I bite my lower lip, then I unbuckle my pants. The sound of rustling clothes is so heightened in the silence that I nearly chicken out. In one go, I lower my boxer briefs so that he can see the black ink surrounded by redness right above my pussy. Kirill straightens, his expression turning into one of bewilderment as he walks up to me, grabs me by the hip, and gently touches his fingers along the Russian word. Luchik’s.
