Trixie

CHAPTER 2

TRIXIE

“No,” I whispered, pressing both hands over my face. “I’m fucking insane.”

But it didn’t stop me.

My palms slid down my throat, over my chest, chasing the heat building low in my stomach.

The house was silent. No footsteps. No voices. Just the AC running and my pulse throbbing between my legs.

His bed smelled like detergent… and him. That faint cedar-and-smoke scent hit the back of my throat and went straight to my pussy.

I gave up fighting it.

I shoved my shorts and panties down in one rough pull and kicked them off. Cool air hit my bare pussy, and I let out a loud whimper before I could stop it. My thighs were already slick; I could feel it dripping.

I spread my legs wide on his mattress, like I’d been waiting years to do exactly this.

My fingers found my clit immediately—swollen, throbbing, ready. The first slow rub made a wet sound that should’ve embarrassed me but didn’t. I bit my lip and kept going, circling harder, pressing harder, letting my hips roll up into my hand.

In my head, he was already here.

Zahar stood at the foot of the bed, shirt half-unbuttoned, sleeves pushed up, jaw clenched, eyes glued to my dripping pussy.

“Printsessa,” he growled, that rough Russian accent hitting every nerve I had. “Look at you. Soaked just from being in my bed.”

I moaned out loud and spread myself with two fingers, feeling how wet and puffy I was. I dragged the slickness up to my clit until it pulsed hard under my touch.

I imagined him crawling up the bed, grabbing my thighs, forcing them open wider than I could manage on my own.

“You missed me that much?” he rasped, breath hot on my inner thigh. “Five years and you’re still this wet the second you’re around my things?”

“Yes,” I hissed, hips jerking. “Fuck yes.”

I pushed two fingers inside my pussy, it went in deep. No hesitation. I was so wet they slid in easily, stretching me open. I curled them right against that spot that made my stomach drop, and thrust fast and messy, the wet slap of it loud in the quiet room.

My other hand shoved my tank top up and I grabbed my breast, squeezing hard, pinching my nipple until it ached, then rubbing it to soothe the sting.

I imagined his beard scraping my thighs. His tongue sliding up my slit. His mouth closing around my clit and sucking hard enough to make me scream.

“Zahar… fuck… uncle Zahar please—”

I shoved a third finger in, stretching myself more, imagining it was his cock pushing inside me—thick, heavy, too much but exactly what I wanted. Every thrust pressed my palm against my clit, pushing the pressure higher and higher until I could barely breathe.

I felt myself dripping down onto his sheets, soaking them. The idea of him finding it later made me clench around my fingers.

In my head, he wasn’t done with me.

He’d flip me on my stomach. Shove my face into the pillow. Yank my hair back and fuck me from behind, hard enough to shake the bed. His hand on my hip. His cock slamming into me deep and rough.

That image broke me.

I came with a choked cry, back arching off the mattress. My pussy clenched tight around my fingers, pulsing hard, pushing out a messy rush of come that splattered onto his sheets. I kept fucking myself through it, shaking, gasping, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes as the orgasm tore through me.

When it finally eased, I collapsed. My fingers were still inside me, still twitching from the aftershocks. My whole body felt wrecked.

Slowly, I pulled my fingers out. The sound was obscene and made my face heat up again. I brought them to my mouth and sucked them clean—salty, warm, dirty.

The room smelled like sex.

Like me.

Like what I’d just done in the bed of a man who had no idea I was using his sheets to get myself off.

I sat up, legs shaking. Guilt hit—but excitement hit harder. My thighs were sticky. My pussy still throbbed.

I smoothed the blankets as best as I could, but the dark wet patch wasn’t going anywhere. A loud, obvious reminder.

Let him see it tonight.

Let him smell me.

Let him know exactly what his little printsessa did the second she was alone in his room.

I yanked my shorts back on, wincing at the damp fabric rubbing my still-sensitive pussy, and forced myself out of the room.

But as I walked out the door and locked it behind me, my chest tight and my body still buzzing, one thought cut through everything:

He comes home tonight.

And I’m not done.