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Then he touches me. It’s soft, so much softer than I thought a man like him would be capable of. His palms are rougher than expected, running smoothly up over the insides of my thighs. He sinks to his knees before me as he looks up to meet my eyes.
Oh my fucking God.“Aleks—” I begin, though I’m not sure why or what I’m intending to say, and a moment later he silences me: with the press of his lips straight between my thighs, sending a jolt of energy dancing through my skin.
Oh. Fuck.
Heat floods to my face, pouring down my neck and the column of my spine, spilling between my legs, pooling there, against his mouth. I feel my arms fall back above my head, weak as jelly and useless to fend him off, if I wanted to. I feel my eyes flutter shut as his breath rushes against my burning core. There comes the flick of his tongue: the slightest and most devastating movement. My whole body trembles, hard, a forceful quake that runs through me, one that I’m completely powerless to suppress. His tongue meets my soaked opening again, less of a flick, more of a stroke, andfuck, it melts me.
“You taste just how I remember,” he murmurs, the heat of his breath stirring against my skin, turning me into flecks of fire. “I’ve thought about that taste.”
I open my eyes, looking down at him. Our gazes lock, and what I see stirs an entirely new wave of lust through me. His eyes are hooded, full of darkness, of a low, black-smoldering fire. He watches me as he slides one finger into his mouth, holding our intense eye contact as he slides that same fingerbetween my legs, sinking it inside of me and sending an intoxicating rush of heat to my core.
I groan, weak, my head falling back. But I watch him, and he watches me, as he leans forward and wraps his mouth around me.Oh, my God. Oh my fucking God, I could die. I could die right here and be completely, perfectly happy. I could let this kill me.His finger moves at a torturously slow pace at first, a hooked entrance, dragging against my most sensitive spots with every stroke. It has me shaking from the crown of my head to my toes, as his tongue circles my clit in perfect tandem.
I buck my hips toward his mouth, attempting to chase the climax that’s growing inside me, and his free hand snakes up over my hip, over my thigh, across my navel. He presses three fingers down against my skin, and like a button, I feel the pleasure in me culminate fast.
“Fuck,” I whisper, my voice tremulous. My body answers faster than my mind, faster than my tongue, and my hips begin to lift and grind down into him, into his hands and his mouth. Faster, faster. “Oh, God, Aleks—”
He grunts with an animalistic breath, the sound wild and thick with pleasure. I feel the vibration of his voice between my legs and move faster against him, heat blazing up from inside my bones, from the flesh of every red organ. I am losing my mind. My head is all heat, fever. And he fingers me faster, deeper, harder, the hook of his fingertips sending me toward the hot flood I crave—more than I think I’ve ever craved anything. He is food for me, for my starving body.
I arch my back, and the angle solves every hesitation. Control slips from my weak hands, and I scream, eyes squeezed shut, my fingers locked in his hair, tight and rough enough to hurt. I thrust my hips onto him, taking him hard and fast, the pleasure beating through me like a pulse of hot light that’s practically blinding. I’m crying out as I combust, as my body falls apartin a way it hasn’t in years; in forever. My mind is reeling as he meets my movements with every stroke of his fingers, flick of his tongue, vibration of his moans against my surging insides.
Completely spent and blissed out beyond comprehension, I collapse. I’m heaving for breath, sweat gathered across my body like morning dew. He slowly rises, dragging his tongue between my thighs in one final, tantalizing stroke. His dark eyes glitter with pride as he withdraws his finger, sending one last gasp escaping from my lips.
He’s smiling at me with that familiar, cocky grin plastered across his face.
“As easy as I remember,” he says, with a certain fondness. He looks at his hand, at the gloss on his finger. Then he slides it into his mouth, slowly sucking the bittersweet wetness from himself. It’s a filthy thing to do, and it’s so hot that it stops my heart for one second.Jesus, he’s doing it on purpose at this point.“I’m glad to see that.”
“Easy?” I finally manage, my breath still ragged as I tiredly furrow my brows at his comment. I should probably cover myself, pull the towel back over my naked body. But I’m too weak to move.No, I think, bewildered by the thought.I’m too happy. Right here, right now, where I am in this moment.I just feel too good to move. It’s a gratifying realization, one that I haven’t made in a long time. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
To my pleasure, he reaches between his legs to adjust himself through his pants.Oh,I think, proudly.Are you a little heated, Aleks? I can’t say I blame you.But he doesn’t move to undress, or kiss me again. He just wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and rakes his eyes slowly over my bare body. Finally, they meet my gaze, still smoky with desire.
“Go to sleep, now, Kat,” he says, though there’s still the trace of a dark smile on those lips. “You need your rest. And now you can sleep satisfied.”
“Aleks—”
“Sleep,” he says again, more firmly than before, and I sense that there will be no brooking of an argument now. Despite the blatant desire to please him as he just did for me, I seal my lips, sitting up on the edge of the bed as he crosses the room, running a hand through his wild waves of hair, attempting to tame what my fingers tangled while blinded by pleasure. I feel a small smile tug at my lips as I watch his movement. When he reaches the door, he places his hand over the handle, but stops, speaking to me with his back turned. “I should say that we shouldn’t do that again,” he pauses, his voice a little rougher now, as if it needed to be pulled up from a deep place in him that doesn’t see much use. “But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t planning on it.”
I stare at his figure that still hasn’t turned to look back at me, and my lips part in surprise.What the hell is that supposed to mean?The mystery excites me. I feel myself inch closer to him from the edge of my bed, but without another word or glance behind him, he steps out, closing the door behind me.
The alcohol has burned off at this point in the evening and I feel completely, flawlessly sober. Aware of everything. The wetness between my legs. The memory of his tongue, something new that I get to cherish. The possibility of more to come swirling in my mind. My pulse as it evens and calms.
And he’s right—I do sleep well, slipping into a blissful slumber immediately after he leaves the room.
Perfectly satisfied.
Chapter Eight
Aleks
“There.” Yuri points, handing me his binoculars. “He’s got a hat on, but it’s him, clear as day.”
I look through the binoculars. Sure enough, cloaked between the trees, is Konstantin Sidorov. His hat conceals most of his head of distinctive white-blond hair, but I’d know him anywhere regardless. The slope of his shoulders, the arrogant slouch in his walk. The expensive coat, out of place in a town like this. And of course, the Glock glinting dully just inside that coat.
He’s surrounded by three men, his own, all of whom are dressed much more convincingly as locals, like civilians. They’re gathered in front of what looks like a small inn, or a bed and breakfast, which Yuri has told me is some kind of app-related vacation home, rented out to people passing through. No on-site manager. No one to make sure there aren’t Russian gangsters staying in their rooms, polishing their rifles, and hunting for ex-lovers and their four-year-old sons.
A bristle of hatred pricks down my spine, one ridge at a time. It’s a new flavor of anger for me, after last night. Or maybe it’s been there all along, a little fire waiting for breath to be nursed, to grow big and wild. At first, I thought it strange at best—Konstantin coming here, coming after Katerina May of all people. But now…well. I suppose I could admit that, at least, I do understand it.
Because the thought of him hurting her, of touching her—of evenscaringher—makes my mind black and red with rage. Not to mention her little son. Her mother, her friends.Myfriend, James, her brother.But what did I expect?I killed Konstantin’s brother, with little or no thought to the revenge my rival would seek. And now, here he is, haunting my doorstep like a ghoul.
