Playthings
*****
Chapter 3
Weightless, thoughtless, worriless.
That's how Kirill felt as he came back into his body. Next he was aware of air cooling him where he'd drifted off with the pleasant warmth of the two women against him. Then something black crawled up from his belly into his mind.
Gretkov.
The Goa job gone to shit.
Bourne.
His eyes flickered open upon the dingy ceiling.
Fucking Bourne.
Kirill sighed, and willed the black beast back into its cave. Rage, fear, shame, none of that was useful. Besides, there was nothing he could do right now. The information he needed wasn't the kind he could just walk in and ask for during the day.
Gretkov knew Bourne wasn't dead. Which meant whoever Gretkov was in bed with in the CIA knew Bourne wasn't dead, and had been in contact. Which meant in turn Bourne wasn't lying as low as he could choose to, he had made himself known to his old employers somehow - chased up an old colleague perhaps, or popped a passport somewhere so they would think they were on his trail, but in fact he'd be on theirs, trying to find out who'd organised the hit.
Kirill didn't know whether Bourne would be able to get his answers, and what he might want to do with them if he did. Come looking for his would-be killer, or disappear even more thoroughly than before? Previous behaviour suggested the latter but from what Kirill knew of his profile and what he'd seen of the man in Goa, the former wasn't out of the question.
Not that it made any difference. He had to finish the job he'd been paid for, and redeem himself in Gretkov's eyes. Fucking disdainful Gretkov, who was both testing him and showing his displeasure in choosing not to share with Kirill whatever he'd been told.
Well, Kirill would show him he wasn't the only one with people in his pocket. When he left here he would head down to the bureau and lean on his pet tech-head, the one he kept supplied with a steady stream of cocaine and whores his superiors would be none too pleased to know about, and get him on all the international networks to see if Bourne had turned up anywhere by air or sea or rail. Check the intelligence chatter as well. Gretkov's bent pal obviously knew something, with a bit of luck it might be found in the general flow too. And he'd put Bourne's description out with his police informers, which might turn something up if the American came anywhere near Moscow. Should the CIA get to the point of going public to the Russian authorities about him, he'd know within the hour.
One thing was for sure, once he got a fix on Bourne he was going make sure the bastard stayed dead this time. And Gretkov could shove his disdain up his Armani-suited arse.
Kirill realised there were soft noises going on beside him. He rolled over onto his elbow to see Tamara stretched out, writhing gently, arms behind her head and the Canadian woman deep in her muff. Fuck, that little foreign slut was insatiable.
He watched the woman's pert little body straining with every fibre in her efforts please Tamara. Which was exactly the way it should be, Kirill thought. Because Tamara was his beautiful angel, and everyone, every man or woman who fucked her, should worship her.
He knew he hadn't worshipped her when she'd followed him in here today, he'd abused her. Made her pay for his anger over something she had nothing to do with, and not for the first time. Because being a screwed-up jerk ran in his family, apparently.
He would never be a drunk like his father, because he both liked control and needed it in his line of work. Drugs were for losers, only useful to him as a tool to manipulate others. And despite that bite-mark on Tamara's shoulder he wasn't one for hurting women, even when some junkie whore tried to rip him off or steal his wallet. The worst he'd do is cart them outside, lock the door, and laugh while they stood there naked and screaming for him to give their clothes back.
But still, that anger, that darkness.
He knew how much Tamara wanted him. She accepted part-time status in his life, and she shrugged off his bad behaviour as though it was simply part of the deal. But she wasn't weak like his mother, who long after Kirill had cleared out in despair and disgust kept quietly sponging away blood and vomit, and who even when the old bastard lay dying in a hospital bed with no liver to speak of had held his hand and told him she loved him.
Kirill knew he needed to take more care, or one day he'd wake up and find an empty hole in his life where Tamara used to be, and he couldn't be sure even a hundred of the other pretty sluts who pleased and pleasured him would be able to fill it.
Still, there was peace between them now, enjoying their little plaything.
Kirill watched the two women on the bed before him, his gaze casual but his breathing betraying the first signs of arousal. The Canadian's moves and moans were becoming ever more enthusiastic, and Tamara was building inexorably towards her orgasm, sweat on her brow and between her breasts. Kirill's cock hardened rapidly at the sights and sounds, starting to quiver with its familiar demand for pussy.
Tamara stiffened and cried out harshly, back arching, knees lifting, thighs straining, hands clenched in the grey, stained pillows.
"Oh Janna, Janna, oh Janna, oh..."
Janna? Oh fuck, yes, that was her name.
Tamara slumped back on the sheets.
"Thank you, darling," she breathed, reaching down and stroking the woman's sweaty hair back out of her face. She noticed Kirill watching them and gave him a sly smile. "You were right, Kirill - she *is* good with her mouth."
Kirill looked at the woman. "Aren't we lucky to have met you, Janna."
Her mouth quirked in amusement as she rose up from Tamara's thighs. "You'd forgotten my name."
Kirill reached out and lazily stroked her breast. "I'll make it up to you. Janna."
She closed her eyes. "God, it's never sounded so good. Say it again."
He got up on his knees and moved his hand to her other breast. "Funny girl. So which do you like me saying better? 'Janna'? Or 'blowjob'?"
"I - "
"Wait. Touch yourself and tell me."
The woman glided a hand between her legs, and they both hissed softly as fingers brushed her clit and slid inside. "I like you saying them both. I like the way you say everything. But I like it even better in Russian."
Kirill squeezed her nipples. "Is that right? It's just a language, just words."
"But you saying them."
Kirill shot a look at Tamara. "She's good for my ego."
Tamara rolled her eyes. "I hadn't noticed it needed help."
"Oh, don't be like that, baby. Come here and kiss me."
Tamara shrugged, and curled herself up onto her knees like the others so she could reach him. "Sure, I'll kiss your ego."
Kirill's hands still on her breasts, Janna watched the beautiful pair in front of her, the play of their mouths upon each other and the soft sounds of their kisses exciting her further as she stroked herself, still amazed that her casual acquaintance with Tamara could have led to this. Then Kirill lifted his lush lips from Tamara's and came for hers. Fuck, she didn't mind that at all, she could kiss him all day if he let her.
Or if he hadn't just slid his hand from her breasts down her belly, gently pulled her own hand away from her pussy, and placed it on his stiff prick.
Janna broke the kiss to look down at it, hot and pulsing in her palm. She squeezed the taut flesh.
"Can I have that?" she whispered. "Is that for me?"
"Sure, baby. You've been working hard. It's your turn again, don't you think?"
She leant in and kissed him again in answer, savouring those lips of his. And, watching them both at close quarters, Tamara couldn't blame her.
Kirill pulled Janna in tighter against him and, as she clung to him, slowly pushed her back down upon the bed. Their bodies writhed and humped together and Tamara thought he might be about to take her there and then, but Kirill broke away and heaved himself back onto his haunches, looking down at Janna's flushed face and wanton pose.
"Tell me what you're going to do to me," Janna whispered. "In Russian."
Kirill put his hands up above his head and went into a stretch, chest and belly rippling as he flexed his muscled arms out and down.
Show pony, thought Tamara, fond despite herself.
He cocked one hand on his hip and casually gathered up his turgid cock with the other.
"I'm going to fuck you, little Canadian slut. And I'm going to fuck you very hard, because I think that's how you like it. Or at least how you'd like it from me. It that right?"
Janna looked at Tamara, who obligingly translated, then back to Kirill, her breath fluttering.
"Yes, that's right Kirill. I want you to fuck me hard."
Kirill ran a hand slowly up her calf, her thigh, then spoke in English. "And how do you want it, little one?"
The Canadian licked her lips and swallowed, got up on her knees and swivelled around until she faced away from Kirill and Tamara. She slowly bent forward and took her weight on her hands, and looked back over her shoulder.
"Like this."
Kirill reached out and stroked her behind approvingly. "Sure, baby, alright."
"Just... please..."
"Don't worry, I'll talk to you." He slipped back into Russian. "I'll talk to you while I fuck your pretty pussy into next week, does that sound good? Tell her, Tamara."
When Tamara finished translating, Janna whispered. "Yes, Kirill, that sounds very, very good."
Kirill shot Tamara a look, reached one hand around to spread it over the woman's soft belly, and stroked her exposed arse with the other before slipping down to probe gently between her labia.
"You're very wet, little one." English again, time enough for Russian when he was deep in her cunt. "Do you want me to come straight in?"
"Oh god, yes."
Kirill gripped her flesh, hefted his rigid cock against her moist lips and then, with a harsh flex of his hips, sheathed himself inside her in one swift ruthless motion. She gasped, and he held himself still within her tight heat while she adjusted to his girth.
"You like me inside you, Janna?" Russian again, Tamara translating. Hell, he hadn't realised how much that would arouse him as well. Her soft throaty voice whispering his words to this crazy sexed-up foreign girl on his cock. Beautiful.
"Yes I like it," murmured Janna, still wriggling to accommodate him. "But fuck, Kirill... you're big..."
Kirill was used to having to exercise a little consideration at this point occasionally.
"That's OK, baby..." he said calmly. Whoops, English. Ha ha, try again. Russian. "Any pussy can take any cock if it's what the woman wants. Do you want to take my cock?"
Waiting for Tamara, like an echo on an international call. "Yes," breathed Janna. "Oh fuck, I want to take your cock."
"Good. Very good," Kirill grinned. "And you will. Of course, the man must be patient. I'm very patient, little one."
When it suits you, thought Tamara as she translated.
"And lastly, most importantly, the woman must be properly aroused." Kirill dropped into English when Tamara finished passing on his words. "We can both help with that, can't we Tamara?"
Janna cried out softly as she felt Kirill's long fingers slip over her hips and start to tease her clit at the same time as Tamara's sure hands began to massage her breasts and squeeze her nipples. Then the Russian woman's mouth was nuzzling her shoulder, her neck, teeth gently nipping at her earlobe.
"Janna, lovely Janna, this is what you've been longing for since the moment you saw him," she encouraged huskily. "Aching for. Kirill's beautiful cock inside you. So hard, so hot, ready to please you. Yes, he's big but you can take him. You want to take him. You're taking him now, aren't you, darling? You're already so willing, and soon you're going to be wide-open for him, wide-open for his cock, for all the pleasure from that beautiful, hard cock. I know what you want, darling, I've felt it inside me so many times, filling me like he's going to fill you..."
Janna gave a breathy moan and Kirill grunted as his last fraction was accepted into her tight channel and he felt new wetness slicking his shaft.
"That's it," he growled in Russian. "You're there, little one. Now, show me you want me to fuck you."
Tamara translated.
"Yes, Kirill," Janna moaned softly. Her thighs and pussy squeezed and she moved slowly down and back on his length, still careful of the width of him.
"Good, baby, good. A little harder now. No one's going to break. Squeeze me."
There was a delightful anticipation in waiting for his orders to reach her via Tamara. Ah, there it was, the little bitch pushing back more confidently on his cock, the already tight fit of her walls contracting around him. The grunt of his approval and pleasure needed no translation.
"You now," pleaded the Canadian.
Kirill gave a few experimental thrusts and she thrust back with equal energy.
"More. I'm ready. Fuck me."
English. "Again."
"Fuck me, Kirill. Fuck me hard."
Ah, it was nice to be begged. He stretched his wide chest across her delicate back and started to forge a rhythm for her to match. He wasn't going to fuck her hard just yet. Her body wasn't as ready as her mind. But soon. And in the meantime, he had his orders...
Talk to her. In Russian.
For a moment, Kirill considered throwing something ridiculous into the mix, like commenting on birds migrating for the winter or mentioning he'd just bought a new stereo for his apartment or somesuch, just to see how Tamara would manage to handle it, but decided it wasn't really fair on her, or the little begging-for-Russian slut sliding on his cock. And hell, he didn't want to risk breaking that nice ride now it was finally underway. She was juiced up and moaning and giving as every bit as good as she got and when he came he was going to come like a fucking waterfall inside her tight little snatch.
"Hey, little one," he rasped, stroking her flanks, "I'm a little sorry for you. You can't know what it's like, can you, to have something so sexy and tight and hot and wet wrapped around you?"
Tamara's soft, whispering, translated echo, Janna's answering moans. He dropped his voice deeper still, fucking her with his Russian like she wanted.
"I mean, you can have your tongue or your fingers in Tamara's beautiful mouth, or in her sweet cunt or even in her tight little arse, feel everything hot and wet and sucking and squeezing, and so can I. But you just can't know how good it feels to have a cock balls-deep inside either one of you. In any of you sexy, gorgeous sluts. Men are the luckiest bastards on the planet, Janna."
Oh, the look on Tamara's face before she delivered that one. He only wished he had two cocks so he could fuck her too.
"You think you're a bastard?" Janna ground out.
"Oh, I'm a bastard, baby." English, with a grin on his face.
"Then fuck me, you bastard."
And it was on. Janna gripped the rungs of the bed-head and pushed back hard on Kirill's invading shaft. She'd hit the point where she could take everything he had to give and he let her have it. He pulled her in tight against his thrusting hips, one arm wrapping over her chest, the other hand still cupping her mound and feeling his pussy-slick cock bucking madly back and forth between the swollen labia that guarded her hot clenching channel. And fucked her and fucked her. Deep. Hard. Filthy. Fucked this pretty, slutty little stranger while she fucked him right back and his lover watched them both.
"Is this what you want, Janna?" English, panting.
"Russian!"
"Fuck!" Russian. "Is this what you want, Janna? You stupid..." Punctuating each word with thrusts. "...beautiful... nutty... little... bitch."
Tamara pinched Kirill hard as she stifled a laugh. "You know what he said, darling. 'Is this what you want?'"
"All of it, Tamara," Janna gasped out from beneath Kirill's assault and her own counter-attack.
Tamara shrugged and repeated all of Kirill's words and Janna laughed between breaths, between jolts of pleasure.
"Yes it's... oh, fuck... what I... want. And if I'm...a nut at least I'm... beautiful."
"You're divine, Janna," Tamara murmured. "A goddess being taken by her lover."
"Your lover."
"Everyone's lover, darling. Enjoy him."
"Janna!" growled Kirill.
"What?"
Fuck Russian. English. "Elbows."
Janna slid obediently downwards and the slight change in angle let him hit the spot in her that was going to take them both over the edge. Her arse was snug against Kirill's pelvis, legs spread to kingdom come, pussy lips kissing his tight sac each time he sank home and filled her utterly with thick, hot, straining cock. English and Russian tumbled over one another in swearing trails between Janna's squeals and Kirill's grunts and then there was no more cursing, no more language at all, just breath, flesh, friction, rampaging need, that moment of perfect balance between desperation and ecstasy... and then Janna's orgasm rippling and spasming along Kirill's rigid shaft until his own climax gripped him and he shot his creamy load deep and triumphant into her ravished cunt, hilting home his final furious thrusts through slick, hot semen, next moment collapsing onto the bed beside her as conquered and overborne as she.
Stunned into immobility for quite some time, Janna finally wriggled around to cling to Kirill's chest, biting it gently while he stared unseeing up at the scarred ceiling and might have done so for the next fifteen minutes had not a slight whimpering brought him back from post-come vacancy. The spent pair looked over at Tamara, who made a somewhat unexpected sight. Her knees were wide apart, fingers on one hand disappearing into her pussy, the middle finger on the other massaging her clit. She was pink and breathless and the expression on her beautiful face was a portrait of thwarted fulfillment.
"Fuck you two, I was so close... I have to... fuck..."
Kirill grinned. "Come here, angel."
He pulled her down between himself and Janna, immediately diving two fingers deep inside her wetness and treating her mouth to lavish kisses. Tamara moaned at the renewed prospect of satisfaction, and Janna obligingly joined the fray, dropping her head to suckle on Tamara's full breasts and wriggling a hand beneath Kirill's so she could tease Tamara's aching bud.
"Ah, yes... my saviours... bless you... oh fuck, that's good... yes... yes..." Tamara pumped wantonly against Kirill's fingers. "Oh yes, Janna... there... right there... don't stop... ah, that's it... ah, thank god..."
Tamara gave it up for them in exquisite relief and fell back against the small, firm pillow of Janna's chest. She reached out a hand and stroked one of Kirill's hard little nipples.
"You two were driving me so crazy, I couldn't bear it."
"Poor baby," murmured Kirill. "But you're good now?"
"Yes, Kirill, I'm good."
He looked at Janna. "And you, little one, did you like your Russian fuck?"
His smouldering eyes made her cunt throb all over again. "Yes, Kirill, I did, very much."
"Good. I liked my Canadian fuck. And I liked your hot little mouth on my cock. You certainly know how to give a blowjob." He said the last word deliberately, for her benefit, a smile playing about his full lips. "Janna."
"Stop it."
"Stop what?" He was grinning now.
"Stop it, or I'll want you to fuck me again."
"Sorry, little one. All I've got left today is going to Tamara."
"Oh, really?" put in his lover dryly. Kirill looked down at her, gently brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek.
"Yes, baby, all for you."
Tamara shrugged and broke from his touch, looking up at Janna. "Janna?"
"Yes, Tamara."
"Thank you for playing with us, darling."
"It was entirely my pleasure." She dipped her head and kissed Tamara softly.
"And Janna..." Tamara had been enjoying her budding friendship with the Canadian before today. "You won't wake up and regret this tomorrow?"
Janna smiled broadly. "I'm going to wake up and feel fucking great tomorrow."
She gently pushed Tamara over onto to Kirill and slid from the bed.
"Where are you - "
"You heard him, Tamara. It's all for you now."
"But you don't have to - "
"Maybe not, but I'm going to." Janna started to gather up her clothes. "After all, I kind of interrupted."
With Kirill's hard strength cradling her body, Tamara couldn't find it in herself to protest any further.
"There's a bathroom, if you want to clean up." Kirill indicated a dingy door on the far side of the room. Janna smiled sleekly and shook her head.
"I think I'd like to leave both of you on me for a little while."
He gave her another one of his wolfish grins.
"Shit," Janna sighed. "I have to get out of here."
She was wriggling hurriedly into her clothes. She was dressed. She was at the door, giving them a smile that was exhausted, sated, and yet somehow, as she took in the naked tangle of beauty of which she'd so recently been a part, still edged with hunger.
"I'll call you tomorrow, Tamara."
"Alright, darling."
Janna looked at Kirill.
"It was nice to... um..."
He raised a perfect eyebrow. She swallowed.
"Oh, fuck. Well, it was nice."
"Anytime," Kirill murmured. "Janna."
Janna laughed, shook her head helplessly at Tamara, drank in a last, appreciative glance at them both, and then she was gone.
For awhile the pair left on the stained, tangled sheets were happy just to sprawl in the aftermath, subsiding sex-chemicals still fuzzing their brains. Then Kirill propped himself up on one elbow and ran his hand over the soft swell of Tamara's hip.
"Got any more friends like her?" he teased.
"Sure, baby, we'll have a different one every night you're here."
Kirill's hand stilled. She might as well know now.
"I may have to go away sooner than I thought."
Tamara kept her voice light. "So much for your month home."
Kirill shrugged. "Things change. Business is business."
Tamara bit her lip.
"Some business, Kirill."
"Tamara - "
"That man. He made you so angry."
Kirill looked away. Gretkov's goon hadn't made him angry. Gretkov had made him angry. His own shame had made him angry. Bourne had made him angry, for being so damned jumpy and tuned-in he was off and running the moment he got a glimpse of Kirill instead of letting himself get dropped cleanly. For being a lucky son-of-a-bitch to get out of that river alive.
Bourne's woman must have taken the shot, Kirill thought. Allowing for the movement of the vehicle, he was still a crack marksman, aiming at head height. If Bourne had survived the crash over the bridge, then she'd been gone before the car had even hit the water.
He'd had no special orders regarding her. And unlike some, he didn't revel in carnage, he just did the job he was paid to do. Usually perfectly. If she hadn't been in the way when he'd needed to grab his chance, she would be alive now, grieving her dead lover.
Instead, Bourne, whatever else he was doing now, would be grieving her.
Had Bourne's stomach flipped sometimes when he walked into a room and saw her there, a shining flower to him even when everything else was a sea of shit? Did she have funny little habits that had made him laugh? Had she turned his brain inside out riding his cock and then nestled in his arms as sweetly as a child?
Kirill looked at Tamara, quiet, waiting, her breath - her life - moving gently beneath her soft skin.
He brushed a hand over hers, tracing each small knuckle, each manicured nail, with his thumb.
"I'm sorry I was a prick, baby."
Tamara blinked. This was unprecedented.
"I'll live, Kirill."
He stroked slowly up her arm, her shoulder, curled a lock of her sex-tousled hair around his fingers.
"I'll take you out tomorrow and spoil you. I've got a heap of cash, we'll blow it together."
"I don't care about your money, Kirill."
His gaze held her.
"What do you care about, angel?"
Wanting her to say it. Not wanting her to say it. He saw his own struggle reflected in her eyes.
"I care about having a good time with you when you're here," Tamara said at last, levelly. "And about lots of other things when you're not."
Crushing the small rebellion of disappointment that flared briefly within, Kirill took her careful brush-off with a small nod. "It's better that way."
Tamara knew he didn't mean for him. For her. Better that she didn't seem to be spending more time with him than any other of the women he was seen with, or know too much about what he did. So no one could think she might be useful to them to answer questions, or to be held or even hurt as something precious to him. He had never spelt it out for her, but she knew.
It frightened her sometimes, but mostly it didn't seem completely real that something like could happen. She just lived her life. Sometimes she thought she saw people watching her and Kirill, but no one had ever really bothered her. She was more frightened for him. What had that man wanted today? Why did Kirill have to go away early?
She clutched impulsively at his strong forearm.
"One day you won't come back to me."
Kirill couldn't help a smile. His angel did care about him after all, and maybe she wasn't quite as sassy as she liked to make out.
He cupped one of her beautiful, full breasts in his wide warm hand, and slowly dropped his mouth to tease her nipple with teeth and tongue.
"Do you think any other woman tastes like you, baby? Feels like you?" He smoothed his hand over her belly, traced little circles through the soft curls of her pubic mound. "I'll be coming back for you when we're both old and grey."
Tamara fought the tears prickling at her eyelids even as her body curved into his touch. "That's not what I meant, you idiot."
Kirill gaze snapped up to her face. She was crying, even just a little bit? Tamara never cried. She fumed and spat and gave attitude; she played it cool; when she was horny she damned near scored the skin off his back; and she could be soft and kittenish when the mood took her. But she never cried, or looked lost like this.
*One day you won't come back to me.*
Kirill lifted her up off the bed and into his arms, folded her against himself.
"Hush now, baby, hush. It'll be alright."
They were mama's words, when he'd cried over his bruises, or hers, or asked her what was going to happen as the old man snored on the couch in yet another drunken stupor, their week's housekeeping spent. Murmured, soothing nothings in the face of something she couldn't control any more than he could.
"Hush now..."
Kirill pressed his mouth to Tamara's, feeling his blood fire at the touch of her lips on his. Drinking her in, giving her his strength, his attempt at certainty. Pressing them both back down onto the bed, stretching his body out along hers, warm, alive, the way he intended to stay. Feeling her instinctive response, the old, inexorable magic starting up between them.
"Kirill..."
"It'll be alright."
There were no guarantees in this life he'd chosen, and he felt the black beast stir, mocking him, taunting him with the spectre of Bourne.
Bourne was trouble. He could go up against him and not come back, this he knew.
"Kirill..." Tamara's sweet mouth moving all over his face, cheeks, eyelids, ears, her fingers kneading his neck, the soft bristles of his hair against his skull.
Well, if he was going to die it wasn't going to be before he'd had Tamara again. He was going to fuck her sweet and slow and make those tears of hers really fall, but not in despair. In joy, in release, in disbelief. Give her something so beautiful that if anything should happen to him she was never going to forget the last time he was with her. Some whiny desk-job wankstain could give her those six kids and bang her with his shrivelled prick for the next forty years but it would still be his name, Kirill's, she breathed when she was alone, touching her beautiful pussy until she came. He would make sure of it.
He curved over her, moulding himself to her, smiling as he felt one of her hands sliding down his back to his arse, the other slipping between their pressed bodies to grasp his hardening cock.
"Why do you have to feel so good?" she whispered fretfully.
His hand diving into her wetness, his mouth on her shoulder, her gorgeous tits all banged up against him. "Why do you?"
"Kirill..." Still plaintive, still afraid.
"Baby, I'm here and I want you. Nothing else matters."
"Kirill..."
"Everything's alright, baby. My goddess... my angel..."
"Kirill..."
"Tamara..."
The tears shone like tiny crystals at the corners of her beautiful eyes, and her lips parted in need and desire invited him to kiss her until she couldn't breathe.
He lowered his head, letting his mouth just touch hers.
"Kirill..."
Her breath flowing over him as she said his name. His cock jumped, begging him to pull his fingers out of her and push inside her glorious heat. Her legs were already parting wider to let him do so.
"That's right, baby..."
"Kirill..." She was guiding him into her. Oh... oh... that slick, sweet slide. They both moaned as he sheathed himself fully. He gathered her to him, pressed his mouth against her ear as they began to move.
"You and me, baby. Nothing to worry about. Let's play."
"Kirill..."
"Let's play, baby." He was going to make her cry.
"Kirill..." He was going to make her remember.
"Let's play."
*****
THE END
If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: Miranda Bell
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