HIS RUSSIAN CLAIM | 18+

03 | ANYA INAVOVA

I THINK I’M ACTUALLY ABOUT TO PASS OUT.

When I asked the Russian hotshot whose arms I’m in to f**k me, I didn’t think it was going to take this much time. I mean, not that I don’t like whatever he is doing to me — strangely, I more than like it. I thought we were going to get into business immediately, and I’d leave after.

But clearly, he has other plans. And I’m down for whatever he has in store for me.

The squelching sound of my wetness is the only sound that can be heard in the room, mixed with the low, throaty moans that escape me the more my one-night stand applies pleasure on that spot. He keeps on doing that circle-y thing, running his finger over my slits and spreading my juices everywhere, and the feeling doesn’t get boring. Instead, it makes my spine straighten, builds something droopy in the pool of my stomach, makes my heart race, and keeps me on the edge of an invisible cliff without pushing me over.

It’s… too much.

“Can you hear that sound, Zmeyka?” He asks against my chest as he peppers kisses all over my skin, dragging his teeth and nipping at anywhere he can. The squelching sound turns louder the more wetness gushes from my s*x at his torturous actions. “it’s your p***y weeping for me. She likes what I’m doing to her, playing and preparing her for the night ahead.”

I bite back a moan when he flicks my c**t and glare down at his head. “Preparing me or dragging s**t out because you don’t know how exactly to handle me?”

I have no idea why I’ve asked this. I think it’s because I love to taunt him. To piss him off and see how far I’ll go before he manhandles me more.

“Hmmmm.” The sound vibrates against my skin, sending a flush to my face until he stops his movements all of a sudden. “Is that what you think?”

I try not to let his lack of movement affect me. So I say, “It’s not what I think, coward. It’s what I kn — oh fuck.” My words end on a loud gasp when he shoves two fingers straight inside me without warning.

He stills and raises his head, peering down at me with a smirk on his lips that I now suddenly feel like kissing again. Inside my p***y feels full and stretched and painful, and I groan, bucking my hips. I grind myself into his hand and part my lips for air, sweat covering my skin and when he still doesn’t move, I tighten my grip on his air.

Why isn’t he doing something?

Just when I think he’s finally going to give me what I want, he says. “I want to see your face.”

I halt and snap my lips shut, and when they part again, I don’t bother closing them. Then, I blink rapidly before shaking my head and look away. “No.”

“Why?” he asks, voice demanding.

“Because I don’t want to,” I have a feeling this man wouldn’t let me go scot-free after all the words I’ve thrown at him, but that only adds to my courage. So, I look back into his eyes and bring my free middle finger to my lips, suck on it all the while maintaining eye contact, then slide them between my legs just where his fingers are. “Now, take your hands out of me and watch me give myself what I want.”

if I’ve unintentionally done all that to rile him up, it somehow does the work.

Because before I can register anything, he pulls out his fingers from me, leaving me empty, and takes his hand off my throat. His eyes have now darkened, and mixed with lust and desire, is a rage so huge, I know he’s going to ruin me with. He tugs off his tie and flings it somewhere across the room, practically unbuttons his shirt like an animal, sending the buttons flying away, and before I have the time to admire the work of art that’s his body, some parts even covered in tattoos, he shoves me onto the bed.

He must’ve seen the look of panic written all over my face as I rest on my elbows because he shakes his head and tsks, then says, “you don’t know what you’ve brought upon yourself with that f*****g attitude, Zmeyka.”

He takes off his belt in an instant, tosses it off, and unzips his pants, eyes still trained on mine, but doesn’t remove the pants. Like a magnet, my gaze slides downward, and I watch just in time as he pulls off his briefs and takes out the most biggest d**k I’ve seen in my life.

Well, technically, it’s the first because I’ve never seen one, you know?

My eyes are still locked on it that I don’t even realize when he climbs the bed until flips me onto my stomach roughly. I should be pissed at that, but instead, I only find it thrilling, my p***y clenching around air.

I look at his d**k over my shoulder, and I swallow thickly, watching the veins that run over the girth. That thing is going to be like, seven to eight inches, and I wonder how it’s going to fit into me.

But I’m willing to try.

Russian hotshot’s hand lands on my head and he pushes my face onto the mattress, baring his teeth into a snarl. “Ass in the air, Zmeyka. Don’t look at me.”

Slowly, but somehow, with anticipation coursing through me, I do as he says, and he lets out a low growl, probably at the sight of my ass. When he doesn’t do anything for what feels like hours, but is just seconds, I peep a little over my shoulder, and my mouth dries at the sight of him.

He is now closer, kneeling just in front of me with his gaze trained on the spot between my legs. He reaches out and shifts my thong to the side to reveal my p***y, and he runs his fingers over my wet folds, earning a whimper from me.

Fuck.

I watch, bewildered, as he pumps his length in his hand, running his palms over the top to the base, then back, and when he squeezes the tip, pre-c*m slides out of it and falls directly on my leaking p***y before mixing with my juices that are trailing down my thighs and making a mess on the sheets.

Why is that so hot?

The sight must be hotter and dirtier because the feral, animalistic look that takes over Russian hotshot’s face is enough to tip me over the edge, but before that happens, a resounding slap on my skin echoes in the room, the sting on my ass making more arousal gush out of me.

Fuck, he spanked me — and I love it. I love his dominance.

“I told you not to look at me,” he growls, the veins of his neck nearly protruding, and before I can register the feeling of his pants hanging loosely around his thigh on my skin, or the light brush of the tip of his length against me, he thrusts his angry c**k inside me in one go.

A pained cry leaves my lips, one so loud I’m certain I’ll leave this place with a hoarse voice.

Oh god, I’m in for a very long night with this man.