Chapter 14

Kim

T he moment we enter the apartment, I regret asking to come. Compared to Yaroslav’s mansion, this may as well be a crack den. The whole place seems smaller and more shabby than I remember. The living room is stifling hot, stuffy, and dark, I fling open the curtains and crack a window, trying to air it out. But that has the downside of allowing the cacophony of noises in from outside. Car horns blaring, a baby nearby wailing, and the sounds of a heated argument from the couple next door over the television, turned up too loud to try to drown them out but simply exacerbating the situation.

Yaroslav looks so out of place in my world, his impressive frame seeming to take up too much space in the small room. He stands there, surveying the room, his expression neutral. He’s too polite to show his disdain of course, but I can only imagine what he must think.

“You must think this is like some sort of dump,” I say, trying and failing to sound jovial.

A small furrow appears between his eyes. “Not at all. Trust me, I’ve seen worse.”

I appreciate him trying to make me feel better, though I doubt someone like Yaroslav has been in poorer areas than this. “It’s not much, but it’s home,” I reply with a shrug before adding, “Can I get you anything? A drink maybe?” As I say this, I frantically think if we even have anything I could offer him. Water and tea are the only likely candidates.

Mercifully, he declines. “No, thank you.”

“Okay, wait right there and I’ll just go grab some stuff,” I instruct.

He inclines his head in silent agreement, and I dash off to my room. I don’t need much since he’s already provided me with a whole wardrobe and cosmetics. I grab my sketchbook, watercolors, pencils, and some other art supplies. I also get the brand of curl cream I like for my hair and some tampons and sanitary towels, something Yaroslav had unsurprisingly overlooked. My periods aren’t that regular since I started getting the birth control shot, but since I could end up staying longer than anticipated, it doesn’t hurt to be prepared. The last thing I want is to have to have an awkward conversation asking him to buy me some. I cram everything into a duffle bag and turn to leave.

“Jesus! Yaroslav, you made me jump!” I exclaim in surprise as I turn to see him standing in the doorway, casually leaning against the doorframe. “I thought I told you to stay put!”

He shrugs, “Sorry, curiosity got the better of me. I wanted to see your room.”

I cringe, thinking about the state of my room. It’s in a mess, a whirlwind of discarded clothing on the floors and chairs, half-finished pieces of artwork, and interior design sketches fill every square of wall space. The room is only big enough to fit my single bed, a small desk, and my pottery wheel, which dominates most of the room. The walls and floor around it are covered in the clay-splattered tarp I put up to protect them from the worst of the mess.

Yaroslav spots it and cocks an eyebrow. “You sculpt?”

“Yes, when I have the time. Or I like to sketch.”

He strolls inside, admiring the artwork on the walls. “You’re good. Why don’t you pursue it as a career?” he asks.

I hold back from rolling my eyes. Of course, the billionaire would assume I can just become an artist and forget the responsibilities I have. “Because I have bills to pay. I wanted to go to art and design school in New York and maybe become an interior designer, but then Gran got sick so…”

He nods thoughtfully before walking toward the pottery wheel. “Will you teach me?”

“You want to learn how to use a pottery wheel?” I ask incredulously.

“Why not?” he asks.

“Well, for starters, it will ruin your clothes,” I point out.

He grins mischievously before unbuttoning his shirt and removing it, placing it on the bed before doing the same with the rest of his clothing until he’s down to just his boxers. “Problem solved,” he says with a gleam in his eye.

You think I’d be used to seeing him undressed by now, but still, my heart hammers in my chest at the sight of him and my pussy twitches. I feel flustered and aroused at the same time.

I shake my head, unable to stop myself from smiling at him. “Fine, I’ll show you.”

“What about your clothes?” he says, faux innocently.

He knows exactly what he’s doing. But I dutifully remove my dress, stripping down to the matching yellow lace bra and panties I have on. He eyes me unabashedly, the bulge in his boxers growing slightly.

“Sit down at the wheel then,” I instruct.

He does as asked, and I get the clay together before moving behind him. There’s not a lot of space and so I have no choice but to be pressed up against his back. I can feel the solid warmth of him and my body immediately responds. Pushing my feelings aside, I place the clay on the wheel for him.

“Okay, so, gently using your foot, you want to tap the pedal and get the wheel to turn and then pat the clay with dry hands to center it,” I instruct.

He does as I say. “Good, now you want to wet your hands and start to shape the clay.”

Again, he does as instructed, silent in concentration. “So, you want to anchor your elbows against your body,” I tell him, moving them to the correct position. In order to do so, I have to press myself even closer up against him. I silently guide his strong hands with mine, showing him how to mold the clay.

“We’re basically reenacting that scene in the movie Ghost ,” I giggle as the thought occurs to me.

“So, that would make you Patrick Swayze and me Demi Moore?” he says wryly.

I laugh, finding that I am enjoying the moment. “I guess so,” I tease. “Okay, so now you want to go a little bit faster. Just press your foot down a little harder.”

He overeggs it, slamming his foot down too hard so the wheel goes too fast, and his clay goes flying, spattering us both and the room. “Whoops, that’s okay, it’s easily done,” I say, moving out from behind him to the side to go get more clay. “You can try again.”

He catches me by the wrist, stopping me, and I turn to face him. Somehow covered in clay he looks even sexier. “That’s alright. Why worry about creating art when I have the most beautiful work of art right in front of me,” he says, his eyes languidly exploring my body.

With the way he’s looking at me, I almost believe him. He pulls me closer to him, both hands cupping my ass cheeks as he pulls me onto his lap to straddle him. He kisses me briefly before continuing a trail of kisses down my neck. With one hand, he undoes my bra, springing my breasts free and teasing them with his clay-covered hands. Something about the situation is so incredibly sexy that I feel the overwhelming urge for him to be inside me right now. No foreplay necessary I just want him. I pull his erect cock free from his boxers before tugging my panties to the side and guiding him inside me.

I let out a gasp as he fills me, so big it dances along the line of pleasure and pain. His eyes widen in surprise, and he lets out a groan, he obviously wasn’t expecting that so soon. He stays still, allowing me to be in charge and I slowly grind on him, my pussy accommodating him and getting wetter as I ride him. He watches me intently, his eyes dark with desire making me feel confident. Emboldened, I reach to the side, grabbing some of the wet clay and smearing it across his chest, feeling the muscles beneath my hands. He cocks an eyebrow and smiles at me.

“Oh, we like playing dirty, do we?” he says, gripping my ass and moving me up and down on his cock. The change in pace feels incredible and I let out a moan.

“Mmm, yes,” I moan, biting my lip.

“Better make you dirtier than, hadn’t we?” he teases, grabbing some clay of his own and massaging it into my breasts.

The cold of the clay under his strong, expert hands feels amazing on my skin and my nipples harden with arousal. “Fuck, Yaroslav,” I murmur, tilting my head back and closing my eyes in pleasure.

“Look at me,” he commands, gently cupping my chin and turning my head to face him.

I do as I’m told, meeting his intense gaze as I continue to slide up and down the length of him, taking him in and grinding my clit against him as he fills me. The eye contact makes the already incredible sensations feel even more intense and I feel ready to explode just from the way he’s looking at me.

“You’re so fucking sexy, koketka,” he growls.

Just like that, I lose control, the orgasm hits me like a shockwave and my toes curl as the waves of pleasure continue to flow throughout my body. “Fuck yes!” I moan.

“Naughty girl, did I say you could cum?” he chides.

He grips my ass again and I expect him to move me up and down again, making me fuck him hard and fast. But he does the opposite, forcing me to remain still on him. It feels amazing and I’m hungry for more, desperate to fuck him harder. I writhe on his cock, trying to move but he holds me firmly in place.

“Fuck me, please,” I beg.

“You want me to fuck you?” he asks, in complete control.

“Yes,” I pant.

He lifts me off him and I feel momentarily worried he’s going to stop altogether, leaving me aching. But he turns me around, ripping the panties off me with one quick tug–I’m going to need more underwear if he keeps ripping them off me like this. He then sits me back down on his lap, guiding his cock into me from behind. I start to grind on him, enjoying the new sensation but unsure quite how to do it.

I’ve heard of reverse cowgirl but haven’t ever tried it before. With few guys I’ve slept with the sex wasn’t adventurous. I lost my virginity to my high school boyfriend, and we only ever had missionary sex, and I never once came with him. After that, I had a couple of drunken one-night stands which were unsatisfying and left me feeling ashamed and disappointed. Since then, I’ve been too busy working and taking care of my gran to think about dating. Safe to say, having sex with Yaroslav has opened up a whole new world of possibility.

After a moment, Yaroslav changes position again. This time getting me to kneel on the chair and lean over the back of it so he can stand and fuck me from behind. Now with complete control, he slowly builds the pace, thrusting in and out of my soaking wet pussy getting faster and harder. The sex is far dirtier, both literally and figuratively speaking, than I’ve ever experienced, and I find myself loving it and wanting more.

“Oh my god, fuck yes!” I scream, unable to hold back as he slams inside me my ass slapping noisily against him.

“You like it rough do you, koketka?” he purrs.

“Mmm, yes,” I admit, surprised to find how much I’m enjoying it.

He lightly places a hand on my neck, pulling me closer to him so I’m almost standing upright. From this angle, he feels huge, and I think I could cum again. The sharp sting of a spank on my ass takes me by surprise but the pain is quickly outweighed by pleasure as he thrusts into me. He alternates, spanking and fucking me until I’m so wet that my juices are running down my thighs. I cum, over and over, screaming out, not caring who hears me I’m so lost in the moment. He fucks me until I feel like my legs might buckle out from under me, I’m so overwhelmed with pleasure.

“Cum for me, Yaroslav,” I pant, wanting him to experience the same pleasure he makes me feel.

It’s all the encouragement he needs, he finally lets himself go, thrusting harder and faster as he brings himself to climax. I cry out in pleasure reaching yet another climax myself as I feel him pumping inside me, cumming.

“Fuck, Kimberly, what are you doing to me?” he groans.

I could say the same for him. What is it about Yaroslav that has me willfully submitting to his control?