‘You’ll get used to it soon.’
‘I don’t want to get used to it,’ Alina whimpered, for could the feel of Demyan inside ever lose its wonder? How could the rhythm she was trying to match ever become a familiar race?
‘You will,’ Demyan said, moving in but not fully, telling himself this was no different, that he was taking his time not so he could relish the warm vice that gripped him, or the soft, yielding body beneath him—he was just trying to ensure her pleasure.
Except her pleasure was already here.
Alina first thought she had a cramp at the very tops of her thighs. As they tightened, she attempted to move, to escape, to relax, to stretch...she did not know. She felt her ankles crossing behind his, felt her hips stretch to the sky and then the ache of deep orgasm but with Demyan’s mouth at her throat.
Then, as her body should be sated, as her pulse should steady from its peak, it shot up again as she heard a sound as if from behind her, yet her back was pressed to the ground. It was Demyan’s passion that chased her as she felt him unleash above her, the rapid thrusts that pelted her virgin flesh were deliciously overwhelming. The mouth by her ear was delivering encumbered, illegible words that swirled her into his vortex and then released her to free-fall as his hot release procured in Alina a dense, almost reluctant orgasm. Or perhaps it was just a forbidden one, because it ended with his name, yet somehow she held onto three words that were clearly best left unsaid.
Three words that didn’t make sense, Alina thought as she folded up the blanket and did her best not to meet his eyes.
How could you love someone who this time last week you didn’t even know?
How could you love someone who was so clearly bad?
Demyan too was just a touch awkward driving home, he was used to a rather more seamless post-coital experience.
Namely a shower and occasionally a morning coffee.
Not picking up picnic baskets and shaking blankets and pulling grass out of hair.
Or attempting conversation on the way home afterwards.
He knew they had gone too far, or rather that he had and somehow he now had to pull back. Just as he had shrugged his aunt’s arm from his shoulders on the day of his mother’s burial, he tried to shrug Alina off now. As much as he might want to give in, Demyan would not.
As a familiar skyline came into sight Demyan scanned it, as he always did, for his home.
‘Won’t you miss this view?’ Alina asked.
‘No.’ Demyan shook his head. ‘A view is a view.’
‘Will you come back at all? I mean...’ Alina wasn’t asking about them, she simply couldn’t imagine just walking away. She still drove past what had once been her mother’s farm at times; she still missed it every day. ‘Won’t you miss it?’
‘I have never been back to Russia,’ Demyan said, ‘and I do not miss it at all.’
They pulled up at her apartment and he deliberately ignored the slight sag to her shoulders when he didn’t try to kiss her.
‘Demyan...’ She turned to him instead of getting out of the car.
‘No,’ Demyan interrupted, and reminded her it had been but a sex lesson and he continued it, even the difficult part afterwards. ‘You just ignore that he’s barely talking and you get out of the car with a wave...’