her. Slow. Careful. Inexorable.

It hurt, but not like all the violent times before. This was a sweet burn, and she clutched his ass and pulled him in closer. “It’s okay,” she whispered into his throat. “Come on, it’s okay.”

He groaned when he was fully seated, his body trembling above hers, head bowed, eyes shut and teeth gritted.

She felt sofull. He was all the way inside her, and it was clearly killing him to hold back.

“Nikita.” She stroked his shoulders, his tense arms. His face. “You can move, love. I want you to.”

His hips kicked, an involuntary little movement, and she echoed it.

“Christ,” he moaned. “Oh, you feel so good.”

It had been a long time for him, and she didn’t know if it had ever been good - she wanted it to be, suddenly.

“Come on.” She skated her nails down his back. “Fuck me.”

That did it.

He dropped his face into her throat with an inarticulate sound and started to move, easy thrusts at first, and then harder. Surer. He pulled almost all the way out, and then plunged back in, filling her all over again.

The cot creaked and scraped across the floor. She clawed at his back, his shoulders, his ass, holding him to her.

He pressed words into her skin, told her how good she felt, how wonderful she was. Shifted his weight to one hand so he could pull her leg higher against his waist; so he could touch her, stroke her belly, reach down to where they were joined and tease her until she was frenzied again, gasping and coming again, stars bursting behind her eyelids.

His thrusts grew irregular, his breathing hitched. He pulled out of her and took his wet cock in hand, groaning, expression rapturous, and came, hot jets across her stomach.

He was like a drugged animal afterward, and she wasn’t any better. He managed to wipe her belly clean with a corner of the blanket and tip onto his side, pull her to him with clumsy, sex-heavy arms.

“God,” he said against her mouth.

“Yeah.” She listened to his heartbeat slow, content to think about nothing but the amazing way he’d made her feel.

~*~

The oil lamp had burned down when he woke, a rosy glow in the corner, the rest of the room in shadow. He thought, briefly, that he ought to slink back to the bunkroom, but dashed it almost at once. Fuck it. He was warm, and the covers smelled like sex, and Katya was making the sweetest little whimpering sounds in her sleep, her lips moving against his shoulder. It would have taken an air raid to get him out of this bed, he decided, and relaxed back against the pillows.

He’d moved enough to wake her, though. Or maybe it was just the novelty of realizing, like he had, that she was naked and pressed against someone, a stolen moment of luxury she didn’t want to waste.

She stirred, yawning against his collarbone, hand drifting lazily across his stomach. “Are you leaving?” she asked, sleep-heavy, possibly disappointed.

He patted her hip. “No. Just need a smoke.”

It was a sad feeling to climb out of bed and leave her behind, even just to cross the room and fetch his crumpled pack of cigarettes and a book of matches from his coat pocket. But worthwhile when he turned back around and saw her waiting for him.

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