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“Stand up, Matty.”

On wobbly legs, I obey. A blush heats my cheeks when he cups between my thighs. Feels how wet I am.

That lopsided grin appears.

“For me.”

A statement, not a question. All I can do is nod, pressing my thighs together around his hand, wanting more friction.

Vasily closes the distance between us, crushing me to his chest and devouring me with a kiss. His tongue presses into my mouth relentlessly, making it hard to breathe, and my mind goes blank as he walks us back across the room.

Slowly. Heavily. Intentionally.

His hand still between my thighs, thumb pressed to my clit. I can’t help whimpering into his open mouth as he claims me.

A heavy thud brings me back to reality. With one hand, Vasily’s pushed open a door, and then he hauls me into what can only be described as a small locker room. Big enough for two people, tiled in simple, clean white. A double sink, an open shower area.

Dragging his teeth across my lips, he pulls away.

“Strip.”

It’s honestly incredible that I’ve made it this far without talking back. This whole month I’ve been fighting Vasily Borisov every step of the way, even when we fuck. Now it’s all I can do to strip out of my clothes as quickly as possible, trying not to be self-conscious about the way my curls stick to my neck or the sweat making my skin tacky.

Vasily moves to the shower area and turns on all three shower heads. They pour water into the space until steam starts to form.

Now he strips.

Slowly.

His shirt first, lifted easily over his head in one move. His muscles bunching in his shoulders and chest, abs flexing as he straightens. They shift and pull as he undoes his trousers again.

A clear dressing covers the cut at his side. The doctor said it only caught the skin, but I touch his uninjured hip instead, and he lowers his arm carefully.

Tosses them to the side.

He’s bare before me, tan and clean. When his eyes drag down my body, he doesn’t need to tell me; I go to him. Let him pull me under the spray of the water.

Vasily kisses me again, more gently this time but just as all-consuming. I give in and go weak against him, his hard body slick with water as his hands run down my back. He’s holding soap and washes me methodically and quickly. Each touch of his fingertips draws a shiver up my spine, and with each shiver he moans into my mouth, his tongue lapping everything he can take from me.

Within seconds I’m wetter than I’ve ever been in my life, pussy slick with want.

“Vasily,” I mumble against his mouth, trying to pull back.

“What do you want, Zvezda?” he asks, the soap gone somewhere in the haze, his bare hands traveling to my hips.

“I want…” I can’t get the words out. Not with the way his cock keeps bouncing insistently against my thighs.

“You want this?” he asks gruffly, reaching between my legs.

Two fingers slip through my folds. They stop just shy of my entrance, drag back up and over my clit. Repeat the motion.

“Y—yes,” I stutter, feeling off-balance from the heat of the water and the steam and the hard ridges of his body that I brace myself against.

With one hand, he turns me around roughly.

Presses my body against the tiles—surprisingly cold despite the hot water pouring out around them. My nipples tighten, goosebumps forming across my chest and thighs, and Vasily reaches between my legs from behind.

He shoves his fingers into my pussy and meets no resistance except for the delicious stretch of me taking him.