He pushed his face against me again and wrapped both arms around my waist, his strong forearms flexing as he held me. And it was only him that kept me up. I would have melted were it not for Sergei’s arms around me, holding me up. Then he took me apart with each kiss, each lick, each harsh breath against me.
Sergei broke away again, pulling me down and then laying me back against the soft grass. I breathed out hard and looked up at the sky, but I didn’t really see anything. I could only feel, my heart pounding so hard I could hardly take a breath. And then I saw his face as he laid his body against me.
He kissed me, allowing me to taste myself on his lips. I kissed him back, near feverish with need now, trying to communicate that to him while I could barely form a coherent thought. He kissed me again and then trailed his lips against my neck, down farther. He closed his lips around my nipple, which was pebbled and stood at attention, needy as was the rest of me for his attention.
He sucked hard, taking my nipple into his mouth and then closing his teeth around the tip, biting down. Even through my dress and bra, the sensation was strong, almost overwhelming, and I thought I would explode from the pleasure he was giving me.
I gripped his shoulders, then let my hands roam over his back as he worked my dress up higher as he moved down my body. He stopped and discarded his clothes, then stared down at me.
I lay, breath heaving, my legs splayed open, not caring that my body was completely exposed.
“I want to hear you, Daniela, but don’t come,” he said.
I couldn’t make any promises, couldn’t say any words, but he kneeled down again, kissed my inner thigh. “Say it,” he said. “Tell me you won’t come.”
Then he waited, kissing my thigh, nudging against my sex, but not giving me the contact I wanted.
I was so close to climax, felt it shimmering on the edge of consciousness, just out of reach. And I wouldn’t get there unless he said so.
“Okay,” I said, my voice strained tight, a breath of a whisper more than anything else.
“Okay what?” he replied, his breath again tantalizing as it blew against me.
“I won’t come until you say so,” I finally said.
Before I’d even gotten the sentence out, he again pressed his face into me, licking me with the same eagerness and thoroughness he seemed to have with everything else.
“Oh God,” I cried, closing my hands around him, arching into him. “I can’t…”
He didn’t relent, teasing the hard bud of my clit, sending me to the edge, so close to sending me over. I was so close, so close that I didn’t think I would be able to hold out.
Then he was gone, and my face was pressed against the soft grass. Sergei entered me in one thrust, and I was so wet, I took him easily.
“Now. Come for me, Daniela,” he said as he rocked himself into me hard, his hands tight on my hips.
I did, the tension in me snapping. I cried out, my fingers buried in the grass and Sergei slammed into me over and over again, our bodies thudding together with a low smack. My eyes were shut tight, but I heard each of my hitched breaths, his low grunts, felt each hard stroke of his cock inside me, the way he got even harder.
Sergei stilled and with a final grunt, he came, spilling his cum inside me. He slumped over me, his hard chest against my back, his weight pushing me into the soft grass.
Nothing had ever felt more perfect.
Fifteen
Sergei
The next days passed in a pleasant blur. I kept an eye on the business, but I spent every moment I could with Daniela, touching her, making love to her.
Learning about her.
I’d left the club early today and come back as fast as I could to find Daniela in the living room. Pushing down the desire to go to her immediately, I instead stood, watching her as she polished a heavy silver picture frame until it shone.
Cutoffs that I would never allow her to wear outside the confines of this house barely covered her ass, and she wore a white tank top that hugged her waist. An enticing, distracting outfit, but I was momentarily taken by watching her movements.
They were practiced, precise, and I could see that she had done this often.
She’d heard me come in, but hadn’t turned. Instead she seemed completely enraptured in polishing the silver frames, and though I could only see the corner of her face, I suspected her expression was one that I seldom saw outside of the bedroom, one that was not at all guarded.
“Your mother?” I asked, stepping into the living room.
She paused for a moment and then began to polish more.
“Yes. Nora,” she said.
She dropped her hand, stood the frame on the dark wood table, and then, looking satisfied with the placement, she moved to the next picture.