Chapter 18: Morning Wood
The first sensation was warmth. A solid, pervasive heat along his back, legs, buttocks. Then weight. A heavy, familiar pressure nestled in the cleft of his ass. Alexey swam up from a deep, dreamless sleep, his body languid and sore in the most extraordinary ways.
He was on his side. Jess was the big spoon, her body curled around his, one arm thrown possessively over his ribs. Her breath was soft and even against the nape of his neck. And pressed firmly against him was the undeniable, rigid length of her morning erection.
He blinked in the grey pre-dawn light filtering through his blinds. The samovar on the dresser was a dull bronze mound. The room was silent, save for their breathing. He felt a profound, aching tenderness between his legs, a memory etched deep in muscle. Two fingers tomorrow, her voice echoed.
The thick heat against him pulsed, a tiny, involuntary flex. Jess made a soft, sleepy sound into his hair, a low hum of contentment. Her hips pressed forward minutely in her sleep, seeking friction.
A calm certainty settled over him. He shifted, just an inch, sliding out from under her arm. She frowned in her sleep, her hand patting the empty space before curling into the pillow. He slipped from the bed, the cool air raising goosebumps on his skin. He looked at her. She was sprawled now on her back, one arm flung above her head, the sheet tangled at her waist. Her cock lay full and heavy against her stomach, a stark contrast to the soft curves of her hips and the gentle swell of her breasts. She was breathtaking.
He didn’t think. He just moved.
He knelt on the floor beside the bed, then, changing his mind, climbed quietly back onto the mattress. He positioned himself on his stomach between her legs, his head hovering over her thighs. This was his favorite view. The powerful line of her quadriceps, the smooth skin of her inner thighs leading to the juncture where her cock rose. He could smell her—sleep, salt, her jasmine lotion, and something muskier, deeply her.
He started not with her cock, but with her skin. He pressed his lips to the inside of her knee, a kiss so soft it was barely a touch. He felt her stir. He trailed his mouth upward, using lips and the faint scratch of his morning stubble, along the sensitive inner seam of her thigh. He licked a long, slow stripe. Her skin was like silk stretched over steel.
A low groan vibrated from her chest. Her hand came down, her fingers threading into his hair, not guiding, just resting, a claim.
“Someone’s eager,” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.
He didn’t answer. He was in his own world of worship. He nuzzled the crease where her thigh met her hip, inhaling her scent deeply, before finally turning his attention to her cock. It was a beast of a thing, flushed and veined in the dim light. He didn’t take it in his mouth immediately. He kissed the tip, where a bead of clear fluid had gathered. He licked it off, the taste sharp and clean. He kissed along the shaft, his lips worshiping the length of it, his hands sliding under her to cup the firm curves of her ass.
“Alexey,” she sighed, her fingers tightening in his hair.
That was all the permission he needed.
He opened his mouth and took the head inside, swirling his tongue around the crown. He heard her sharp intake of breath. He relaxed his jaw, a skill he’d learned under her relentless tutelage, and began to sink down, taking her deeper with each slow, measured bob of his head. He focused on the texture, the weight, the way her hips began a subtle, involuntary lift to meet him.
“Just like that,” she whispered. “Nice and slow. Make it last.”
He did. He established a lazy, deep rhythm. He’d take her nearly to the back of his throat, hold her there until his eyes watered, then pull back with a wet, obscene pop before diving down again. He used his hand on the base she couldn’t reach, twisting in time with his mouth. He made it sloppy, letting saliva drip down his chin and onto her balls, which he cupped and massaged gently with his other hand.
It was methodical. It was devotional. He was learning her geography, every ridge and pulse. He was repaying her for the wreckage she’d made of him the night before, for the terrifying, glorious future she’d promised.
“Fuck, your mouth,” she groaned, her head thrashing on the pillow. Her thighs tensed on either side of his head. “You’re getting too good at this. Gonna make me come.”
He hummed in response, the vibration making her jerk. He picked up the pace, his own need a distant, secondary thing. This was about her. About watching her composed, dominant control fray at the edges. Her breathing became ragged, a series of sharp gasps and Russian curses she’d picked up from him.
“I’m close, baby. So close. You want it? You want me to come in that pretty mouth?”
He redoubled his efforts, his jaw aching beautifully. He took her as deep as he could, his nose buried in her shaved pubis, and held perfectly still. The muscles in her thighs began to tremble against his ears. Her hand fisted in his hair, not pushing, just holding him there in that suffocating, perfect depth.
“Hands,” she breathed out, the command a soft, ragged puff of air. “Behind your back. Now.”
He obeyed instantly, releasing her hips to clasp his own wrists at the small of his back. The submission made him feel exposed and anchored at the same time. It left him utterly helpless to her, only his mouth as an instrument.
That’s when she moved. Her hands came down from his hair to frame his face, her thumbs pressing into his jaw hinges. She lifted his head just an inch, forcing his tear-blurred eyes up to meet hers. Her expression was fierce, beautiful, a mask of concentrated pleasure about to shatter.
Then she hooked her powerful legs over his shoulders, crossing her ankles firmly at the base of his skull. The world narrowed to the vise of her perfect thighs and the beautiful, severe face looking down at him. He was locked in, a prisoner of her flesh.
“You swallow everything I give you,” she stated, her voice a low, trembling wire. It wasn’t a question.
He tried to nod, a pathetic little motion against her hold. A tear spilled over and tracked down his cheek, not from pain, but from the overwhelming intensity of being used so completely. He pleaded with his eyes, for air, for more, for an end to the building pressure he felt throbbing against his tongue.
She began to fuck his face in short, brutal pistons of her hips, using the leverage of her locked legs to control the depth. He gagged, his throat opening and fluttering around her. He focused on the dark warmth of her eyes, on swallowing around the insistent invasion.
“That’s it,” she choked out, her composure cracking. “Swallow for it. Make me come with your throat.”
He felt the exact moment. A deep, internal pulse within her, a shudder that started in her core and traveled down the length of her cock. A raw, guttural groan tore from her lips as she came, surging deep into his gullet. He swallowed convulsively, again and again, his throat working to take every hot, salty pulse she gave him.
She held him there, immobile, for what felt like an eternity. Her thighs squeezed his head in a relentless, shaking grip, her hips grinding shallowly against his face as she rode out the waves. His lungs burned. Spots danced at the edges of his vision, but he kept swallowing, taking her in until she finally, slowly, went still.
Her legs unlocked, sliding off his shoulders to land heavily on the bed. Her hands gentled, cradling his face now, thumbs wiping the mix of saliva and tears from his cheeks. He gasped in huge, ragged drafts of air, his body trembling.
“Look at you,” she whispered, her voice husky with awe. “My gorgeous boy. You took all of me. Every drop.” She leaned down and kissed his forehead, his nose, his swollen lips. “You are perfect.”
He collapsed forward, his face resting on her stomach, his arms still obediently behind his back. He felt her fingers unclasp his wrists, bringing his numb arms around to hug her waist. They lay like that for long minutes, listening to each other’s breathing settle.
“Come on,” she said finally, patting his back. “Shower. We smell like sin.”
Under the hot spray, the mood lightened. She giggled as she soaped his back, her hands sliding down to cup his sore ass. “Still tender back here?” she asked, her voice playful.
“A little,” he admitted, a blush rising on his neck.
She gave the cheek a sharp, stinging slap that made him jump and then laugh. “Good.” She turned him around, pressing his back against the cool tiles. “Your turn.”
He took the soap and began to wash her, his hands reverent on her skin. When he cupped her breasts, weighing their soft, full weight in his palms, she sighed and leaned into his touch, her head on his shoulder. He massaged them slowly, his thumbs circling her nipples until they peaked under the water.
“Mmm, that’s the stuff,” she mumbled against his collarbone. “Best morning ever.”
He kissed her wet hair, his heart so full it felt like a physical ache in his chest. The samovar on the dresser was just a dim shape through the fogged glass door. Well, it’s perfect morning.