I’m in a state of bliss where everything seems brighter and clearer. The bits of blue sky between the red leaves shine as brilliant as jewels. The breeze rubbing the branches together makes a steady, rushing sound like running water.
The blood in my veins rushes at the same pace, spreading warmth to my fingertips and toes, making my whole body throb.
The orgasm comes so slowly at first that I hardly know it’s starting. It builds and builds like the crescendo of an orchestra, each pulse stronger than the one before.
Ares thrusts his tongue in and out of me, in time to the clenching waves of pleasure. I’m moaning and writhing, my hands full of leaves as I grasp for purchase on the ground.
He slows his pace as the climax ebbs, but he doesn’t stop. He’s running his tongue gently over my clit, mindful of how sensitive and throbbing it has become, but not allowing the pleasure to seep away entirely.
He runs his big, strong hands up my thighs, grips my hips, then caresses my breasts again, gently plucking at my nipples.
My breasts are exquisitely sensitive now. His hands are like suction cups, the perfect size to grip every part of my breasts, to pull and squeeze simultaneously.
He’s licking me harder now, steadily, and I realize he has no intention of stopping; he wants to make me cum again.
I can’t lay back and accept it, I’ve always been the type to pull my own weight, to give as well as take.
Plus, I touched that thick cock through his clothes. Now I want to see it.
So I flip around, Ares’ head still buried between my thighs, now facing the opposite way.
I unzip his trousers, pulling out his heavy cock that fills my hand, warm and throbbing and intensely satisfying to touch.
Ares’ cock is as brown as the rest of him, and as excessively sized. It has a slight upward curve, topped with a head like a battering ram. The skin stretches silky smooth over the rigid flesh.
He groans as I grip him, then moans even louder against my pussy as I take the head of his cock in my mouth, dancing my tongue around the connecting ridge. His cock twitches against my tongue, highly sensitive to its slightest movement.
I’m on top of Ares, straddling his face, spreading my thighs wider so he can push his tongue deep inside of me. I’m humping his face, while his cocks slides deeper and deeper into my mouth. The heavy head of his cock hits the back of my throat.
He’s thrusting in and out of my mouth in time with my hips grinding against his face. My mouth feels as loose and warm as the rest of me, and even though his cock is even bigger than I imagined, it burrows into my throat relentlessly, like a live thing with a mind of its own.
I’m not gagging—I’m too relaxed. The pounding of his cock is oddly satisfying. I want more and more, deeper and deeper.
Meanwhile, Ares’ lapping tongue is bringing on another climax. I can feel it swirling and pulsing, trying to breach its bounds in the pit of my belly. Any moment it will explode outward, washing through me.
I start moaning around Ares’ cock, the vibrations of my throat fluttering against the head.
Ares is panting like he’s running again, sprinting against me to the end of the race.
It is a race, to see which of us will cum first.
Competitive as ever, I’m determined to beat him.
I squeeze my thighs around his face, pressing my clit harder against his tongue.
There’s no clear winner this time.
His cock is twitching and pulsing in my mouth, the head fucking my throat, while I cum against his tongue. We’re locked together down the length of our bodies, his hands gripping my ass, my fingers digging into the back of his long, powerful thighs.
He cums directly down my throat and I press my clit hard against his tongue, bright flashes of color popping against my closed eyelids—five-pointed and scarlet as the leaves. This orgasm is hot and rushing and intense, my whole body clenching and shaking, as Ares’ cum rushes down my throat in three rough bursts.
I pull back from his cock, still swallowing.
I like the way he tastes. His cum is smooth and mild.
Ares comes to lay beside me, his arm a pillow beneath my head, both of us looking up into the canopy of red.
Whenever I went hunting with my father and I saw a deer in the woods and shot, killed, and ate it afterward, I always felt like I imbued part of that deer. By consuming it, I took its energy into my body in a very real way. It made me feel closer to the animals and the trees and the cycle of life that goes around and around in an endless loop.
Now Ares and I have eaten a part of each other.
He’s inside of me and I’m inside of him.
Quietly, in that low, deep voice, Ares says, “I love being out here with you. I haven’t felt this good in a long time.”
“I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this good,” I say.
I know I’ve never been this happy.
20
Ivan Petrov
St. Petersburg
Fifteen Years Ago
The next time Marko Moroz comes to the monastery, I hardly recognize him.
He jumps out of his car, limping to the gates before Maks can even reach him, gripping the iron bars in his massive hands and howling, “IVAN!” at the top of his lungs.
I had already heard what had happened, and I suppose I was expecting him, though not so soon, because by my last intelligence, he was lying in a hospital bed in Kyiv with seven bullets in his body.
I can see the bandage on his jaw where one of those bullets went through his cheek, shattering half his molars before exiting right below the opposite ear.
I know what kept Marko alive. The same thing that brought him here: the thirst for revenge.
I had been playing in the yard with several of the dogs—or at least, to their eyes playing. Really, we were training the latest litter. As soon as my radio crackled, I sent my son into the house.
My son paused, looking at me with those blue-green eyes that have always been so startling in his face. He got my olive skin, and hair a little lighter than mine, more like Dom’s. Those eyes must be from some distant ancestor unknown to Sloane or me. They’re deeper than ours, and gentler. Too gentle, I sometimes fear.
“Go on inside,” I said again sternly. “And take the pups.”
Obediently, he scooped up the two fluffy ovcharkas, one under each arm, and ferried them into the house.
He’s a good boy. Calm, serious, and already showing flashes of his mother’s brilliance.
I don’t want Marko to see him.
I nod for Maks to open the gates.
Marko comes lurching up the drive, limping heavily on the leg that received two of the bullets.
“IVAN!” he bellows again, though by this point we’re close enough to see each other plainly.
I walk toward him with an ugly feeling of impending doom. Marko has the appearance of a bill unpaid. My own fate coming to claim me once more.
He looks haggard and wild-eyed. Skinnier than I’ve ever seen him—he must have lost forty pounds in the hospital, or more. He’s diminished in all ways. Yet more dangerous than ever.
“IVAN, THEY KILLED HER!” he howls, falling into my arms.
Thinner or not, he’s still almost heavy enough to knock me backward.
I can smell the alcohol seeping out of his pores, and the sickly scent of wounds not well-cared for.