“Oh, fuck,” I whisper, one fist tight on the ugly couch. I press myself against him because Jesus Christ, it feels good to have him buried inside me again at last.
“I promised you slow,” he says, kissing my shoulder.
“You promised me hard,” I whisper.
We start fucking, and he goes slow and hard just like he promised, and it makes me feel like every inch of my body is also getting fucked, like I’m lost in a haze of pleasure and there’s nearly no way out. I think I’m melting into this terrible couch, both fists probably ripping the ugly fabric, my face buried in it, and with every thrust I moan a little louder as he pushes me closer to the edge.
Then he stops. He drives himself into me so hard I shout and my fingers finally rip through the fabric, and then he stops.
“Don’t stop,” I gasp.
We’re both panting for breath, and I know I’m close to coming, pleasure already whispering through my body like ripples in a pond. He doesn’t move.
I look over my shoulder at him, leaning my head on one arm, and I reach the other hand back and stroke his hip, then flex my hips against him so his cock moves inside me, and god that feels good.
He pulls me up by the shoulder, then reaches in front of me and drags the couch forward until it’s right in front of me and we’re both kneeling upright, still on the floor.
“Do that again,” he growls, so I flex my hips against him and this time he moves too, fucking me shallow but hard, grinding our hips together.
“This feels so fucking good,” I whisper. I’ve got one hand clutching the couch and the other on his neck again, the only part I can really grab.
“There’s a spot inside you that makes your fingers curl,” he says, and thrusts, just a little.
My fingers curl on the couch and his neck, and Kostya growls, then does it again and again until I’m writhing and bucking against him. We’re still going slow and he’s got one arm across my chest, his hand on my shoulder as he buries his cock in me over and over and I feel like I’m a keg of gunpowder about to explode.
“Kostya, I’m gonna come,” I gasp. “Jesus, I’m gonna come.”
“Good,” he whispers. “You’re so fucking sexy when you do.”
I think I’m unraveling, and I turn my head into his shoulder and he grips me even tighter and he thrusts again, hard and deep.
“Fuck, Kostya,” I whisper, and then I think my body flies apart.
He holds me and we rock together and I’m exploding in slow motion and it feels so good I swear I’m floating. I can hear myself saying god fucking yes Kostya Jesus yes oh fuck Kostya even as my body floats away.
“I love it when you come on my cock,” he whispers into my ear.
I swallow, trying to remember words.
“You’re fucking dirty,” I say, still panting for breath.
He’s still fucking me, and it still feels good.
“Only for you,” he whispers. “You make me dirty, zloyushka.”
“Come inside me,” I say. “Let me feel you.”
His arm tightens. I kiss his shoulder. He growls something in Russian, and I grab him by the hair.
“Fucking come for me,” I whisper.
He does. He pushes me against the couch, his arm tightening across me and I can feel his cock explode deep inside me as he groans in my ear. The only word I can make out is my name but he keeps saying it, rocking back and forth until he finally stops coming.
Then he leans his head against mine and wraps his other arm around me.
“Yeah bluetube,” I think he says.
I put my hands over his and turn my head to kiss his shoulder. He nuzzles my neck, and after a moment, he finally stands, only to collapse back onto the couch where he pulls me up after him and then wraps his arms around me. I let myself feel safe and warm and happy, despite everything.
On the wall, Maksim is still staring at us, his crazy eyes almost the only thing visible in his face.
“I think the beheader gets off on watching,” I say.
There’s a moment of silence.
“What?” Kostya asks, sounding totally puzzled, so I point at Maksim.
“He saw everything,” I say.
“Pervert,” says Kostya.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Kostya
Every time I move, trying to get comfortable, the couch creaks. Finally I shift, trying to get a lump out of my backbone, and there’s the unmistakable sound of very old wood cracking. Hazel freezes.
“We broke the couch,” she whispers.
“You mean we broke my couch,” I say, shifting again. “I’m the king. Ugly couches live and die at my whim.”
Hazel laughs.
I can’t help but grin, because I finally did it. She curls into me a little more, and then she looks up at me.
She stops laughing immediately and looks suspicious.
“What?” she asks.
“I can’t smile?” I ask.
Hazel just narrows her eyes.
“I told a joke and you laughed,” I explain.
Now she looks puzzled.
“You make me laugh all the time,” she says.
“This time was intentional,” I say. “We were standing right there the first time I tried to make you laugh.”
Hazel looks at me blankly.
“Before the dinner when I got really drunk and you had to come feed me bread?” she finally says.
“I told you I believed putting heads on spikes was frowned upon,” I say.
There’s a long pause.
“Oh,” she says.
“It wasn’t funny,” I admit.
She draws her legs onto the couch and then moves around some, trying to get comfortable.
“It’s a terrible couch,” I say, and pull her against me so she’s half lying on my chest, half off the damn couch. “We should just go get in my bed.”
Hazel leans her head against me and blows a hair out of her face.
“Everyone will know if we do,” she says.
“Let them,” I say. “We can worry about that tomorrow afternoon.”
She turns and gives me another weird look, like she’s about to ask me something, but then doesn’t. I think she’s given up asking what I’m hiding from her.
It’s for the best, because I’m not going to tell her. For the first time since my father died, I’m finally certain that I’m doing something right. I’m not even nervous, just satisfied.
We stand after another moment. I find my clothes and pull them back on, not bothering to tuck in my shirt, because I’m pretty sure the whole palace heard us and I couldn’t care less.
When I turn, Hazel’s topless, frowning at her bra.
“I didn’t break it, did I?” I ask.
She bites her lip, like she’s trying not to laugh.
“Kostya, do you know how to take bras off?” Hazel asks softly.
We look at each other for a long moment.
“I understand the principle,” I finally admit. “It’s harder to put into practice.”
“So you’re great at eating me out and you can’t get a bra off,” she says.
I put my hands on her arms and pull her in, kissing her.