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.”
“No,” I panted. Something was happening—I felt almost drunk and we hadn’t even touched the free champagne. “Don’t tie me up.”
He yanked the belt of the robe completely free.
“Please don’t tie me up!” My voice was hoarse with need.
He ignored me. He pulled the robe the rest of the way off, leaving me completely naked. Then he took my wrists and crossed them in an “X” and started to wrap the robe’s belt around the point where they joined.
I tried to sit up. He straddled me, applying maybe a tenth of his weight, and I was pinned. The tying continued. “Don’t,” I said, feeling the soft cloth tighten around my wrists. “Please don’t!”
Every time I said don’t and he ignored me, I got a strange twinge in my groin. He finished with my wrists and I saw his eyes go to the iron bedstead. My eyes bugged out as he dragged my bound wrists towards them. “God, don’t tie me to the bed!”
I was dimly aware that I probably wasn’t a very good actress. And also that that didn’t matter at all.
The bedstead was made up of several thick vertical iron bars and Alexei tied my wrists to the very center one. He did it quickly and expertly, leaving me almost no slack. I panted as I tested my bondage and found that I really couldn’t move at all.
Then he moved slowly down my body, making it very clear where he was going.
It’s a shocking feeling, to have your hands tied high above your head. They’re so completely useless, so far away from where they could do any good at all. My whole body felt vulnerable in a way it hadn’t when my hands were just pinned by my sides. I really was defenseless: his plaything.
His head dipped between my thighs again but this time he was able to use his hands, too. He started with this thumb, drawing it along the line of my lips while he circled my clit with his tongue. Then, as I opened to him again, he started to roughly fuck me with one, two, Jesus, three fingers, building the pace until the black heat had travelled all the way up my body and was thundering in my ears. My knees were bent, feet scrunching at the comforter as I panted and thrashed.
My arms jerked and twisted on the belt, hard enough that some half-hearted bondage by a normal boyfriend might have come loose. Alexei’s bonds didn’t move at all. That was the scariest—and the hottest—part: when this guy tied you to the bed, he really tied you to the bed.
Just like before, he drew me upward towards a shattering climax but refused to quite let me peak. The pleasure built and built until I thought I’d explode. Then he lifted his head and looked up at me. With one thumb, he drew circles on my clit. With the other hand, he continued to finger-fuck me. “Gabriella,” he growled. “My krasivaya malen'kaya shlyukha.”
I didn’t know what that meant in English, but I was pretty sure it was both complimentary and filthy. The words seemed to scorch my skin. I felt them throbbing against my breasts, lashing at my spread thighs as I lay there bound. Whatever a shlyukha was, I felt like one. “Please,” I said, flushing at how desperate my voice sounded.
He didn’t quicken his movements. My hips made desperate little humping motions towards him.
“Please what?” he asked. The what was drawn out, like the slow hiss of a sword easing from a scabbard.
“Please let me—” I flushed.
He shook his head and the movement made his fingers twist just a little inside me, making me gasp. “I want to hear you say it,” he said.
What? Why? Why did he want to hear me say something like that? It wasn’t as if I had a sexy accent or anything. I swallowed. “Please let me...come,” I panted.
He grinned a slow grin of satisfaction. Then his fingers sped up and his hand rocked in just the right way, the heel grinding against my clit, and—
I heaved so hard on the belt that my shoulders actually lifted off the bed for a second, all my weight on my wrists and ass. My thighs squeezed against his shoulders as the pleasure pumped through me, shudder after shudder of exquisite black heat. It filled my lungs, my mind—I saw an image of us, me pale and bound to the bed, the hulking, tanned Russian on top of me, and I arched my back and spasmed again, grinding and grinding against him. It must have been close to a minute before I lay still in a twitching, panting mess.
If he moves, I thought, if he even breathes on me…. I was so sensitized, even a touch would have been unbearable. But to my relief, he let me recover for a moment. My breathing gradually slowed, evidenced by how my breasts stopped heaving, and went back to just moving. I didn’t miss how Alexei’s eyes were locked on them. I got the impression he’d enjoyed the heaving.
I realized I was glistening with sweat—Alexei, too, the result of keeping my legs spread open and my body pressed down on the bed throughout all of my thrashing and arching. This should count as a workout, I thought. The Ravished by a Russian Workout.
Eventually, I was calm. Alexei drew his fingers from me, which made me aware of just how soaking wet I was. Then his muscled hips were pressing between my thighs, spreading me even wider than before. I looked up just in time to see him rolling the condom down his thick, erect cock.
I tugged at the fabric belt that bound my wrists, but I was utterly trapped. It’s difficult to explain how that made it better, but it did—a thousand-fold. Being tied up by him made me feel somehow safe, rooted in the moment. The opposite of the dreaded slide into darkness I got when I panicked. Tied to the bed, I was his and nothing could change that—not even me.
In the junkyard it had all happened so fast. Now, he seemed to relish every second: the slow slide of his body against mine as he moved down; the kiss of his cock against my slickened lips. God, he was so...big: just looking at the size of him, poised for entry like that, made my heart flutter. And the solid heft of his body, the tight ass and the hard thighs—the power to drive into me for hours. I was more turned on than I’d ever been and yet, as he prepared to do it, I tugged again and again on the belt, testing my bonds, because their solid grip on me made it feel even better.
This time, I didn’t bother with the don’ts and the pleases. My acting wasn’t up to pretending I didn’t want it. I just stared up at him, my breath quickening, as he lowered himself atop me, putting his face so close to mine that our lips almost touched. I realized he wanted to look into my eyes while he did it.
“I wanted you,” he told me, “from the first moment I saw you.” Then his voice changed, an edge of lust creeping in. His eyes went from icy blue to frozen gray—the old Alexei, his dark side. “And now I’m going to make you mine, my gorgeous shlyukha printsessa.”
He gave a thrust of his hips and I cried out in shock as he sank into me. My head rocked back, my eyes fluttering closed for a second at the stretching, solid heat of him—steel wrapped in silk. My
mind swam with how good it felt, little sparks of silver flaring everywhere his cock touched me. Another thrust and I cried out again at the sensation of being filled. My legs went limp for a second against his thighs and then drew up, my knees bending and the soles of my feet sliding along the bed. I couldn’t even pretend to resist anymore, it felt so good. He drew back a little, nudged my legs wider and then—
I gave a high little cry as he filled me completely, the base of him snugged up tight against my folds. I panted with the feel of it, the hot length of him so deep, my whole body seeming to wrap around him and squeeze, sparks of pleasure bursting free all over….
“Tebe nravitsya eto?” he grunted. I looked into his eyes and went weak at what I saw there. I’d never seen him like this—so completely fired up. It hit me for the first time that he’d always been tightly under control, even at the junkyard. With me, he trusted himself enough to let go.
“Tebe nravitsya eto?” he asked again, twisting his hips in a way that made the pleasure bloom and flare. I realized he was asking in Russian if I liked it. I nodded.
He pulled back and I groaned at the slick, perfect drag of him against me, every millimeter of my flesh alive with pleasure. The need built immediately. It was an ache inside me, a creature that demanded to be fed. I wanted him back inside me, now.
He thrust into me again, harder, this time, and I felt the brush of his balls against me. The sensation of having him inside me was incredible—I could scarcely breathe, scarcely think, my whole focus on that slick, hot tightness.
And then I saw us. There was a mirror over the dresser with angled panels and one had caught us from the side. I could see every detail—my pale, bound wrists, my legs shamelessly open and spread for him, my toes clutching at the comforter in ecstasy...and between my thighs, the huge, tanned Russian, his hulking body making mine look tiny. His muscled ass looked magnificent from that three-quarters view, and then he thrust into me again and the view got even better. My eyes opened wide as I took in the sight of his ass cheeks flexing and the unmistakable forward lunge of his hips...and my own answering cry of pleasure. It was the hottest thing I’d ever seen.
Kissing My Killer Page 20
