Bone Rider (32 page)

An odd pulling sensation alerted Riley that McClane was up to something and then Misha gasped in surprise and, yes, there was skin, finally, Misha’s wet erection bumping against Riley’s painfully hard dick and God help them all, but McClane was wrapping around both of them, formed a sheath for them. It was perfect. Warm, snug, so smooth it felt slick, and pulsing rhythmically with every beat of Riley’s racing heart.

Misha cried out and bore down, the frayed remains of his discipline gone. He rutted against Riley with a snarl of passion, short, rough jabs completely lacking in finesse that felt like heaven. Riley met him push for shove, fucked up into McClane, against Misha, mindlessly, desperately. He choked out a hoarse sound when Misha buried his face against his throat, mouthing at the tender skin, teeth scraping bluntly along Riley’s jaw. It wasn’t quite what Riley needed, and he twisted awkwardly, searching for Misha’s mouth until Misha got it,
finally
, goddamn it, and met him in a fierce, utterly possessive kiss that set every nerve ending of Riley’s on fire in the best damn way. McClane whined somewhere at the back of his mind, high and urgent, and tightened the sheath around them.

Riley was drowning in Misha’s scent, intoxicated by his taste, blind and deaf to everything that wasn’t the man on top of him or the creature in him and then McClane scraped together enough extra power to shift them an inch or two, tilt their hips up just so, and he licked Riley deep inside and squeezed Riley’s tight, ready balls at the same moment, and that was it.

Riley came so hard his world went white.

I
T
TOOK
them all a while to recover. Misha, ever the neat freak, cleaned off both of them with a corner of the sheet, tucked himself back in and zipped up before he slumped down half on top of Riley and refused to move again. Riley’s mind was empty, pleasantly so, his body heavy and relaxed—truly, blissfully relaxed—for the first time in too long. They lay in a pile of rumpled sheets, Misha plastered against Riley, his head on Riley’s shoulder, one leg hooked over Riley’s thighs, his hand splayed protectively over Riley’s heart. It was a little bit like being flattened under a slumbering lion. The feeling of being naked when Misha was mostly dressed was odd, but Riley had never been body shy and found he enjoyed the brush of expensive fabric against his bare skin.

He didn’t even realize he was stroking Misha’s back at first, tracing firm muscle through damp silk; couldn’t find the resolve to stop when he did. The position was familiar, soothing, and Riley didn’t have the energy to keep on fighting. He’d missed Misha. He’d missed
this
: the solid weight pressing him into the mattress, the smell of warm, sweaty skin, the stealth nuzzling. He didn’t turn away when Misha rose up to kiss him again, leaning on his elbow so he could get a better angle, just opened his lips and welcomed Misha inside.

He was so caught up in the moment he tried to follow Misha’s mouth when Misha moved back eventually, but then stopped and froze, mortified by his reaction. Misha didn’t let go of him, though, didn’t pull back much, just shifted so he was straddling Riley. Maybe the position should’ve made Riley bristle, but he didn’t feel trapped. Unsettled, maybe. Definitely. This was too close, too intimate, and at the same time not nearly enough. Riley’s skin felt cold despite the heat, the only warmth coming from the body on top of his. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. He didn’t know where to look until Misha’s gaze snagged his and didn’t let go.

“I didn’t play you,” Misha told him firmly, his voice low and more than a little husky, his stare so intense it felt like a touch. “I fucked up, but I didn’t play you.” His jaw clenched briefly before he managed to relax enough to add, “Also, if you ever put yourself down again like that, I’ll set your fucking boots on fire, swear to God.”

He adjusted his position when Riley twitched involuntarily, but he didn’t budge, kept Riley securely under him, between his legs. Offering Riley a clear shot at his groin or belly, deliberately. It was considerate of him, though really not necessary. Lord knew Riley had no defenses when it came to Misha, but he did have McClane now. If he really wanted Misha off him, all it’d take was a thought and a push.

Tactical considerations aside, Riley did appreciate the view even though he’d never seen Misha this rumpled before, or this shaken. That suit was a goner and it was oddly satisfying to know Riley was at least partly responsible for it. Even more satisfying to see the naked vulnerability in Misha’s eyes, all those formidable defenses down for a change. It reinforced the dawning realization that Riley wasn’t as alone in this clusterfuck of emotions as he’d thought, wasn’t the only one in over his head. It was a slow, beautiful epiphany that went a long way in easing some of the hurt Riley had carried for so long.

Misha cleared his throat. “I’ve thought about this. About what I’d say to you when I found you. I don’t know if it’ll be enough, but… will you listen? Please?”

Riley breathed out shakily, thoroughly off-balance. Whatever Misha was going to say, he was pretty sure he didn’t want to hear it. Unfortunately, he was equally sure Misha was going to hit him with it anyway. He had that look.

Misha took his silence for acquiescence and nodded once, jerkily. “All right,” he muttered, and then, “Thank you.”

“Just spit it out,” Riley grumbled.

He would’ve liked to sound harsher, but most of his anger was gone and he was thirsty as hell and tired of fighting. His body felt well used and deeply satisfied and it was hard to ignore the sense of contentment he got simply from being with Misha again. He’d gone two months without Misha’s voice, his touch, his arrogance and sense of humor and his shitty coffee. His passion and his constant need to insinuate himself into Riley’s personal space. It was extremely unfair to be reminded of how much he’d always enjoyed the man’s company. The Misha he’d known had been a fake, but with this Misha’s eyes on him and his warmth against his skin it was hard to give a damn.

“First of all, Mikhail Tokarev is my real name.”

Misha’s voice was very quiet and steady. He was watching Riley like a hawk.
Oh shit
, Riley realized with dull terror, this was going to be one of those talks. Full disclosure. No holds barred. Truth time. For all that he didn’t appreciate being lied to, Riley heartily despised truth time. Misha, naturally, ignored his squirming and plowed on with dogged determination.

“I am the firstborn son of Vasiliy and Anna Tokarev. My father is a crime lord, my mother is a trophy wife, and my sister will probably take over the organization once she’s figured out how to get me out of the way. I have a fiancée I’ve never met. I never had a relationship that lasted longer than a few nights and I’ve killed a shitload of people. Most of them deserved it, but probably not all of them.”

Riley must’ve flinched or made some kind of sound at that, because Misha leaned forward and cupped his face gently, preventing him from turning away. He was pale, his eyes flinty. His tone grew more urgent, words tumbling out faster so Riley couldn’t escape, couldn’t interrupt or tune out the confession.

“I don’t smoke, I don’t drink much, I don’t do drugs. I’m so good at my job the law thinks I’m three different hit men and a serial killer. I speak Russian and French, I never had a pet, and the reason why you hate my coffee is that it’s decaf. I’m
not
sorry I lied to you.” He said it fiercely, obviously expecting this to not go over well. “You never would’ve given this thing between us a chance if I hadn’t. I’m sorry you found out about me the way you did. I’m sorry it took me so long to find you. I’m sorry as hell you spent the past two months thinking I played you, because I didn’t. I swear to God, Riley, I love you. I love you so much it fucking breaks me.”

Liar
, Riley thought, but it sounded weak even in his head.

Why are you so scared?
McClane asked, puzzled and clearly impressed by Misha’s declaration.
If he’s lying, we can kill him in a heartbeat. He can’t hurt us
.

Physically. Misha couldn’t hurt them
physically
. He could do plenty of damage to Riley’s battered heart. Hell, he’d already fucked up Riley so much that Riley couldn’t decide which was worse: saying goodbye to his principles or going on without Misha. It should’ve been a simple decision. It wasn’t.

“You kill people for a living, Misha.”

It wasn’t really an accusation; it was a reminder to himself, because being so close to the man made Riley want to forget everything but how right it felt to be with Misha. As though it didn’t matter that the son-of-a-bitch had freely admitted to being a professional killer. And that was the crux of it, wasn’t it? This wasn’t something small and petty. It was, quite literally, a matter of life and death. Riley was willing to overlook a hell of a lot for love, but not murder.

How many was a “shitload of people” anyway?

More than a
ship
load, I bet
, McClane muttered incongruously.
And
he
did it on purpose
.

“On purpose?” Riley repeated, wondering what McClane was talking about. He suspected he wasn’t going to like the answer. Why the hell was it that, lately, everybody he loved seemed to have a body count in the double and triple digits?

Misha straightened and leaned back a little, but he didn’t move away and he kept his hands on Riley’s body, fingers brushing gently over his sex-sensitized skin. Riley couldn’t take his eyes off him, completely mesmerized by the way Misha was staring at him. He hadn’t realized how much Misha kept hidden until he didn’t anymore. Jesus H. Christ. Misha was looking at Riley as though Riley was his entire world.

The man was never going to let him go.

It was unnerving. Terrifying on so many levels. And yet… it was also unexpectedly reassuring. There was an odd peace in knowing Misha wouldn’t leave him, would follow wherever Riley went. Hard to tell if it was love or obsession. Hard to care about the difference right then. Apparently, Riley was a bit fucked in the head when it came to Misha. Not that this was news.

“Yes, Riley. I kill people. On purpose,” Misha agreed belatedly, patiently, patently undisturbed by the idea. “It’s what I’ve been trained to do and I’m good at it.” His gaze softened. “Doesn’t mean I can’t learn to be good at something else.”

Riley’s right eyebrow climbed up in disbelief. “Like what?”

He’d expected Misha to flounder, but not for the first time Misha surprised him.

“No idea.” Misha smiled, brittle but true. “I’m still working on that part.” He huffed out a shaky breath. His grip on Riley’s shoulders tightened. “I saw that fucking diner blow up and I thought you were dead, Riley. I thought you were fucking
gone
. I thought they’d killed you.”

He barked out a laugh that made Riley flinch, because there was no humor in it, only a stark echo of pain. Of course Misha had been there; he’d gotten them out. He must’ve seen everything and he hadn’t known Riley was currently hard to kill. There were ghosts in Misha’s eyes now, a shadow of a dark, desolate “what if,” and it chilled Riley to the bone to realize at last that the military wouldn’t have simply handed him over. Misha must’ve cut a bloody swath through the troops outside to get to the diner. He could’ve died, but the lingering traces of fear in his eyes were for Riley, not himself.

Misha could’ve
died
.

It was instinct to sit up and wrap his arms around Misha, and if not for Misha’s startled squawk, Riley wouldn’t have realized he shouldn’t have been able to move the taller man so easily. Riley opened his mouth, to apologize or explain, but Misha shrugged it off philosophically and smiled down at him. The raw emotion in his eyes hurt to see.

Then the idiot just had to open his mouth again.

“I don’t give a shit how long it’ll take you to get over who I am, Riley. You left me. I saw you die. I’m not letting you out of my sight again, ever.”

That’s a long time
, McClane noted, sounding awed.
Is he serious?

Damned if Misha hadn’t sounded dead serious.

Panic reared its head, because there was one hell of a difference between admitting to himself that maybe he wanted Misha to stick around and being told point blank that walking away wasn’t an option anymore. It felt like a trap door slamming shut. No emergency exit. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to retreat. It was enough to make Riley’s adrenaline levels spike so fast McClane clutched at his bones with a yelp. Riley barely noticed. He wasn’t good at dealing with panic or with being cornered. It made him aggressive and a little dumb. Kind of like tequila. He took his hands off Misha, which didn’t do him much good since Misha was still straddling him, and snarled.

“I’m not fucking a hit man.”

“You already did,” Misha reminded him testily, “and you liked it.”

His eyes widened when his brain caught up with his mouth and he raised a hand quickly in a pacifying gesture to keep Riley from snapping and punching him again.

“Whoa. Sorry. I’m tired. That just slipped out. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Unfortunately, that didn’t make it any less true.

Riley fought his flight reflex and lost. For the second time since Riley had woken up, Misha ended up on his ass on the floor. This time, though, Riley didn’t stand his ground. He skirted around Misha, snatched up his duffel bag and boots in passing, and retreated to the window where he didn’t feel quite as boxed in. McClane tactfully covered him in armor again from the waist down, but mercifully kept his comments to himself.

Misha was smart enough to let Riley go even though he was almost twitching with the obvious urge to follow. He got up slowly, careful not to make any sudden moves, and watched in silence as Riley grabbed a set of clothes from his bag and got dressed. Riley pretended to ignore him until he was done, then stared back stonily, arms crossed, lips tight, unwilling to give an inch. If there was one thing about Misha he knew—had known from the start—it was that you had to draw your lines and stick to them, because Misha was used to being in command. Part of it was how he’d been raised, but mostly it was who he was. Assertive. Possessive. Take-charge. All nice and fine in bed most of the time, because Riley could appreciate being topped by an expert, but Riley had no intention of becoming Misha’s obedient little sub. He had plenty of alpha tendencies himself and didn’t plan on shelving them any time soon. Or ever.