He thrusts in a maddening rhythm, curling and scissoring his fingers. I push off the mattress, writhing, and moaning the loudest I ever have. Unlike a few days ago, Kirill isn’t punishing or torturing me. This isn’t orgasm denial. Not even close. He’s touching me with the sole purpose of pushing me to the edge as soon as possible. He’s proving that he’s the only one who has this much control over my sexual appetite. The only one who can make me this animalistic for his touch. Sure enough, a few strokes later, I’m screaming. The waves engulf and swallow me whole. The release is so intense that
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