Page 76 of Maksim

I almost sneer it. Almost.

But he feels too good. Too right. It isn’t even my choice at this point. My body has made up my mind for me.

Tomorrow, I will be his equal.

Tonight, I am whatever he wants me to be.

Arching my hips when he fucks me deeper, I close my eyes and moan. “I’m your whore.”

He groans, swiping the hair off my shoulder before his lips hungrily make a trail to my neck.

The sensations he brings me curl my toes, shake my knees, sink my eyelids, but abruptly, his hand leaves me.

“On your knees, shlyukha,” he growls, whipping me around and pressing on my shoulders so I’ll lower to the tub.

I don’t know what lislchka means, but on Maksim’s lips, it sounds endearing. I feel safe, special, in a way. I don’t mind it, certainly don’t hate it.

Shlyukha, however, is not a term of endearment. From my time with the Russians, I can confidently say it means something along the lines of ‘whore.’

Water trails down my face, gathering in my eyes so I close them, but it’s gone when Maksim takes my chin and yanks me out of the stream.

I open my eyes to take in his length, large and intimidating in his grasp. I can feel his arousal making the tub feel smaller, my nipples tighter. My core grips at what isn’t there.

Maksim squeezes my jaw so I’ll open my mouth, and I look up at him, searching for… I don’t know what I’m looking for, but all I see is lust. Pure, powerful lust as he presses himself to my mouth, urging me to open wider.

His eyes close as he fills my mouth, and mine would do the same, but panic sweeps me. It’s silly, but I get the sudden fear that I’m not going to do this right. That I won’t bring him the same pleasure he brought me. That I’m a letdown, the lust in his eyes nothing but buildup that will lead to disappointment.

I shouldn’t care. There are so many things I shouldn’t care about that I keep finding myself worrying over.

“Fuck,” he groans, opening his eyes as he pulls out and pushes into my mouth again. He looks down at me and says something in Russian that doesn’t sound like a command, nor is his voice filled with anger. Just lust.

He shoves in hard, hitting the back of my throat and making me gag around his length. I try to pull away, but he fists my hair and holds me in place without a word.

I look up at him, feeling tiny compared to his six foot plus frame, and even smaller in this position. He appears so much more controlling than normal, more … I don’t know, scary. It makes me want to hide while at the same time makes my nerves feel tight, ready, wanting.

He’s … sexy.

Powerful.

Mine?

Or am I only his?

“Hold still, Elira,” he says, his commanding tone making me tense. My name sounds strange on his tongue now. Like a naughty word that gives me chills.

Holding my chin, he thrusts into my mouth while I fight my gag reflex, but the more I fight, the farther he pushes until I realize he wants to make me gag.

His length bounces in my mouth each time I choke, and his hips pick up their pace, his hands taking my head while he pumps into me.

I stop worrying about him grading my performance when I finally realize that he doesn’t give a shit. He has no intention of giving me any amount of control. He wants to use me. Fuck me. Treat me like a shlyukha, like a whore.

Is that all I am?

Will he discard me after?

Maksim rocks into me hard, stilling with one hand holding my chin up while the other grips my hair. An explosion of warm, salty goo fills my mouth, and I close my eyes as I swallow it down.

“Mmm,” Maksim groans before muttering a string of Russian he must not intend for me to understand.