Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 85224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Like if he cares.
Like if there will ever be more.
Instead, I ask him other things. Questions that give me small pieces of him. The only thing I can ever really have. Stolen moments. Pieces of his life and his heart. That’s all he has to offer. And I don’t have anything to offer him. Except for my broken thoughts and demented soul, stitched together by my frequent bouts of insanity.
“Magda thinks that we are alike,” I tell him on a whim.
He is quiet, contemplative. His eyes moving over my face again. His hands holding me close.
“Do you agree?”
“Yes,” he answers.
He doesn’t elaborate, and I can tell he doesn’t want to. So I ask him something else.
“Can you teach me something in sign language?”
He blinks at me, and this makes him smile. “I do not know sign language,” he tells me. “So no, probably not.”
“Oh. Well shouldn’t you though?”
He just shrugs. “I never learned. I was young when I lost my hearing. The circumstances did not allow for learning. So I learned the only way I could.”
“To read people.”
He nods, and I touch his face.
“I wish I could read you sometimes.”
“All you ever have to do is ask me,” he says.
I want to. We both know that I want to. But I don’t. Because I am scared. And I think, Alexei is too.
“I kind of like it,” I tell him instead. “That we touch each other to communicate. You touch me a lot.”
“I like it too,” he admits.
But he doesn’t have to tell me. I feel how much he likes it beneath my ass on his lap. The biggest turn on between us is him knowing that I accept him and me knowing the same.
“It’s strange,” I tell him honestly.
“What is?” he asks.
“That you can’t hear,” I answer. “And yet, you are the only person who has ever really listened to me.”
“I will always see you, Solnyshko,” he tells me. “Always.”
“You make me feel,” I whisper.
The words are both an accusation and a confession.
But Alexei does not retreat or shy away. If anything, he indulges in me further and I know the time for cuddling and intimacy is now over. He lifts up my dress and discards it, leaving me in only a bra and panties. But like they often do now, his hands move to my belly first.
“How is my baby?” he asks.
“Big,” I tell him. “Like his father already.”
Alexei smiles at me. And it’s beautiful, that smile of his.
“I think it’s a boy too,” he answers. “I would like that.”
And then he kisses me. It’s soft and sweet for about two minutes before he gets to the good stuff. The really good stuff. His hands all over me. Sliding in and cupping my breasts beneath the lace of my bra. And in my panties. His fingers inside of me.
The entire time, his mouth is on mine. We kiss a lot. And I like it. I might even love it. Sometimes, it’s a slow burn. And sometimes, like right now, I’m consumed by the madness of it altogether. I feel it happening. The falling. Falling for him.
I know what he says. That he doesn’t care. But this isn’t just fucking anymore. This is him, whispering something in my ear and me providing anything he asks. We both get off on it. Any man can fuck me. But Alexei fucks my mind. My heart. My soul.
He lights me up and burns me down.
Every single time.
I want to tell him so, right now. I want to be honest. But inside, I know I need to push those thoughts away.
“Be dirty with me,” I tell him.
“Get down on your knees,” is his reply.
I do. He grabs a handful of my hair and rubs my face against the heat beneath his trousers. My fingers dig into his thighs and my breath quickens as he unbuckles himself.
“Be a good girl,” he says as he grips his cock in his palm. “And beg for it.”
This is new. And I like it. I like it even more when I look up and see him anxious for me to say the words. To tell him how much I want him. And in his eyes, I can see how much he wants to believe it. I will make him believe. Because it’s true.
“Lyoshka,” I tell him as I reach out and take his cock in my hand. “You are my husband. You belong to me. And nobody else. You can’t ever do this with anyone else.”
“I am a Vor,” he answers. “I will do what I like.”
I glare at him, and his eyes fire with satisfaction.
“Now quit pouting and suck my cock.”
I do. I push him all the way into the back of my throat and he groans. Hard. He loves it, but he can’t bring himself to admit how much.