Knocked Up By the Russian Boss by Bella King

Chapter 41

IVORY

It’s no secret that Maxim cleans up nice. Under different circumstances, I’d even admit that he typically makes me feel underdressed no matter where we are, whether it’s on the couch in his living room or in a five-star restaurant. Tonight, though, he really made an effort.

He’s wearing an all-black tux with a black shirt and tie, and his subtle, more crisp cologne has been replaced with something darker, spicier, and with more depth. I’ve never smelled this before on him, but it’s reminiscent of the days when I would skip class my Freshman year at a high-profile sports bar where established lawyers and recently-graduated doctors would frequently gaze at me, the forbidden fruit.

Maxim is behaving like a perfect gentleman, which irritates me to no end given his complete lack of respect or communication earlier. I hate to just give in to him and forgive him just because he smells nice and kissed me on the cheek when he met me at my apartment.

I’m sure he’s surprised by my appearance as well, having never had to see me when I’m performing adulthood for my father. My little hoop earrings have been replaced by diamonds, and my makeup is far less playful, more sophisticated. Instead of loose, romantic curls, I’ve pulled my hair back into a messy ballerina bun with just a few strands left out.

I find that I always carry myself differently for these events as well, always standing so unnaturally straight.

Before I’m able to confront him about his rude, cagey attitude, he scoops me up into his arms and kisses me deeply, sustaining contact for longer than I’m used to with him. Almost always, he’s so aggressively passionate that I hardly have time to breathe. This time, he’s allowing me to melt into the kiss, to really taste it.

He’d probably been smoking before he got here. I can taste it on his lips.

I’ve never minded the taste of smoke on a man’s skin, despite being strictly anti-cigarette my whole adult life. There’s something so intoxicating about watching an attractive man smoke, like he’s not so strong after all, like he’s got a vice and wants you to be the next one. For some, smoking is the only moment of the day where they really focus on their breathing, and the meditative nature of it pulls me in.

I bite his lower lip in a cheeky attempt to remind him of my agitation.

Would I pull away of my own volition? Of course not.

Any time Maxim touches me, even absently, my whole body lights up inside, and it takes such significant control for me to not jump into his lap and pull his cock from his pants. Even in such early stages, pregnancy has made me a junkie for sex. I masturbate far more often than I used to, even though I’m getting fucked at a very desirable frequency.

He pulls me closer to himself, his hips pressing into mine as he continues kissing me. The weight of his body against mine, the contrast in our size, never ceases to pull me into the moment even more. The fact that he could snap me in half within a breath and chooses instead to pleasure me is something I never thought would arouse me.

He picks me up and places me on the kitchen island, trailing kisses up and down my neck and working his way down my shoulders, pulling the sleeves of my dress down and exposing my collarbones. He doesn’t bite this time; his kisses are slow and methodical, as if he refuses to leave one square inch of my skin neglected. I take it all in, breathing deep and allowing myself to experience him as deeply as possible.

He was far less gentle when I was a virgin, not that he could have known given my psychotic enthusiasm. One hand holds me steady while the other finds my waist, then my hips, where he stops for a moment just to stroke me along my hip bones. My face feels hot now, and I’d beg him to lay me down and pound me to death if I felt like that was his intention. This time feels different somehow, like the way you’d have sex on your wedding night.

His free hand climbs up my leg and under my dress, finding the wet spot on my panties and stroking it as I open my legs wider for him. I’m tempted to take his hand and guide it inside of me; I don’t know how much longer I can sit here and let him work me up before I’m begging him, in tears, to annihilate me.

My body belongs to him in these moments, and I can almost always feel the moment when I relinquish control of myself over to him, entrusting him with the only body I have as he enters me.

I press myself into his hand as he plays with my panties, little bursts of heat flashing behind my eyes as I grind my clit against his hand. He follows my lead and repositions, angling his hand perfectly for me to grind against as my need grows too quickly.

Breathy whimpers escape me now, and I’m unable to hold them back as he pulls the sopping wet fabric to the side. The warmth of his hand against my pussy is maddening, and I lift my knees to my chest, allowing him to slide his fingers into me as I steady myself against the countertop.

He’s slow at first, teasing me incessantly like he knows I’ll lie back and let him torment me for eternity. I’m hardly more than a bundle of neurons and nerve bundles. Every inch of me is activated, ignited.

He pulls me close to him again as he fingers me, kissing me long and deep as he had when he first got here, not even allowing me one moment to chastise him before he rearranged my priorities by hypnotizing me with his eternal gravity. A connection like this should be unfair, it’s so unequal.

I can feel his hand growing slick with my arousal as he fingers me deeper, but not faster. I’m dripping down my thighs onto the marble counter, and I’d beg him to fuck me if I were capable of accessing my higher thinking abilities.

Instead, I sit myself up straight and reach down, feeling his cock throb in his pants. I stroke him through the fabric slowly and methodically as he has tormented me. A moan escapes him, and I smile impishly as I undo his belt and slip my hand into his pants.

How can he deny me now? At least, for how much longer?

The answer is: he can’t. He lays me down flat on the marble and presses his cock against my pussy, his one final taunt before he slides inside of me.

No words are ever exchanged between us when we have sex; it’s unnecessary. He knows exactly what to do, where to touch, how to kiss.

His girth is always a bit overwhelming at first, but my insatiable arousal has allowed me to feel every inch of him inside me without the usual stretching or pain. He’s gentle, and he goes in a bit at a time until I’m completely able to take in the whole of him.

He moves slowly at first, as is the dynamic of this entanglement. Every stroke feels better than the last, as if I’ve absorbed both his pleasure as well as mine. More breathy moans escape as he slips in deeper and deeper, pressing against my cervix and pulling my hips closer to him with his hands. We are completely connected now: mind, body, and soul.

If only for these few moments, I want nothing more than to be joined to him for eternity. Any piece of that connection that I’m capable of accessing is something I can be happy with.

One hand is brought away from my hip and drawn up to my face, where he strokes my cheek as he gazes lovingly into my eyes. I press his hand into my face with my own hand, turning my head to kiss his palm and wrist. I do bite him a little bit, just to maintain that I am not letting you get away with blowing me off, but for now, I am your whore.

Harder and deeper, he continues to fuck me slowly until I’m nearly dissolving into the atmosphere, my bloodstream full of static. He presses my knees into my chest again and begins to thrust faster, and the sensation of the head of his cock pressing firmly into my vaginal walls has me nearly convulsing with ecstasy.

My orgasm is so intense and uncontrollable that it’s as if I’ve been pushed off a cliff into an abyss that never ends. My mind is blank, filled only with a throbbing red landscape of lust. I’ve received my fix.

Maxim comes hard inside of me, holding my hips hard against him as his cock pulses against my cervix. I can sometimes feel the warmth of his semen escaping him, and this time, there’s a lot of it. We stay there together, suspended in the honey-gold afterglow.

Once we’ve pulled away and cleaned up, he finally speaks to me.

“I’m so, so sorry about earlier. I was just feeling really unsure of myself, having to meet your father under these circumstances,” he says.

He sounds sincere enough, and his reasoning is valid. Still, though, I feel like something about his response isn’t completely honest.

“You need to trust me,” I say, straightening my dress back into place. “If you’re unsure of what to do or say, just follow my lead, okay? It’s going to be fine,” I continue, standing on my toes to kiss him.

“Your lead?” he asks with a smirk.

“Yes, mine,” I reply confidently. “Don’t let my father get the best of you, and you can have me forever.”

“Forever,” he mutters, tasting the words in his mouth and obviously liking them.

We leave for the estate, and I already feel better about this. It might actually not go all that badly.