Page 52 of Forced to Marry the Russian Pakhan
The way her thighs tighten around my head, the way her hips jerk like she can’t decide whether to run from the pleasure or chase it harder. She’s so wet around my fingers I can barely move without being drenched in her, but I don’t stop. I drive them deeper instead, curling them with each thrust to hit that perfect spot again, and again, and again.
My tongue doesn’t leave her clit—not once.
I flatten it and drag it slow and firm over the swollen bundle of nerves, lapping in lazy, wide strokes that make her whimper. Then I alternate—fast flicks, then slow drags—until she’s writhing under me, her moans turning breathless and high-pitched, like she’s coming apart one nerve ending at a time.
Every reaction feeds me.
Every gasp.
Every whispered curse.
Every helpless grind of her hips into my mouth like her body can’t help itself.
She tastes like heaven and sin. And I eat like a starving man.
My fingers keep fucking into her—slick, deep, curling up and pressing that sweet spot that makes her cry out. My tongue moves faster now, circling her clit, then sucking it into my mouthand flicking my tongue against it in tight, focused strokes. Over and over.
She’s panting my name now.
Breathless. Broken.
“Trifon—oh my god—please—”
Her body bows hard, her back lifting off the couch, her thighs trembling as her hands clutch at my hair. Her pussy clenches around my fingers so tight I nearly groan.
And then it happens.
She shatters.
I feel it—every muscle tensing, every breath stalling before the crash.
Her orgasm rolls through her like a wave, pulsing around my fingers, pouring out onto my tongue. Her cry is sharp and wrecked, like she doesn’t know whether to sob or scream. I don’t stop. I keep licking through it, easing her down slow, giving her everything she’s never had.
When she finally goes limp beneath me, I lift my head just enough to look up at her.
She’s glowing.
Flushed, wrecked, eyes dazed and glassy. Her chest heaves, her lips parted, her fingers still tangled in my hair like she forgot how to let go.
I lick her slowly one last time—just to taste her again.
When I finally pull back, she’s sprawled across the couch, breathless, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her eyes are dazed, unfocused.
“That was...” she starts, then trails off, like she can’t find the words.
“Just the beginning,” I promise, moving up to kiss her. I let her taste herself on my tongue—a reminder of what just happened, what could happen again.
My cock is rock hard, straining against my pants. I want nothing more than to bury myself inside her, feel her heat around me. But not yet. Not tonight.
This was for her.
“What about you?” she asks, glancing down at the obvious bulge in my pants.
I shake my head. “Another time.”
She frowns slightly. “But—”
“Tonight was about proving a point,” I tell her firmly.
