Page 66 of Forced to Marry the Russian Pakhan
Because maybe for this moment? I do.
“I’ve been thinking about this,” he confesses, pulling back. His voice is rough as he now traces the edge of my panties. “About you. Like this.”
“Show me,” I challenge, surprising myself with my boldness.
His smile is wicked. He then begins to trail his mouth along my jaw, down my neck. His mouth finds my breast again, tongue circling my nipple until it pebbles hard against his lips.
I moan, arching into him, my hands clutching at his shoulders. He lavishes attention on one breast, then the other, until I’m squirming beneath him, desperate for more.
“Trifon,” I gasp, “please.”
He kisses lower, across my stomach, his stubble scraping deliciously against the landing between my legs. His hands hook into my panties, dragging them slowly down my legs. And then I’m naked, spread out for him on the examination table like some kind of offering.
He drops to his knees.
“I’ve been dreaming about tasting you again,” he murmurs, pressing kisses to my inner thighs. “Waking up hard, wanting you.”
My breath catches as his mouth moves higher, closer to where I’m already embarrassingly wet for him. When his tongue finally makes contact with my clit, I cry out, hips bucking involuntarily.
He grips my thighs, holding me open for him as he licks into me like he’s painting a masterpiece. It’s like he’s memorized every spot that makes me gasp, every rhythm that makes me moan. His tongue circles my clit, then flattens against it, the pressure perfect.
My hands find his hair, fingers tangling in the thick strands as I hold him against me. The sight of his dark head between my thighs, his broad shoulders, his hands gripping me—it’s almost too much.
“Oh God,” I moan as he slides a finger inside me, curling it just right. “Don’t stop.”
He adds a second finger, stretching me deliciously as his tongue continues its relentless assault on my clit. My thighs begin to tremble. Heat builds low in my belly, tightening, coiling.
I’m close—so close—but I want more.
“Trifon,” I pant, tugging at his hair. “I need you. Please. Fuck me.”
He looks up, his mouth glistening with my arousal, eyes dark with desire. “You sure?”
“Yes,” I nod frantically. “Now.”
He rises, hooking an arm around my waist to pull me to the edge of the table. I wrap my legs around him as he pushes his boxers down, freeing his cock. It’s thick and hard, the head already glistening with pre-cum.
My mouth goes dry at the sight of him. He’s larger than I expected—than I’ve experienced before—and for a second, I wonder if he’ll fit.
He must see the hesitation in my eyes because he pauses, one hand cupping my face. “We can stop.”
“No,” I shake my head. “I wantyou.”
What I don’t say is that if he made me cum with his mouth the way he did that night, I can’t wait for the main show.
He kisses me again, softer this time. I taste myself on his lips as his hand slides between us, positioning himself at myentrance. He rubs the head of his cock through my folds, coating himself in my wetness.
And then he pushes in—just the tip at first, giving me time to adjust to his size.
“Fuck,” he grits out, his jaw tight with restraint. “You’re so tight.”
I cling to his shoulders, breathing through the initial stretch. It burns slightly, but not painfully. More like my body is waking up to a new kind of pleasure, recalibrating to accommodate him.
“More,” I whisper, pulling him closer with my legs.
He pushes deeper, inch by exquisite inch, until he’s fully seated inside me. We both groan at the sensation. He feels incredible—filling me completely, stretching me in all the right ways.
“You okay?” he asks, holding still, giving me time.
