Kissing My Killer (32 page)

And then I was pushing her back on the bed and climbing onto it atop her. I hunkered down over her, kissing down her neck, hating the robe for being in the way and yet loving it because now I’d get to slowly unwrap her. I pressed her down into the bed with my body—

She let out a little yelp. Not pain, exactly, but a warning.

I lifted up—and realized that her legs were awkwardly bent under her. I’d pressed her back onto the bed when she was kneeling and she hadn’t had room to straighten them. “Sorry,” I grunted guiltily, and lifted off her so that she could untangle herself.

She smiled up at me and unfolded her legs: a symphony of long, pale thighs and shapely calves that took my breath away.

I glanced down at us: her, so small and fragile; me, the big ape. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I blurted. Then, “You need to tell me, if I hurt you.”

“You didn’t,” she said quickly. “And I will.”

I lowered myself again, this time easing myself between her thighs. I didn’t want to go slow. I wanted to do things to her that would make one of Vadim’s hookers blush, but I was suddenly scared—Russian men can be rough in bed and I’d always been one of the roughest. And Gabriella was so...
innocent.
Back in the junkyard, we’d both lost control and I hadn’t thought about it. But now….

I battled with it, going back and forth. I could feel her soft body against mine, the heat of her throbbing against my cock through the robe. Every time I moved, her breasts rolled and squashed between us. All I wanted to do was to rip the top of it open and bare her...but, at the same time, all I could think about was that bastard Konstantin, tying her up so that he could have his twisted pleasure with her. Was I really any better?

“What?” she asked, looking up at me. “Alexei, what?”

I wasn’t good at this—talking about sex. I loved sex, but Russians don’t talk about it the way Americans do, with their endless magazine articles about thirty-six reasons to do this and seventeen ways to do that. We just
do it.
“You’re sure he didn’t hurt you?” I muttered.

She nodded firmly. “You got there before he had a chance to.”

“But you must have been scared.” I gently brushed her hair away from her face. “He had you tied up.”

“I’m okay,” she said softly. “I mean, it
was
scary, but it wasn’t like he was doing it to scare me—he thought I was a call girl, doing it all willingly. I’m glad you came when you did. But...you know. Being tied up was okay. Not with him—I didn’t even know him. But being tied up
itself
was okay.”

And then she suddenly looked away and her cheeks flared red, as if she realized she’d said too much. I stared down at her, stunned.

“Being tied up was okay?” I said slowly.

She met my eyes for a second. “I don’t mean I wanted Konstantin—you’re the only one I want. But, you know, afterwards, when I’d had time to process it...” She looked away again, not meeting my eyes. “It sort of got me thinking that...maybe, umm...you know...being tied up by someone I trusted, someone I wanted to be with...” Her eyes went left, right...everywhere but at me. “Maybe that wouldn’t necessarily be the worst thing in the world.” She finally met my eyes, her expression asking whether that had answered my question.

I pressed my hands into the bed, lifting myself up. I saw her gulp a little as she realized the questioning wasn’t over. “Not the worst thing in the world?” I echoed.

She swallowed and squirmed. “No. I mean, not the
worst
thing.”

I blinked down at her, trying to work out if I was really hearing what I thought I was hearing.

She flushed red and looked determinedly towards the window. “I’m just telling you because you asked.”

I felt myself nod. “Mm-hmm.” My mind was still trying to catch up. I was thinking of all the things I’d wanted to do to her, ever since I’d first seen her. I was realizing that maybe “inexperienced,” maybe even “sheltered,” aren’t the same as “innocent.” I still hated Konstantin for seeing her naked, but he’d revealed a new side to her, one I’d had no idea existed.

She turned her head and looked up at me. An understanding passed between us. I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. We stayed like that for a few seconds, making our minds up, breathing faster and faster with each passing second.

“We should have a safe word, she said suddenly. “ Like,
Stormcloud.
”

“What’s a safe word?”

“If I
really
want you to stop.”

“But otherwise...I should keep going?” I asked.

She squirmed under me, rolling her hips. “You should keep going,” she said, her voice high and shaky with excitement.

My hands were still pressed into the bed. I looked down at them—at my arms, my chest, the tattoos that marked me as Bratva for life. I traced her cheek with one finger, my hand huge against her face. I felt as if the room was spinning. She wanted my hands on her—all over her. She wanted me to fuck her and she didn’t want me to stop. “Stormcloud,” I muttered, nodding.

And then I began to strip her naked.

Gabriella

What. The hell. Did I just do?

I was shocked at how brazen I’d been about it. Well, brazen
for me.

Did I really just tell him not to stop? Do I really have to say a freaking safeword or he’ll—

Just.

Keep.

Going.

I looked up at him, at those broad pecs and the solid, heavy swells of his shoulders, following them down past his thick biceps to the veined, hard mass of his forearms. So much strength, so much powerful, tanned
man...
and the fact he was naked as he hulked over me made it even more intense, as if all of that power was concentrated into the throbbing, weighty shaft that pressed against my stomach.

His tattoos were a reminder of what he was and they still brought the same hard edge of fear. He was so utterly unlike me, from a world where life itself could be bought and sold, snuffed out at a moment’s notice. That life had owned him...and yet he’d turned away from it for me. That’s why I trusted him, why I knew he’d never hurt me.

His hand slid up my leg to the robe’s belt and hooked underneath it. With a savage jerk, he pulled the belt through the loops and then opened the robe wide.

I gasped, suddenly naked. My body was still warm and damp from the shower and the cool air of the room made every inch of skin throb. In the steam bath and the junkyard, there had been shadows to hide in. Here, I was completely exposed to him. I put my arm over my breasts and my hand over my groin, out of instinct as much as anything. It was exactly what I’d done with Konstantin.

Alexei shook his head. “No,” he growled, as if he could read my mind. “He doesn’t get to see you. I do.” And he grabbed my wrist and pulled my arm away, pressing it down to the bed. His fingers were like iron—not painful but utterly inescapable. The feeling sent an unexpected tremor through me.

I watched as he lowered his head and stared at my breasts. It was obvious to me, now, that he really loved them. I’d never had that before, never had a part of my body exert that much power over a man. It felt fantastic.

With his free hand, he began to explore them, stroking each one with his fingertips. I gritted my teeth at the slow, building pleasure, arching my back, and that only thrust them more wantonly into his hands. He teased me, touching only the edges of my breasts, staying clear of their centers. He stroked me over and over, until my breasts ached and throbbed for firmer contact and my nipples stood up hard.

Then he was engulfing me with his lips, sucking the whole center of one breast into his mouth, and I tried to arch and twist, to release the pleasure that crackled through me. But his hand pinned my arm down to the bed and suddenly his other hand was on my shoulder, holding me motionless. I sucked in a long, shuddering breath, forced to lie there and take it as his tongue flicked over my nipple and his lips sucked.

I’d assumed that, given opportunity, he’d be fast—brutal. I thought that he’d concentrate on his own pleasure. I never expected him to go slow, to use the power he had over me to tease me. But he was almost leisurely, exploring every part of my breast from the crinkled skin around my nipple to the soft flesh right at the bottom. The pleasure built and built, circling and twisting until I was exquisitely sensitized, rolling my head from side to side on the pillow every time his tongue lashed and flicked. Just as it was becoming too much, he stopped and stared down at my flushed, wide-eyed face. We stared at one another: him in complete control, me totally beyond it.

Then he switched to my other breast, leaving the first one shining wetly, and took me on the same journey again, and this time it was twice as good. He had me pinned down so I couldn’t buck and thrash—I had to settle for gasping and circling my ass against the bed as I stared down at the sight of my creamy flesh being licked and sucked. He made it last for long, agonizing minutes and by the end I was a sweating, panting wreck.

He looked at the hand I still had over my groin, then jerked his head to the side to indicate that I should move it.

I kept it where it was. I could feel his eyes boring straight through it and my groin twinged in helpless response behind my fingers.

“Gabriella,” he said warningly. “Move your hand.”

I didn’t. I wasn’t disobeying to taunt him—at least, I don’t think I was. I was just shell-shocked from what he’d just done to my breasts, and I was trying to figure out if I could handle him doing the same thing down there.

Then he took the choice away from me. He grabbed my wrist and pulled my hand away from my groin, then pinned it down to the bed beside my hip. He brought my other arm down, too, and pinned that hand next to my other hip. He shoved his knee between mine and started to slowly lever them apart even as I tried to keep them together. I’m not even sure
why
I tried to keep them together: I wanted his mouth on me more than anything.

It didn’t make any difference. His nakedness meant that I could see the moment his powerful hips flexed and my legs helplessly spread, my bare heels skittering across the comforter as they fought for grip. I felt myself open for him, the cool air of the room on my most sensitive places.
God
, the soft breeze from the ceiling fan hit me and I tensed and gasped as I felt how wet I was.

His hands kept mine pressed to the bed as he moved lower. He used those massive shoulders to keep me spread wide for him. Then his head dipped and—

I threw back my head, crying out as his tongue made the first delicious contact, gliding over my outer lips. I’d forgotten how good he was at this—and this time, he had me pinned down and helpless: he could make it last as long as he wanted. His tongue drew elegant lines and swirls, teasing me open and then plunging in to sample me. I writhed against him, feeling my smoothness caress him.

It was gentle, but the pleasure was a darker shade than in the junkyard, threads of oily black instead of silver. It was something about being unable to move, having to lie there and take whatever he did to me. The black threads swirled upward, spreading out like ink in water, making my thighs tense and my groin hump off the bed towards him. I tightened all the way up to my shoulders and, as he started an insistent rhythm right on my clit, I started to press my upper body to the bed in time with him. I was inching steadily towards my climax but I needed more: harder, faster,
now!
“God,” I panted, “please!”

He released my hands. Immediately, I shot one hand down between my thighs—I needed to rub myself, as he licked. That would send me over the edge—

But my hand was captured again. He pulled it roughly back to the bed and held it there, glaring at me. Then he let it go again.

I grabbed for my groin again. This time, I didn’t even get close. He grabbed both wrists and dragged them up over my head, pinning them to the bed and moving up my body all in one movement. His face loomed close to mine and I shrank instinctively back. No one
loomed
like Alexei.

His voice was raspy with need. “If you can’t play nice,” he said, the
nice
reminding me of cold steel on stone, “I’ll have to tie you.”