Chapter 38

MIshka

What on God's green earth was he doing to me now???

I wasn't sure whether to pray to God or to the motherland. Either way, I needed to pray to someone or something.

I froze, halfway between panic and pleasure.

I was unsure what to think or feel, as Anton Aslanov, one of the most feared men on earth, nuzzled the sensitive place between my thighs. He pushed my legs apart firmly, wedging his shoulders between them, clearly trying to get closer to his prize.

I gasped at the feeling of total exposure. I was wide open to his mouth, hands, and his eyes. Dear God, his eyes. He could see every inch of me, I realized with a mixture of ecstasy and embarrassment. It wasn't even dark outside. It was broad daylight, morning in California, and the curtains were not even drawn.

Before I could even think too much about my nudity, or the sensation of being devoured, he did something even more unexpected. Anton slid his big warm palm underneath my bottom and lifted me slightly, literally serving me up on a platter to his hungry, searching mouth. His tongue traced every contour, every fold, seeking entrance to my body, before settling over my sensitive nub, where it circled lazily. His lips closed on my pouty lips, kissing me the same way he kissed my mouth.

Deeply, hungrily, and very, very thoroughly.

I had never imagined anything so shockingly intimate. So personal. So exquisitely sensitive or stimulating.

And that was before he gently pushed a finger inside me.

He let out a low curse.

"What is it? Is something wrong?" I asked, struggling to raise up on my elbows. He gently pushed me back down again. But I saw the worry in his eyes. I let him guide me back to the bed, but insisted "tell me."

"Mishka… nothing is wrong. You are perfect."

"Then what—"

"I swear to you that nothing is wrong. You are just very small… very tight. I do not want to hurt you."

"Oh," I breathed. "I do not want you to hurt me either."

He laughed, his shoulders shaking as he rested his head on my thigh. He laughed for a good long while. So long, that I was starting to become offended.

"My love…" he said sweetly, when he finally lifted his head to see me glaring at his handsome face, still nestled between my open thighs. "You are the most perfect woman ever born. I promise, I will not hurt you. But it will take some time to prepare you."

"Prepare me?"

"Yes. Like this," he said, holding my eyes as he leaned down to slowly lick my sex from bottom to top. "And this," he said, pushing his finger inside me once again.

"Ohhhh… I…" I gasped, trying to form words. Finally, I was able to string together a sentence. "What about you?"

"What about me?" He asked, his eyes centered on my center. He started driving his finger in and out of my body, very slowly. It felt strange and wonderful, all at once. Kind of like the man himself.

"Do you need me to prepare you?"

He stopped moving, staring at me. I blinked at the stupefied look in his eyes.

"Anton?"

"No," he said at last, his voice sounded strangled. "No, Mishka, I do not need you to prepare me."

"Why not?"

"I have been prepared for this since the moment I laid eyes on you," he said flatly. His eyes were boring holes into mine.

"You were?"

"Yes," he said. "And if you attempted to prepare me anymore, I think I might not survive it."

I blinked. Then I smiled.

"I will need to think more on this, Anton," I said.

He stared at me for another long moment. His gaze narrowed suspiciously. He muttered ‘woman' several times, before pushing me down and lifting my hips again. This time he settled a pillow beneath me and got to work.

He kept his word and took his time, working one finger inside me while he nuzzled my clit, then adding another finger, and another. I felt a tidal wave of sensation build inside me, then crash as I shuddered uncontrollably on the bed. But he was not finished. He brought me to completion at least twice more, though at that point, my orgasms had blended into a rolling sea of pleasure.

Only then did he slide off the bed. I watched as he removed his trousers, then the boxer briefs beneath them.

"Are you ready for me, little Mishka?"

He looked solemn. Eager. Devoted. The look on his face was fierce and protective, all at once. Like I was the answer to an unspoken question, a question he had been asking himself for a very, very long time.

I let my eyes wander over him. He was nude, his body beautiful, tanner than I might have expected, perhaps because he swam nearly every day in a heated saltwater pool at the estate. His broad shoulders and muscular chest angled pleasingly to a narrow waist and hips. His legs were like tree trunks. Strong, sturdy, and gorgeous. His skin was perfect, sprinkled here and there with warm brown hair.

But it was his manhood that caught, and held my attention, once I dared to look at it. It was nearly straight, curving ever-so-slightly upwards towards his belly. Like the rest of him, it was beautiful. Like the rest of him, it was overwhelmingly male. Like the rest of him, it was… quite large.

A low rumble made my eyes dart up to this face.

"Don't be afraid of me, Mishka."

"I'm not," I said, holding his gaze proudly. "I am ready, Anton."

"I love hearing you say my name," he said, climbing onto the bed, onto me, with a smooth feline grace. His mouth took mine, before I felt his chest and body against me. He shifted his hips and suddenly there it was, pressing against me, seeking entrance. He reached down, still kissing me, and notched the tip just inside me.

Just that. Even that gentle entry felt so intense, there were no words for it. Then he moved, and there was nothing gentle about it.

He stopped kissing me and lifted his head. He watched me carefully as he pushed forward, his shaft stretching me, filling me. The feeling of fullness was overwhelming. This was nothing compared to him pulling my thighs apart.

I wasn't merely exposed.

I was invaded.

But I wanted it. Craved it. Wanted the pressure. Wanted the silken heat of him. The weight of his body on mine. His breath against my neck. He leaned down and breathed into my ear, kissing my neck, before asking me again if I was ready.

I nodded shakily. There was no turning back. There had not been for days. Weeks. Maybe since that first moment when I fell at his feet in my father's candy shop.

Maybe since the day I was born.

"Hold tight to me, Mishka."

I reached up and gripped his shoulders. A moment later searing pain tore through me, as Anton tore through my maiden's shield. I cried out in pain, squeezing my eyes shut. I wanted to push him away, but I did not. He was far too heavy and besides, he was kissing me over and over, wiping away my tears, holding me tenderly while the pain passed.

And it did. Far more quickly than I could have imagined.

The pain faded and was quickly replaced with something new. The urge to move. I shifted slightly, then let out a soft moan of pleasure.

"Careful…"

"Hmmm?"

I rocked my hips again and the sound of delight was harder to disguise. Anton cursed above me.

"Mishka… I will not be able to slow myself if you continue doing that…" he warned, an ominous look on his handsome face. He was worried about me, I realized. He was trying to be gentle with my body.

"Oh…" I sighed, unable to stop the restless motion of my hips. "I don't think I can…"

"I don't want to hurt you," he ground out.

"It… oh… it doesn't hurt anymore," I said, looking up sweetly at his dear, worried face.

"Are you sure, Mishka? I won't be able to stop."

"I'm sure," I cooed, sliding my arms around his neck.

He moaned helplessly, closing his eyes, and finally did as I asked.

He moved.

I whimpered with the pleasure of it.

He withdrew slowly, then drove forward again. With each thrust, our chests came back together. The feeling of his body on mine, and in mine, was delicious, naughty, and profound.

It was a whole new world. One I was very, very happy to be in. In fact, I never wanted to leave.

He picked up the pace, driving home again and again. I felt the friction against my sensitive spot and arched my back, just as another wave of pleasure overtook me, lifting me to the pinnacle of pleasure and then crashing me down again.

I was shaking as he froze above me, calling my name. Then he started to buck wildly, with none of his former composure. I felt him expand inside me, then he started to pulse and I was filled with a wetness that spilled out and over my body, onto the bed beneath me.

Anton lay on top of me, breathing heavily, his body still inside mine. I felt my body clench down on his in a series of aftershocks. He was watching me carefully, his eyes searching mine.

"Are you alright?" He asked, tenderly smoothing away a piece of my hair away from my face.

"Yes," I said softly, nodding. I felt so shy but also so well loved. I felt so safe, secure, and somehow, fulfilled, by what had happened between us.

He kissed me again, then slid an arm under me, shifting us so that we were on our sides, still facing each other. We shared a laugh as he hoisted us further to the left, and out of the damp spot on the bed.

It was more than damp, truth be told. It was soaking. I was slightly embarrassed about that, but so relaxed and sated that I didn't think about it too deeply.

"I love you, Mishka," I heard him murmur as I started to drift off to sleep. "You're my sweet girl."

A loud rumbling woke me a little while later. The light had shifted so I knew that time had passed. It was still the middle of the day, from what I could tell. The sound filled the room, buzzing like angry hornets. The bed didn't quite shake, but I could feel the vibration in my chest.

"Anton? What is that?"