Page 49 of Deadly Knight
I stand, knowing damn well I need to get the fuck out of here, but I’m stopped by a single word. With it, every part of me comes to a halt.
“Dimitri.”
“Let’s play, boys.”
The bald one undoes his pants, and that’s when I stop looking up.
The mattress dips as the man kneels between my legs.
Hot hands brand my inner thigh.
Then there’s something else touching between my thighs.
Thrust.
Bald One.
Skinny One.
Bodybuilder One.
Greasy One.
They all break me.
The vision shifts, so perhaps I’m not as broken as assumed. Away from the horrors, another memory, a more pleasant one, fills my mind.
Dimitri is slow entering me, and the pain is fleeting. His hand tightens around mine, his simple hold saying what he hasn’t.
“You’re okay,moya dusha. You’re doing so well.” Kisses pepper along my jawline. “You’re so fucking perfect, Katya. How am I this lucky?”
Once he’s fully seated, he lets me adjust to the feel of him inside me for the first time. First time ever for me, and I was so nervous leading up to this after friends said how unprepared they were.
But Dimitri’s not like their boyfriends. He prepared me with his tongue by bringing me through two orgasms, ensuring I was slick enough for him to slip inside easier. The inevitable pain, the stretch, the breaking of my hymen was quick before it passed, and now, satisfaction ripples through my body.
My eyes open, unclenching—I hadn’t realized they shut—and focus on him.
“Does it hurt?”
“Not anymore.” I shift my hips, feeling his cock hit another part of me, one that causes stars to take over the edges of my vision.Oh.Friends claimed it was boring and unexciting, but I’m getting the sense it won’t be like that with him. “Sensitive.”
Dimitri tightens his hold on my hand. “Squeeze back if it becomes too much. Don’t let me hurt you, Katya.”
I rock my hips, testing both our restraints, feeling more and more confident when his low, responding groan echoes through my ear. “I trust you, Dimitri.” Skating my lips along his jaw, I reach his ear and whisper, “I’m yours.”
And then he makes me his in the only way he hasn’t yet before.
When I come, it’s with his name on my tongue.
“Dimitri.”
I shoot up in bed, my shirt clinging to my chest with sweat, and my nails jab into my skin. At the initial sting of pain, my mind is able to recall the words I created with the therapist I hadduring university to help get me away from the old self-harming tendencies—that was my focus during sessions with her.
Safe. Not real. Safe. Not real.
The nails in my arm—real.
The bed beneath me—real.
