Vlad
Ty che, blyat.
I drop the bottle of superglue on the counter, transfixed by what I see on the bed.
My beautiful hostage is where I left her. m**********g.
My d**k lurches, l**t rockets through me. I force myself to move slowly, to draw in a breath through my nostrils—exhale slowly through my mouth—as I walk up behind her.
“What did I tell you about moving?” My voice doesn’t sound like my own. It’s deep and rough. I slip my arm around her waist to pick up her hips and tug her arms back out, straightening them over her head.
I palm her p***y and lean over to speak in her ear. “Did I make you ache between your legs, Alessia?”
Her p***y’s dripping wet, the folds swollen and welcoming. Without intention, one of my fingers sinks into her wet heat.
She moans, undulating her hips to t
