There’s a tiny lull. The rustling of fabric—Artem pushing his shorts down, maybe? But when I try to look back, I feel instead his fingers seize the roots of my hair and press my face down roughly against the smooth top of the tree stump.
I moan. “I want to see you,” I whimper in a frail, desperate voice.
He doesn’t bother replying. Just spanks me again, harder than the first time.
I scream and try to wriggle away, but there’s nowhere to go. He has me pinned here, blinded, ass in the air. Vulnerable as it gets.
His c**k teases against my opening. Just the very tip—pushing and retreating, pushing and retreating.
“Artem!” I plead. He’s killing me slowly like this. I need more of him. All of him.
Or I might just f*****g explode.
“Say my name again, baby,” he orders through gritted teeth
