Page 50 of Pretty Little Toy

“You’re pissed off and taking out your anger on me, and I don’t like it,” I hiss. My voice trembles, and I realize I’m close to tears, which only makes me angrier.

“I didn’t–”

“Do not deny it!” My pulse throbs in my veins as my temper spikes, and Ilya’s mouth snaps shut. “You wanted to hurt me because you didn’t like what I said about your relationship with Bianka, even though I was just trying to help. And what, you think that taking me to the ballet can make up for that? But then this is the same thing! You punished me for something I didn’t mean to do then, and in this case, I didn’t even do anything. You’re treating me like I was flirting with Trent right in front of you, which is just stupid because I’m not attracted to Trent at all. I’m stuck with him, Ilya. And I was just trying to show you how unappealing he really is to me. But you’re acting like I was slobbering over him!” I’m on the verge of hyperventilating as I suck in deep breaths in an attempt to calm down.

And to my utter astonishment, Ilya’s face softens. The tension eases from his shoulders as the fight leaves him, and as his mask falls away, I find it impossible to hold on to my anger.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

For several long moments, I don’t know what to say. My fists, which had been balled at my sides, relax as my pulse returns to a steadier pace. And when Ilya steps cautiously toward me, I don’t back away. I can feel the heat radiating from his still-bare chest as he closes the space between us, and his dark eyes implore me as he slowly lifts his large hand. His knuckles graze lightly along my cheek, and my lashes flutter as my eyelids sink closed.

The gentle brush of his fingertips combing into my hair send a tingle down my spine, and I force myself to meet his gaze, though my body just wants to submit to his caress.

“Forgive me?” he murmurs.

My breath catches in my lungs, and I nod mutely, enraptured by his overwhelming presence. He leans in for a rare kiss, and his lips brush across mine lightly. This, more than anything, I associate with his sincerity. As a practice, he seems to separate the intimacy of a kiss from our sex, which makes the moment our lips meet that much more electric. My heart palpitates, and then I’m wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling him closer so I can deepen the kiss. I can’t get enough of the tart flavor of his lips, their warmth as they explore mine, parting them to stroke his tongue into my mouth.

Ilya’s arms wrap around my waist, and as he lifts me off my feet, I twine my legs around his hips. He carries me carefully as he takes me to the couch this time and slowly sinks onto it so I’m sitting on top of him.

I never break contact with his adamant lips, and my fingers comb into his dark curls as I roll my hips against him, feeling his stiff erection press against my clit through our jeans. Ilya releases a guttural moan that makes my core tighten deliciously. His hands travel slowly up my back, his fingers spread wide to feel every inch of me, blazing a trail up my flesh and leaving goosebumps in their wake. The intensity of our closeness is overwhelming, the raw nature of our kiss so real and sincere that it terrifies me. But I can’t stop myself. I want him so desperately it hurts.

“I need you inside me,” I murmur against his lips.

In one fluid move, Ilya strips my sweater back over my head and tosses it aside. Then his arms wrap around me, crushing my bare nipples to his hard chest as he moves me, lying me flat on the couch. His lips kiss a trail between my breasts and down to my belly button as his fingers deftly undo my jeans and strip the tight fabric from me for a second time. His jeans quickly follow, landing in a heap on the floor.

I part my legs hungrily for him, and as his hips align with mine, I hook my ankles behind his back so I can help guide him inside me. His thick length stretches me as he enters me slowly, gently, making me feel every glorious inch of him.

“Oh, god, yes!” I gasp, my hands roving up the planes of his chest as I relish the feel of his weight pinning me down, his cock swelling within my depths.

Ilya’s hand travels up the side of my body, his fingers exploring my flesh as he slowly raises my hand above my head and pins it there. Then he does the same with my other hand. It’s a new form of restraining me, almost like our bondage play, and yet, as our fingers interlace, it somehow feels so much more intimate. I can feel the tension in his body as his clasp tightens, locking our palms together. And Ilya’s lips find the tender spot at the base of my neck as he sucks the flesh between his teeth. It’s going to leave a mark, but I don’t care. He’s driving me wild, and yet he’s hardly even moving.

His hips rock slowly as he withdraws barely more than an inch before he presses deep inside me once more, and the contact between our hips is so intense, I feel electric jolts of pleasure each time he shifts. If this is make-up sex, which it feels dangerously close to actually being, I’m ready to fight with Ilya every day of my life. It feels so fucking good I’m ready to explode even though we’ve barely begun.

“Fuuuuck,” I groan as my clit throbs and my pussy tightens around his hard cock. “Let me come. Please,” I beg, my body vibrating with need.

“Come with me,moya feya,” he rasps.

I don’t know if it’s the pet name or the sound of his voice, the tantalizing pace he’s maintaining, or the fact that he’s on the verge of coming as well. It could be a combination of them all. But as I come apart around him, I feel as though I just might leave my body. I release an unbridled cry of ecstasy as I topple over the edge into oblivion. Every inch of me tingles with euphoric relief as I come hard, pulsing around Ilya’s cock even as I feel him burst inside me, his hot seed filling me in a deeply satisfying way.

We shudder together, both gasping for air as our chests press together, trapping the smoldering heat between us. Ilya stills as his orgasm ebs his cock buried deep inside me so he can feel avery last aftershock that makes me twitch around him. And when I’m finally done, the contentment that replaces my relief is like a warm blanket, wrapping me up and making me drowsy with satisfaction.

This was something entirely different from any of the sex Ilya and I have had until now. It was personal, emotional, and so much more intense than any of the other multitudes of orgasms I’ve had in the past. I find that I’m glad for insisting Ilya meet Trent. It was the right choice. Because it brought to the light a concern of Ilya’s I hadn’t even known existed before now. But more than that, it also feels like the start of something deeper. Today proved that we can have a disagreement and still respect each other enough to work through it. I feel closer to him after, and somehow, that doesn’t scare me.

21

WHITNEY

Two months are gone in the blink of an eye, and I find my life has found a strangely perfect kind of equilibrium I never would have anticipated. My time with Ilya has reached a new level of satisfying that makes me almost giddy when I’m around him. We’re still maintaining our original arrangement, and while our insanely satisfying sex still consists of more bondage and role play scenes since the day I introduced Ilya to my partner, there’s something different about it. We somehow feel more in tune with each other, connected even in the various roles and characters we perform.

Ilya even came to see me at the autumn showcase, which I didn’t expect after he so clearly demonstrated his distaste for Trent. But his presence made the performance that much more special when Trent and I nailed it from start to finish. After that, I grudgingly had to acknowledge that despite our differences and the fact that I never seem to develop an inch more patience for my partner, we actually make a very solid team as performers.

Things have been going well with Trent lately–after I took over choreographing our winter showcase piece because, surprise, surprise, my partner proved himself to be completely uncreative and inept when it comes to original thought. But if I’m perfectly honest with myself, I’m much happier with our piece knowing that I’ve put every ounce of my creative know-how into making it something that will awe the scouts.

The one thing in my life that hasn’t been doing well lately, however, is my friend Anya. The sweet transfer student I took under my wing at the beginning of the year. As I’ve watched her already-slim figure seem to dwindle since the autumn showcase, I’ve started to get genuinely concerned for her well-being. I know Anya’s been struggling with having caught Nicolo Marchetti’s attention at the start of the year. I saw the early signs one night when he happened to show up at Danza at the same time as we were standing at the front of the line. He wasn’t particularly nice about it, but I could see the interest in his eyes when he looked at Anya. He wants her.

But I really didn’t like what he did to Fin, Anya’s partner. I haven’t probed too far into the details because I can see the guilt on Anya’s face every time Fin’s name comes up. It doesn’t help that Logan keeps making underhanded comments to indicate it’s Anya’s fault that Nicolo broke Fin’s arm. It makes me think of how angry Ilya got when he met Trent. I shudder to think of what he might have done if I had been attracted to my dance partner. Still, Anya and Nicolo weren’t seeing each other at that point, and Anya’s never said a word about being attracted to Fin. So I just don’t know.

And then it seemed like Anya figured it out. She even came to some agreement with Nicolo that I imagine must be similar to mine and Ilya’s–not that she’s told me as much, but I’m not blind, or stupid. It’s not uncommon for the wealthy men of families who invest in Rosehill to seek a beautiful, young woman to “compensate them” for their generosity, and I know Anya’s here on the scholarship that’s funded by Nicolo’s father. From the new wardrobe to her suddenly full schedule that somehow winds up with Anya on Nicolo’s arm every time I turn around, I’m confident they’re not just dating, like she claimed. It’s too sudden, and I know Anya. She wouldn’t willingly date someone who hurt Fin. Nicolo must have made her an offer she couldn’t refuse–so to speak.

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