Sevastyan’s behavior proved that I had the shittiest taste in men. If I started to develop feelings toward a guy, then he should be on an FBI watch list, and I should run the other way. This was as undeniable as science.
All for the best.
Once I’d finished eating, I lay back and closed my eyes. As I delved into my memories from the night before, more details surfaced of conversations we’d had. On the topic of sex secrets, I’d told him I’d never deep-throated before or had anal, though both were fantasies of mine.
He’d revealed that he’d been older when he lost his virginity—like older than I was now. He’d told me he’d never had sex without a condom but often wondered what it’d be like. He’d also admitted to fantasies of having his cum swallowed, which made me shiver (then and now). No wonder my masturbation fantasy at the beginning of the night had turned him on so much.
He’d said something else about oral sex that had blown my mind. What was—
Sevastyan had never gone down on a woman!
“Why would I have?” he’d asked. “I never gave a damn about another’s pleasure. But I’m ready to make up for lost time. In fact, I have a matter I want to discuss with you. Come with me to the living room. . . .”
So that was how he’d teed up our discussion. Nice segue, Ruso.
My eyes went wide. Over the night, he’d gone down on me, three earth-shattering times! I lay back on the sofa, reliving the first time.
He’d nuzzled my thighs, spreading them, pressing openmouthed kisses higher and higher. Right before he licked me, his eyes had been keen with curiosity. With his first taste, his lids had slid shut. I’d whimpered as he’d muttered to himself, “Never get enough of this.” Then he’d set in, tonguing me greedily. Grinding his cock against the cushion, he’d groaned, vibrating my sensitive clit. I’d come, wantonly bucking to his mouth. Once it was over, I’d tried to push him away, but he’d captured my wrists. With a low growl, he’d licked my orgasm clean.
My cheeks reddened when I recalled my frenzied reaction. I’d shoved at his chest until he’d laid back, then I’d devoured his cock. I’d sucked on his balls, licking everywhere, moaning around his shaft while he’d grunted, “Fuck, FUCK!” over and over. He’d told me, “Take my cum into you! Drink it, dushen’ka.” Our gazes had been locked as I’d consumed spurt after spurt. Once he’d finished ejaculating, I’d pumped him for more. “No más?” I’d pouted while he gaped. Máximo shockeado.
“Better than fantasy,” he’d grated between breaths. “And I’ll only need a couple of minutes to give you more. You make me insatiable.”
I remembered smoothing leisurely kisses over his dick until he’d swiftly grown rock hard again. Then he’d pushed me back on the lounge chair, looming over me. He’d laid his cock between my legs, rubbing that unyielding flesh over my clit.
I’d been on the verge of factory shutdown, caring about nothing, thinking about nothing, but coming.
As my head thrashed, he’d told me, “I want to fuck you like this. Everything’s on my table.”
Back arching, I’d begged for his cock, crying out for him to shove it in.
Oh, he had. Without a condom.
I recalled the wonder in his tone: “Your pussy”—thrust—“gets so”—thrust—“hot!” As I’d moaned, he groaned, “It’s like fucking a little forge.”
So that was how it’d happened. Yes, I should have told him earlier that I wasn’t on the pill. But it wasn’t as if I had lots of experience with this. In fact, I’d only had that conversation once before, when I was seventeen.
Sevastyan had sat me down to discuss things between us going forward, but I’d been stupid and drunk—not only on champagne, but on sex. I’d been too preoccupied with the possibility of sucking him to pay attention.
Winds blew over the deck, ruffling my hair and grazing my pebbled nipples through my T-shirt. As if I’d been trained over the night, I immediately thought of Sevastyan’s mouth sucking them. How could I still desire the man who was holding me prisoner? I must be close to ovulating, which meant I was basically in heat.
I would take another shower—and manually take the edge off. When I returned inside, each step made my breasts move against the T-shirt, the material skimming over the hard peaks.
He remained on the couch. Leaning over the coffee table, he rifled through papers. When I entered, he stilled, saying nothing.
Just looking at his gorgeous face made my breath hitch. I traipsed past him, in a daze. Whatever he saw in my expression made his body tense, his nostrils flare.
I gazed away, couldn’t meet his eyes.
A dark laugh. “Now who’s been replaying what we did? It’s gotten you as wet as I was hard. But I warn you now, little girl, do not pleasure yourself—even to thoughts of me—or there will be consequences.”
To thoughts of him? The nerve!
“You’ll follow two rules when you’re with me. You do not lie, and you do not touch yourself. Unless I’ve commanded you to for my entertainment.”
I whirled around. “Such ego! How do you know I wasn’t imagining another man? My partner? Also, be aware that anyone who’s ever tried to ‘command’ me has failed miserably.” I left him, heading for my room.
In the shower, I kept seeing him in my fantasies. He was right—if I got off, it would be to thoughts of him. I refused! Ignoring all the aching parts of my body, I washed and dried off.