Chapter Text
Even throughout my wildest years, drugs never had appealed to me. The loose of control, lack of memory, the mess when the rush faded into nothingness.
But as soon as I had delved headless into this love affair, I understood what addiction did to the mind and body. That it would play tricks on you. I was addicted to the way it felt when he seemed to be all over my body at once. When he dragged me into his deep waters and I willingly drowned in them.
The ultimate sensory overload.
Skilled hands and a hot, greedy mouth were on every inch my skin that he could reach; his teeth leaving bruises on my skin, as if their single goal were to leave a token of his ownership.
I felt the pain, but in the blurry, intoxicated haze, it’s sudden sharpness only added further kerosene to the furnace he had artfully ignited underneath my skin.
His broad hands anchored me, turning the searing heat of his body with all it’s hard lines of muscle and bone, into a much needed safe harbor where I gladly took shelter in. The way his fingers dug into my waist, circling it with hardly restrained strength, drew a gasp from my lips, but he didn’t pause in his tracks, no, he even added to his game. With a sudden, almost frantically pull he dragged me like a rag doll against his body, and my traitorous thighs locked around his hips on their own account. No amount of friction would have ever been enough when it came to his body molded into mine, and so I shamelessly ground against his hardness as much as his vice like grip would let me. Reaching up to his beautiful, sculpted face I traced the tip of my tongue along his jawline and down his throat, tasting the sheen of sweat on his skin and feeling the drumming pulse underneath it. Just when he tipped his head to one side, to allow me the access to more of his warm, smooth skin, I took him by surprise, biting down hard on the tender junction of his neck and the firm, bulking muscle above his clavicle. My teeth didn’t exactly draw blood, but it would certainly leave a colorful bruise and he hissed hoarsely, more out of surprise than of pain.
One of his large hands suddenly loosened it’s grip on my hip, only to land on my rear a split second later - with a sharp but satisfying smack.
I couldn’t help the yelp that escaped my mouth and that earned me another, fairly gentler smack.
Again both of his hands held me against his body, his powerful arms now additionally keeping my movement in check. The way I was seated in his lap, both legs wound tightly around his hips, gave him the perfect position to make every effort to strain against his hold futile. His breath was hot against the side of my face when he spoke against my ear, his voice merely a low, warning growl. By now, I had learned well enough to make out the words through the thick, heavy accent that always seemed to come through when he was a mere inch away from slowly loosing control.
“You really want to try me tonight, Lisichka? Want to test the boundaries?“
I must’ve been delirious already, because against any better judgment, I dipped my head back towards his face. With a breathless moan I pressed a wet, open mouthed kiss on his strong, square chin and then, with a growl of my own, sank my teeth into the taut muscle of his jaw.
This time, his retaliation was executed even faster than the first. While his arms still immobilized my body, his right hand had wound itself into my hair. With a harsh tug that made my scalp buzz from the sudden pain, he pulled my head so far back that the angle was only just bearable. For a moment the look on his face was entirely unreadable and I wondered briefly if I had taken my bold act one step to far.
I hardly dared to breath while I waited for him to make his next move, when finally, after what felt like an eternity but in reality only lasted a few seconds, his fingers detangled from my hair and slid around my neck, settling on my throat in a unmistakably dominant, but also surprisingly gentle and intimate display of possessiveness.
At this time, our history went back for long enough that I trusted him unconditionally. With him, I knew no so called boundaries. Without a second thought I moved in perfect synch with him instead of shying away from his force.
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At some point during the previous hours his patience had started to wear thin, with the loud crowd and the alcohol infused chaos, the deafening, booming music became too annoying.
Over the last few months it had become increasingly easier to read him and thus I had sensed the subtle change in his demeanor almost immediately. His playfulness faded slightly; I could see his jaw tense with the effort to bite back an unpleasant remark as some obnoxious Americans tried to strike up a meaningless conversation. It all peaked when some of those guys around us started a brawl, crushing chairs, sending bottles flying through midair. It was more or less child’s play and I was long used to it, found it amusing even. But he didn’t share my amusement tonight. After the second time I was on the receiving end of a particularly hard shove that would’ve sent me flying if it weren’t for him to pull me tight against his body, his warm hand spread out over my lower back underneath my leather jacket, he was on the edge and I knew it was time to leave.
On our drive home I was the one behind the steering wheel and while I navigated through the nightly Moscow traffic, I felt his eyes on me.
At a red light I turned to him and the turmoil of emotions that flickered over his handsome features would have been almost comical - if it wasn’t so also rather dangerous, if not for me, then certainly for others. Something was eating away at him while at the same time I knew, that watching me drive always revved him up faster then the car itself. His dilated pupils and the way he slowly licked his lips absentmindedly spoke volumes about the variety of things he’d spun around in his head right now. But still, every muscle in his body was so tense, it gave even me a sore neck only from watching him.
My voice travelled over the music from the car’s sound system as I spoke:
“What’s on your mind, daragój?”
Me speaking Russian , especially in private and only to him, never ceased to make him smile, and now was no exception.
Immediately his face lit up and even in the dimly illuminated car I could see the spark in his storm-colored eyes.
It took him a few moments to answer, voice rough from the clubs smoke filled air and the attempts to talk over all that noise.
“On my mind, lisichka?! Mhm. Mostly the fact that I want to get you home, naked and in my bed. And that Im going to fuck you until you forget your own name.”
“It’s kinda hard to forget, given that I’m chanting yours time and time again. And it’s literally the same name, only in its female version.”
I reminded him with a grin and went on a moment later:
“You said mostly. What else is troubling you? If you want to share your thoughts with me, that is.”
Even after all those months I was still cautious to pry too much. It was neither in his nature nor in his upbringing to have a woman meddle in his personal affairs. But he had gone out of his ways so far to let me in a little more than he was usually comfortable with, I had to give him that.
Again, the words hung in the air briefly before he answered:
“Sometimes, I want to lock you away from all this shit. From those drunk, stupid assholes. The whores and the clubs.”
His voice was calm and he had turned his head to the right, to watch the oncoming traffic through the car window, while he spoke.
“Sometimes, like tonight, I can hardly control myself. Those American bricks?! I wanted to watch them bleed out at your feet.“
My right eyebrow arched up while tried to keep my eyes on the road.
He held up his hands in an apologetic gesture and went on:
“Don’t give me that look. You know me well enough by now. I’m not one of those little boys, hungry for blood and a opportunity to show of their dick. But still, tonight, I would have paid for a chance to break those fuckers bones.”
As if to empathize his words he unconsciously had balled his fist on the armrest between us, knuckles white underneath the skin.
“But maybe,” he spoke up once more, “maybe the last few weeks have simply taken their toll and I should try some anger management.”
My eyebrow rose even higher at that last statement, but I was wise enough to keep my mouth shut. Something I, by the way, almost never managed. But I really tried.
As we arrived at the apartment complex, I drove down the ramp towards the underground garage and as always he shook his head at the speed I took the narrow turns further down into the gloomy parking lot with.
Holding onto the handrail in mock fear,he said:
“You know, a good, little Russian wife would let her man drive.”
I tsk’ed and scoffed at that:
“Well, thank god then, that I’m A not Russian , B neither little nor good and C, not your wife.”
My deadpanned remark earned me the first genuine, loud laugh from him in hours.
“You’re getting more Russian by the minute, lisichka. I’m very proud of you.”
I couldn’t help but smirk in return to the lazy grin he shot me accompanying his remark.
An odd satisfaction filled me; the well hidden, secret desire to please him chiming up in the back of my mind like Pavlovs bell.
But what challenge would that pose? After all, I aimed to to misbehave.