"I need to fuck you. Fuck you so hard," he practically fumed as he ground his hips viciously against her as she lay prone beneath him.
"Like you hate me … "
"God, yes," he groaned, his eyes closing as sweat beaded on his forehead, "fuck you like I hate you."
"Well, I need to come," she taunted him breathlessly as she covered his hand with hers and worked his fingers even deeper inside her.
The look on his face was vicious as his free hand twisted in her hair so forcefully that it brought tears to her eyes, even as he curled his fingers inside her to stroke her G-spot. "Do you know when you get to come, Ptichka? When I am done using you … .that's when."
Okay … I get it, you're not in the mood to play.
Sliding his knees apart, he let his powerful thighs spread her legs even wider as he rose up and positioned the swollen head of his cock at her entrance. Sitting back on his heels, he gripped her ass tightly and raised her hips off the mattress, pulling her onto his massive, engorged cock. She knew she'd carry his bruises tomorrow, but she didn't mind; bearing physical reminders of their time together made her feel close to him no matter where he was.
Glazov thrust into his wife brutally, knowing that, no matter how submissive her demeanor, she had given him tacit permission to have his way; to channel into her body his fury at the personal nature of the attack against him and his family. To fuck her like she was the enemy he sought to annihilate. Her willingness to fearlessly let him avail himself of her body stood testament to the fact that she was no enemy; she was his whole world.
When he felt telltale, silken flutters rippling along his length, he knew she was close. He kept up the punishing pace as he stroked her clit, bringing her swiftly to climax, her walls bearing down hard on his cock and bringing him to his own completion. He roared his pleasure as shudders wracked his body. His hips held in place mid-thrust, then bucked wildly until he collapsed on top of her, his warmth flooding the deepest recesses of her body.
Eventually, he rolled onto his back, pulling the covers over them as he tucked her into his side, his free arm resting back on his pillow. His eyelids were heavy, so he closed them and focused on how Kathleen's hair trailed over his skin, how she pressed silken kisses along his chest, how her soft hands stroked and soothed his weary muscles. With each breath and every touch of his wife's hands, he felt himself ease off to sleep. The beast was calm. For now.
Hours later, Glazov lay in the dark with his wife, skin to skin, her breasts pressed against his chest, her leg draped over his thighs. He pulled her closer, folding her into his body, knowing that she, too, was awake. His fingers trailed over Kathleen's lower back as he uttered his most grievous worry, speaking dully, almost as if he were in a trance.
"You could have been killed, or one of our children-our firstborn grandchild, even."
"So, you know," she said softly, smiling against his skin.
"Yes, my love. I know … The burden of knowing is one I'm cursed to bear, always. I wonder sometimes … had I not been born into this lifestyle, where would I be?"
"I don't want to think about it. To consider anything other than what I know would be to imagine my life without you and our children. I simply couldn't bear it."
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and pulled her a little closer. "I've spent my life answering the blood-born call of Bratva. I want something better for our children, our grandchildren. The old ways don't fit into today's world."
"And … you are making changes, Glazov. You can't take hundreds of years of legacy and change it overnight. It takes time."
"And once again-"
"I know," she said, lowering her voice dramatically. "'Time is a commodity you don't have.'"
"You know me well," he purred as his finger trailed along the silhouette of her still-firm body. She yawned. He smiled in the darkness.
"I love you, Glazov."
"And I love you, Ptichka. Now," he said slyly as he rolled on top of her, "back to the matter of you not telling me about my firstborn grandson … "
"You sound like Natasha."
A hearty laugh escaped from somewhere deep in his chest. "So, she, too, believes the Bratva gods have blessed me with a grandson."
"The both of you are incorrigible."