Storm at the Dacha

LARISA HAD JUST PUT HER SON TO BED WHEN SHE HEARD THEIR VOICES on the porch. She and Igor had left their house to their city friends for the weekend, and she was supposedly out picking up groceries. Instead, she'd slipped back quietly and stood behind the curtain, listening to her husband, Igor, tell Sasha—his best friend—how tired he was of her, of her "cloying sweetness." Sasha stayed quiet. Then Igor said something that made Larisa hold her breath: "She doesn't know how to be dirty. Boring as hell, man. What would you even do with a girl like that?"

Sasha chuckled, and his voice, low and gravelly, hit her like a slap: "I'd fuck her so hard she'd forget her own name. Right there on that table, Igor. Make her scream so loud the neighbors would tear down their fences."

Larisa froze. Something hot and forbidden flared up inside her. She didn't step out. She waited until her husband drove off to the village store for beer, then slipped onto the porch, where Sasha sat in just a t-shirt, toying with a lighter.

"Sash," she said, licking her lips. "You were saying what you'd do to me? I heard everything."

He looked up, and in his eyes she saw not fear, but excitement.

"Heard it, huh?" He leaned back in his chair, eyes locked on her. "And? You're not scared?"

"Terrified," she whispered, stepping closer. "But I don't give a damn."

Sasha stood. He was taller than Igor, broader in the shoulders. Larisa caught his scent—tobacco, sweat, and something sharp and purely male. He placed his palm on her waist, and it was like a jolt of electricity.

"Then keep quiet," he said, pulling her against him. "Igor's back in an hour."

His mouth found her neck, and Larisa arched, tilting her head back. She felt his fingers slide over the thin fabric of her sundress, hunting for the clasp. He spun her around to face the table, where their empty glasses still sat.

"Bend over," he ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Larisa obeyed. The wood of the table was cool under her palms. Sasha yanked her sundress up, and she heard the fabric tear.

"You're insane!" she gasped, but she didn't resist.

"You wanted dirty, Larisa," he whispered against her ear, pressing up behind her. "Here it is."

His hand slid under the lace of her panties, and she felt his fingers on her clit. Rough, demanding. She bit her lip to keep from moaning.

"God, you're soaked," he chuckled, his breath sending shivers down her spine. "Igor's a fool for not using what he's got."

Larisa tried to answer, but he entered her from behind with one sharp thrust, and every word died in her throat. She sobbed, gripping the table's edge. Sasha moved fast, hard, not giving her a second to recover. All she could hear was his heavy breathing and the creak of wood beneath them.

"Like that," he exhaled, slowing down. "Too fast."

He pulled out, spun her to face him, and pushed her back onto the table. She sprawled before him, disheveled, sundress hiked up. Sasha ripped off his shirt, and Larisa drank in the sight of his solid chest, dusted with dark hair.

"Now watch," he said, leaning over her. "Watch me fuck you."

He entered her again, this time staring straight into her eyes. Slow, all the way to the hilt. Larisa arched, digging her nails into his shoulders. She felt every movement, every inch.

"Deeper," she whispered, surprising herself with her own boldness.

"Ask me," he smirked.

"Please," she breathed, and it came out as a plea.

Sasha picked up the pace, and she cried out, no longer holding back. He clamped his palm over her mouth.

"Quiet," he murmured, his voice ragged with lust. "Don't want you losing your voice before we're done."

She came under his touch, clenching around him, and he groaned at the feel of her trembling. But he didn't stop. He rolled her onto her side, lifted her leg, and drove into her from a new angle.

"Again," he whispered. "I want you to come on me."

Larisa lost track of time. She forgot where she was, who she was. There was only Sasha—his hands, his mouth, his cock. She scratched his back, bit his shoulder as he carried her to the couch without pulling out.

"Holy shit," she exhaled when he finally came with a deep, guttural groan, pressed against her.

She lay beneath him, her heart hammering in her throat. Sasha lifted his head and looked at her. Then he laughed.

"What?" she asked.

"Igor's an idiot," he said, kissing her forehead. "But I'm not thanking him for this."

Larisa snorted and buried her face in his shoulder. She felt light, like a weight had been lifted off her. She heard a car engine rumble outside.

"Get dressed," she whispered, smiling. "Tell Igor I went off to pick mushrooms."

Sasha laughed, and she knew this was just the beginning of something much bigger.