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“A real man doesn’t waver in the face of what needs to be done,” he said softly. “There are many acts of war. Many battles that take place off the field with no uniforms or offices in command. Sometimes, battle takes place on your kitchen floor.” He didn’t lift his eyes to me, but he didn’t need to. It was my first lesson of many.
“Penny for your thoughts?” I jump when a soft hand touches my shoulder. I turn to see Sadie, utterly naked, her eyes still drooping with sleep. When I look at her she drapes her arms across her breasts and shivers. I place my shot glass down and draw her to me.
“Did you rest?” I ask her.
“Yes,” she says. “But I wondered what you were thinking of, staring out the window like that. You looked troubled.”
I shrug. “I was thinking of my childhood,” I tell her. “When I was taken in by Dimitri and Yana.” I run my hand down her back and over the curve of her beautiful backside, pulling her flush against my chest. Lowering my mouth to her bare shoulder, I place a tender kiss there.
I smile to myself when she sighs in pleasure. “You didn’t look happy, though. You were brooding. What were you thinking of?”
Lifeless eyes and pools of blood, sweet girl.
I shake my head. “Nothing.” I sit and pull her onto my lap, but this time I don’t fondle her beautiful breasts or play with her pussy. I just hold her to my chest and inhale her sweet, clean scent and it’s there in that moment, when I’m holding her naked body to my chest and she’s breathing as softly and sweetly as a baby, I know why Sadie is different for me. Her beauty comes from more than her curves and feminine beauty. There is no pretense about her. No charm or ulterior motives. Nothing but simple, unsullied beauty. She’s as fresh as a field of newly-fallen snow. And though a part of her still resists me, a part of her likes this.
I lay her back on the sofa until her back hits the black leather. Pinned beneath me, her eyes widen and one small hand reaches for my shoulder. Delicate fingers rest there, not pushing me away, but anchoring herself as if she’s mountain climbing and she holds the ledge.
“It isn’t nothing,” she whispers. “You weren’t thinking of nothing. You just don’t trust me enough to tell me.” A note of sadness in her voice tugs at my heart.
She should hate me. Why doesn’t she?
“It isn’t that I don’t trust you,” I tell her. “But there are things I’d rather keep from you. At least for now.”
When her legs part, the scent of her feminine arousal makes me grow hard. My training of her earlier was not in vain—the slightest pressure of my knee between her legs has her arching into me, her lips parted, and if I touched her pussy lips, I’d find her soaked for me.
“I want to fuck you,” I growl in her ear. But no, no it isn’t true. I don’t want to fuck her. I want to make love to her, claiming her virginity with slow, steady, firm strokes that bring her to climax on my cock. I want to plunder her virginity until she screams in pleasure and my seed fills her. I can fuck her with nothing between us, for Nikita always makes sure my girls are prepared for this.
“Do you?” she asks back, with a twinkle in her eye. No longer does she stare back at me as the shy little librarian. Now, unclothed with the pleasure I’ve wrought from her, a feminine beauty shines forth in her eyes as she stares back at me. “I was beginning to wonder if the pleasure would be all mine.”
I can’t help a little smile that tugs at my lips as I lean down and brush my lips against hers. “Part your legs,” I order. She already has, but I want it clear I orchestrate this.
Her eyes meet mine in bold fearlessness as she whispers, “Yes, sir.”
My cock swells with the sweetness of her compliance, but I want her fully ready. I kiss her long and hard, tasting her lips, as I grind my pelvis between her legs.
“Sadie,” I groan in her ear. “Christ, Sadie.”
And still, she just lets her legs fall open. I release her just long enough to remove my clothes and send them toppling to the floor before I’m back between her legs.
When her arms come around me, I breathe her in, my chest swelling when I slide my cock between the fullness of her thighs.
“Krasotka,” I whisper, losing myself in my native language as I sing her praises. Her beauty and innocence slay me, and my voice is hoarse with the effort of holding back. “Ty takaya krasivaya. Takoy nevinnyy,” I murmur. You’re so beautiful. So innocent. I like that she doesn’t know what I’m saying. It’s better if she doesn’t know how much she means to me. What she symbolizes. What she does to me.
