“Should we be not in public?” I whisper. My whole body feels like jello.
He doesn’t even answer me, but suddenly he crouches, puts one shoulder to my stomach, and lifts me over his shoulder.
This time I do yelp, but Kostya doesn’t respond as he takes me down the last flight of stairs and pauses at the bottom.
“You can’t just carry people off like this,” I say into the middle of his back.
I don’t know why I’m protesting. I’ve never been with someone who could just toss me around like this before, and Jesus is it hot.
Kostya doesn’t respond, but he turns left, and then he’s putting me back down in a black sliver of shadow beneath the stairs.
“This is my kingdom and my castle,” he murmurs. “I can carry people off if I want.”
“But I’m the barbarian,” I tease.
He’s stroking my hip with one hand, the other on my waist. I’m pulsing with desire, desperate for him to push my skirt up and my panties down.
I run one hand down his torso, over his respectable button-down shirt, and feel the rippling muscles underneath. My fingers come to rest on the top of his belt buckle, just above the world’s most obvious hard-on.
Kostya kisses me hard again, his tongue snaking into my mouth, but God, I want more. I want more so bad I’m nearly shaking with it.
Hesitantly, I grab his hand and slide it up my torso until he’s palming my breast. My nipple stiffens instantly, and even though I’ve wanted this almost since I got here, for a moment I’m nervous that I’m being too forward, that he’s going to think proper girls don’t ask men to feel them up in stairwells.
Then Kostya pinches my nipple through my dress and bra, and I moan quietly into his mouth.
“I told you already,” he says, still pinching, “I like barbarians. I’ve had enough of princesses to last me a lifetime.”
Now he’s got both his hands on my breasts, and he pinches both my nipples at once. I gasp, doing my best not to make much noise and failing.
I can’t help myself any longer, and I run the palm of my hand down his hard, thick cock, through his pants. He pinches both my nipples again and groans, loud enough to echo. My back arches off the wall.
“Shh,” I whisper. “We’re in a stairwell, you know.”
“Only because I don’t think I can make it to my rooms,” he says. “I wanted to do this last night in the back of an old Soviet truck, but we nearly got caught.”
“This has about the same ambience,” I whisper.
He leaves one hand stroking my nipple and moves the other back to my hip, then hikes up my skirt until his fingers are on my bare thigh.
“No, someone probably died in the back of that truck,” he murmurs.
My eyes pop open and I just look at him.
“Pretend I didn’t say that,” he says.
“Make me forget it,” I say.
Kostya pushes his fingers under the side of my panties, stroking them toward the juncture of my thighs.
“Like this?” he whispers.
“Still remember,” I say.
I grab his cock through his pants and squeeze. I swear he throbs in my hand.
“You can take it out,” he says into my ear. “It doesn’t bite.”
He strokes his thumb over my panties, brushing my clit and lips, and I gasp and turn my head away, forcing myself not to make too much noise. I’m positive that my underwear is totally soaked, but given that I’m writhing up against a wall, it’s not like it’s a secret that I’m turned on as fuck.
Kostya strokes me again. I unzip his pants, and his cock springs out, thick and swollen and huge. I wrap my hand around it and stroke it from root to tip as he finally slides his fingers inside my panties, finding my clit and circling it slowly.
I exhale and try to melt into the wall behind me.
“Forget yet?” he asks.
“Forget what?” I say.
Kostya chuckles, and then I remember. He kisses me again, hard, as he rubs my clit and I stroke his cock. His hand moves deeper and then he’s stroking my lips and slipping his fingers inside.
I gasp as he moves them inside me, the heel of his hand still on my clit. He’s watching my face with a combination of fascination and lust that I’ve never seen on anyone’s face before, and it’s intoxicating.
“Your eyelids flutter when I do that,” he says, his voice a low growl. He moves his fingers inside me again, the heel of his hand rubbing hard against my clit.
“That’s because it feels fucking good,” I whisper.
He does it again, and this time I bite my lip almost hard enough to draw blood.
Then he whispers in my ear.
“You know what I heard about American girls?”
I take a deep breath.
“It better not be that we’re easy,” I gasp.
For good measure, I stroke him from root to tip, hard, his cock pulsing in my hand.
“I heard your pussies taste like Coca-Cola,” he says.
“I don’t think that’s true,” I whisper.
“There’s one way to find out,” he says. “And I’ve been thinking about it since you tried to burn your shirt.”
Kostya bites my earlobe for good measure.
He moves his hand again, and I suck in a breath. Kostya just laughs, and then he’s on his knees, his fingers still inside me, his head under my skirt.
I have no idea how the hell this is going to work, since I’m still standing, but he’s kissing my belly and then my hips and he hoists one thigh over his shoulder, while he trails kisses along the inside of it, his fingers still moving inside me the whole time.
I glance down. The hand that’s not finger-fucking me is stroking his cock. I look around for a moment, just to take a reality check.
The crown prince is about to eat me out in a stairwell with his head up my skirt, I think.
Yes. Correct. Insane, but correct.
He flicks his tongue lightly over my clit, just enough to tickle me, and I gasp again. His fingers move again, and I realize that in a few minutes, I’m probably going to come as hard as I’ve ever come.
Then something shrieks.
It’s an alarm, some electronic noise that’s so loud and grating that it feels like it’s making my teeth buzz. My eyes snap open and I nearly fall over, but Kostya somehow manages to catch me, despite being on his knees and having both his hands occupied. I clap my hands over my ears despite myself as Kostya stands and stuffs his cock back into his pants.
Is this a fire drill? And are you fucking kidding me? I think.
Then I look at Kostya’s face, and my breath catches in my throat, because he’s worried. He takes one of my hands gently in his and moves it away from my ear, and I try not to notice that he’s still slick with my juices.
“We have to go, now,” he shouts.
“Where? What’s going on?” I shout back, but he’s already pulling me by the hand, through the door and into the hallway, where I subtly try to rearrange my underwear.
“Something bad,” he shouts back.
He’s walking so fast that I’m nearly jogging to keep up, turning left and right through maze-like hallways until I’m more than lost, and the constant sirens aren’t helping at all. My brain feels like it’s being shaken, like my eyeballs are vibrating with the noise, and then finally Kostya drops my hand and we go around a corner, where he opens a big double door.