Page 132 of Trust

I huff out a laugh, which cuts off when he thrusts in smoothly thanks to all the lube. It doesn’t take him long at all to find my prostate.

But instead of hammering at it, he only gently caresses it. I whine, desperate for more pleasure.

“Please, Ilya, please,” I beg.

“If I do this now, you’ll come immediately.” Ilya smirks at me. “Don’t say you won’t. We both know you would.”

“Mean,” I accuse him, but my pout isn’t real. I love that he takes his time with me and always makes sure I’m ready before he takes me. It makes me feel special.

It makes me feel loved.

I close my eyes and focus on the sensations. The rope holding me snug. The knots against my cock and taint, pressing into me every time anything gets jostled. Ilya’s large fingers slowly opening me for him.

I relax into it instead of thrusting my hips up, letting the soft, pleased sounds escape me. As much as I want to hurry him along, I also want to prolong this moment. It’s a memory being made, a good one, and it’s not one I want to ruin by being too impatient.

“There you go,” Ilya murmurs. “Much better. You’re finally relaxing.”

I would grumble at him, but it feels too much like effort.

Instead, I luxuriate in the feeling of his fingers inside of me, the way he takes his time to make sure every second is better than the last. Down and down I go, into that space inside of myself where I could linger forever and never come back.

But that’s not true. I’d always want to come back for Ilya.

Only when my cock is straining so hard against the ropes that it’s painful do I finally whisper, “Ilya…”

“I’ve got you, my lovely Mishka,” Ilya whispers. He places one kiss to the tip of my cock, then sits back. He strips his shirt off, revealing that beautiful chest, and undoes his fly so he can push his slacks and underwear down.

His cock, so familiar to me by now, is straining as much as mine. Ilya slicks it up and presses it against my hole.

Without a condom.

I sigh happily. I love feeling him bare, to know that he’s going to spill into me when he reaches the apex of his pleasure. He’s going to mark me from the inside, then I get to have that reminder for the rest of the day.

My arms twitch with the need to reach up and wrap around him, and I make a murmured sound of protest when I realize that I can’t. But that becomes less important when he starts to ease inside of me, thoroughly lubed up and able to penetrate me with ease. I squirm, lifting my hips for him the best I can.

The first thrust in is slow and deliberate. Ilya’s eyes flutter shut, and I want to say something, but my throat is dry and all I can do is accept him. I relax into the penetration, until Ilya’s cock pushes against my prostate and he bottoms out inside me.

I’m so close.

I won’t be able to last for more than a few thrusts.

“Tight,” Ilya says with a groan. “Every time. So perfect for me, Mishka.”

I hum in appreciation, falling relaxed and languid against the bed once more even as Ilya pulls back so he can thrust back into me.

I try to hold back as long as I can, but I’m already quivering with need, and the entire experience has become so intense that I can’t. I don’t have the ability to form words, only to listen as he praises me and thrusts into me.

I love you.

I want to say it. I’m so close to blurting it out. But I want it to be special, too, and I keep the words to myself a little longer.

When I come, my cry is soft as the pleasure washes over me. It doesn’t ebb, not as Ilya continues to thrust into me, not until he’s groaning with his own release. He spills deep inside of me, and I arch, satisfied from feeling both my own release and his.

Ilya bends forward and kisses me, over and over, through his orgasm. “Mishka, Mishka, Mishka,” he repeats, and his kisses grow sloppier, just our lips rubbing against each other. His beard rubs against my chin, and I love that sensation too, this reminder that it’s Ilya and not some other man kissing me.

I cry out when he pulls away, attempting to lift my arms and failing.

“Shh,” Ilya says. “One second. I’ll untie you.”