wide shocked brown eyes slammed into mine. I was locked in. Couldn’t look away as my dick pushed against her harder.
Then the female’s eyes fluttered. She choked in a breath as her body stilled. A deep red flush ambushed her cheeks and chest. A loud cry ripped from her throat. As I felt the entrance of her pussy clenching, searching for my dick, a rush of heat took me captive until I roared out in release. Light burst behind my eyes as I came harder than I’d ever come under Mistress’s commands. I fought for breath as, darting my gaze down between the little Georgian’s legs, I saw my release coating her inner thighs. I stared and stared at the sight. A wave of possession rippled through my body.
I stayed still, unsure if I could ever move again, when I felt a hand stroke along the long scar on my right cheek. I threw back my head. Even with this sharp movement the female’s hand never moved. I swallowed and watched as her finger began to move again, down my face, following the path of the scar to its end point, on my chest.
I loosened the grip on her thighs, grunting when she sat on my softening dick. My heart beat faster than ever as she reached down to cover her hand with my own. My eyebrows pulled down in confusion when, taking her small hand, she lifted my hand and brought it to the center of her chest. Her eyes never left mine as she took control of my index finger and ran it over her skin until it stopped on her shoulder.
The female blinked, and blinked again, until she pressed the pad of my finger farther down her skin and silently began to move my finger in circles. My breathing paused when I knew I was feeling the rough skin of the scar on her shoulder. I exhaled deeply and she moved my finger across to her other shoulder, repeating the action.
She watched me like she wanted to speak, but her mouth stayed closed, her lips unmoving. Finally, she journeyed our joined hands to the third scar I knew she had on her hip.
This time, as my finger ran over the skin, she whispered, “We both have scars.”
My skin pricked at the understanding in her voice. She’d spoken to me. She hadn’t talked at me or through me or commanded me. She’d talked to me. Like I was someone worth talking to.
Like I was human. Not a killer beast.
She waited for my answer, her skin gradually returning to its olive tone from the flushed red. Unsure what to say, I nodded my head.
A flicker of a smile hooked on her upper lip, and the coil that was wound tight in my chest began to loosen.
Ducking her eyes, she peered up at me through long black lashes to say, “We are both damaged.” My nostrils flared and my pulse raced when she added, “I think we are not so dissimilar, you and I.”
My lips parted as she uttered those words and a rush of air escaped my mouth. Her finger moved again, tracing back up the scar, when it suddenly took a detour, to move across my identity tattoo.
Her black eyebrows pulled together as she traced every number. When she reached the end of number “4,” she looked up at me, sadness in her expression. Then she asked, “What is your name?” Only this time, she hadn’t spoken in Georgian. Instead she had spoken in perfect Russian.
Questions circled my head as she spoke to me in my native Russian. Mistress and the Gvardii never spoke to me anymore in my mother tongue. Without my sister, I had no other to speak to in my language.
Kotyonok was Georgian, yet she spoke to me in my language and as if she saw me as a human.
I had no idea what to do next. Her red lips rolled together and I saw the pulse beating fast in her neck. She was nervous. As I remained silent and unmoving, she asked, still in Russian, “Where you are from, do they call you by this number?”
I could hear the sound of my teeth grinding together echoing in my ears, but I found myself nodding my head. The female’s eyes filled with sadness, and she whispered, “One, nine, four.”
As my number was read aloud in Russian, something inside of me snapped. Lurching forward, I gripped at the female’s arms and flipped her until her back