Air rushed out of him. He folded her legs high, rearing up onto his knees, and set a jarring rhythm. She gasped with each hard, slapping thud, staring into his face. His eyes burned with intensity.
It was squeezing her heart into a new shape. She came hard, racked with pleasure. He let go, too, pumping deep.
Some time after, she felt him move, and when she opened her eyes, he had withdrawn, in every sense. He sat, back to her.
Slumped, his head hanging between his shoulders.
And cold reality hit, like a gust of icy wind. She’d gotten a mad, crazy crush on this guy. He’d compounded the problem by fucking her brains out, intensifying the phenomenon.
In the silence, she finally felt just how deep the chasm beneath her feet actually was.
Chapter 15
Aaro got to his feet, staggered toward the bathroom to get rid of the latex.
This part of the sex act was always his least favorite. The lead-up was fun, imbued with anticipation and sexual urgency. The long, juicy, bouncing ride was great. The fireworks at the end were awesome.
Then came the aftermath. The chilly, awkward moment when he never knew what to say, because anything that came out of his mouth would be offensive. Unless he told lies. Which he abhor-rred.
He never learned. He made the same mistake, over and over again, sucked in by his dick, against his better judgment, every time.
But his judgment had never been this bad.
Women always wanted to be held after sex, but that felt like a lie, too. Forced. That was why he chose his sexual partners so sparingly. Once his dick was appeased, he just wanted to get gone.
But this was different. Worse. Gut-churning fear. Clinging to her, like he’d die if he let go, what was up with that? And his guts right now, aching and squishy. Sick with anxiety. And kissing?
What the fuck? Kissing was not part of his repertoire, ever. He went down with gusto, but he was careful to avoid protracted staring into a woman’s eyes. His favorite sexual scenario was a long, juicy lick-down, to cover the girl’s quota of orgasms, concluded by an energetic, pounding fuck from behind. Minimal eye contact was key. He did not kiss. Not ever.
With Nina, he hadn’t been able to stop.
He did not want this. He had enough problems. Nina was chipping down walls he needed to survive. He’d known her for a few hours, and he was already completely fucked up.
Oh, yes. You have gift. You just never let it out of cage. I understand.
You didn’t want to end up like me.
His aunt’s words made his guts squeeze with guilt. It was true, though. He didn’t want to end up like Tonya. It was a bad scene, when boundaries between people’s heads blurred. People got scared, angry. They took steps to protect themselves. People got hurt.
Maybe it was just the sex, but he’d had lots of sex. In all of it, he’d never felt like he’d cracked his insides open and mixed himself with somebody. He’d never wanted to claim a woman for his own. Other men did, but he’d pegged it as hormone-fueled bullshit, an evolutionary maneuver to trick men, against their own best interests, into taking off the latex, perpetuating the species. Like the world couldn’t use a purge of the problematic human race. He’d seen the dangerous phenomenon in action in the McCloud Crowd, as they paired up.
But she could almost have tricked him into it tonight. Those big eyes with that amazing iridescent mix of colors gazing up at him like she really saw him, really knew him. That curvy body, her hair tickling his shoulders as she writhed, sighed, stroking his cock inside her hot little cunt. So fucking beautiful, he was afraid to look at her again. Every detail of her was incised on his memory. Her bountiful tits, bouncing with every stroke of his cock.
Her eyes, gazing into the deepest part of his head. The place where he’d always been alone.
He had sought aloneness all his life. It was safer, simpler. But she’d crept inside him. And the wierdest, most fucked-up part of it was that he kind of, almost . . . liked it. Almost as much as he hated it.
The hungry beast had tricked him into this. He’d been infil-trated. She could fuck him up from the inside. No one had wielded this kind of power over him since he was a kid. And he had not liked being a kid.
He splashed water on his face for a while, gathering the guts to walk out there again. When he stepped out, he saw that Nina had remade the bed. She was curled up in the sheets, hair rippling down. She glowed, in the dim light. Waiting, as mysterious as a sphinx.
What the fuck is the matter with you? What is your problem?
The perfectly reasonable question screamed through the ether at him. He deflected it, instinctively. “You, uh, OK?”
She nodded, letting him hang there. Twisting slowly in the wind.
So he tried again. “Did you, ah . . . did I—”
“It was amazing, if you were wondering,” she said. “I can’t believe that I actually have to say that.”
Air rushed into his lungs, so fast, he felt dizzy. “Thank God.”
“You were worried?” She sounded amused.
“I didn’t want to fuck it up for you. And I didn’t want you to think about Stan.”
Her eyes went wide. “How did you know his name?”
He shrugged. “You told me about him. Remember? In the car?”
“I never told you his name,” she said quietly.
“So you let it slip and you don’t remember.”
“No, I did not do that,” she said stubbornly. “I make a point of not speaking his name. It’s, like, a superstitious thing with me. I did not say his name, Aaro, so how did you know it? Did Lily talk about me?”
He shook his head.
They stared through the cavernous space that suddenly opened up between them. He didn’t like it. He wanted back, through the maze of crazy, the unanswered questions, the hidden perils. He wanted to find his way back inside her. He fucking ached for it.
“It’s too weird, Aaro,” she whispered.
“We could put it all aside and just have sex again,” he suggested. “Take our mind off the wierdness.”
She dissolved into silent, shaking giggles. “Actually, not to offend you, but the sex is part of the weirdness.”
He went as tight as piano wire. “I’m too weird for you in bed?”
“I already said it was amazing. Don’t fish for compliments.”
“Then what the fuck do you mean?” His voice came hard, and her smile faded. He’d killed the giggle fest, like an asshole.
Her lashes swept down. “Never mind,” she said. “It’s nothing.”
“Like hell.” He stood there like an idiot. So, what the fuck?
Should he leave her alone? Sleep in the other bed? With the guns?
Fuck it. He’d gone this far down the road to destruction. Why not cruise a little farther? So he’d lie in bed with her. Big fucking deal. Other men did it, on a regular basis. It would either kill him, or it wouldn’t. He jerked the coverlet and sheets aside.
“Scoot over.”
She did so, slowly, eyes big and nervous.
He had every intention of just holding her, maybe even trying to talk. Damned if he knew about what. All they had to talk about was the stuff of nightmares. Subjects best avoided. But when he seized her, it happened again, like that afternoon, when she’d fallen naked into his arms out of her trick closet. Except that this time, he was naked, too.
Snick. A key to a lock, a hand slipping into the perfect glove.
Her curves just . . . fit. So sweet. Lust, of course, followed right after, huge and mindless. He fought the beast. Wait a goddamn minute. This was a postcoital cuddle, enjoying the glow, relaxed and sated. Right?
Not. He didn’t remember how he got there, but he found himself on top of her, elbows propped on either side of her chest, mouth at conveniently close range to her lush tits.
She looked breathless and somewhat dazed. He lowered his head, suckled one of her tits, and it was just like when he’d kissed her before, like he was parched in the desert, and she was swe
et relief. He cupped her tit in his hand and loved on it while he petted her slick folds with the tip of his cock. Caressing her until she was shivering and squirming, making those awesome, breathless, whimpering sounds.
Time to shrink-wrap himself, before he did something unfor-givably stupid, but his hips kept driving forward, nudging his cockhead deeper into the plushy, suckling kiss of her tight pink pussy. The slick balm of her lube on bare skin was irresistible.
She squeezed him, clutched him. Pulling him into herself.
“Um,” she quavered. “Aaro?”
“I know,” he muttered. “I have to get a condom. I’m sorry.”
“Um, actually . . . you said you didn’t have any diseases, right?”
He stopped moving, transfixed by the implications of her question. “Yeah? Haven’t had sex in months, and I’ve had blood-work since then. I’m clean.”
“Me, too,” she offered. “I’m not fertile right now. Just finished my period, so it’s an OK time to . . . well, anyhow. If you wanted, ah—”
“You’d let me come inside you,” he said, dumbfounded.
She blinked, dazed and misty. “If you want,” she whispered.
“Want?” He laughed at that. “Don’t trust me. I could be lying.
Guys will lie through their teeth for anything that feels this good.
Even a good one will lie. Like a dog on a rug. And I’m not a good one.”
She licked those luscious lips, and twined her arms up under his arms and over his back, petting him. “I know you love to make people think you’re bad,” she said. “But you’re not. And you don’t lie, either.”
“How do you know that?” He was yelling now. No clue why.
The woman was offering him something he wanted more than his next lungful of air, and he was scolding her for it, for fuck’s sake.
“I just know,” she said. “Maybe the same way I understood Ukrainian? The way you knew Stan’s name? What do you figure?”
Poised above her like a stone statue, it occurred to him that if that didn’t scare his dick south, nothing would.
It didn’t. By no means. But he still reached over to the bedside table, grabbed the condoms, and ripped one off, fumbling under the sheets almost angrily until he got the damn thing onto his cock.
“Are you mad at me, for offering?” Her voice was small.
“No.” He rolled onto her, fitting his cockhead against her pussy again and petting her to lube it up. “But I won’t allow you to be that stupid. It sets a bad precedent. Don’t trust me like that. Just don’t.”
She stared into his eyes, put her hand against his cheek. She was ignoring his warning. He could see it in her face. Goddamnit.
But it was too late to stop. One deep, slick lunge, and he lost himself inside her once again. And they were off and at it.
Fucking busywork. Once away from the direct effects of Oleg’s intimidation, Dmitri’s anger bubbled up, almost boiling him alive. It was humiliating, driving around to look for Sasha’s stupid car. His uncle just wanted an excuse to put his execution plan into action.
It had been two hours since Fay Siebring had seen Sasha drive away. He could be on the Jersey Turnpike, in upstate New York, Pennsylvania, Connecticut. Flip a coin, pick a direction. Flip a thousand coins. Never more than now had he wished for long-range talent. And he’d peaked, too. Already starting the long, sad tail. Turning back into a paper man.
Fuck this. Dmitri jerked the car around in an abrupt U-turn.
His thigh throbbed as the tires bumped over the median. He headed back the way he came, fumbling for his pills. He might have a short-range talent, but no one knew Sasha’s vibe better than Dmitri. It had grated on him for his entire fucking child-hood.
If anyone could sniff out that arrogant bastard it was Dmitri.
By the time he got back to the hospice, the dose had kicked in. He was himself again. His true self, three-dimensional, rounded out. Hot, hungry, and brilliant. He parked next to the bus stop where Fay Siebring claimed to have seen his cousin with that woman on his lap, and stared at it, thinking about Sasha. Getting into his cousin’s head.
The way his cousin hated his family, he’d have settled as far from them as he could. And he wouldn’t plan to linger. He’d want to be here and gone. Chances were, he’d been traveling all day, from someplace far. He had the woman, too. If she’d been traveling with him, she’d be tired, whining for some place to rest.
She’d sat on his lap. Women sat on men’s laps to make their dicks hard. It worked for Dmitri, so he expected it would for Sasha, too. The girls had always liked Sasha.
So. A woman sits on Sasha’s lap. Next logical step, find a bed to fuck her in. Conclusion: Forget the turnpike, upstate New York, and Pennsylvania. Sasha was nearby, in a hotel, in a bed.
Dmitri cruised the parking lots of eight hotels on the strip before he found Sasha’s black Toyota Yaris in a hotel lot in Canarsie.
He parked opposite it, and just sat there for a good ten minutes, astonished that Sasha hadn’t second-guessed him. His cousin had done the dumb, predictable thing. He was no paragon of brains and cunning. He was just another asshole. Easy to herd.
Dmitri could take him now. It was all different now.
His first impulse was to call Oleg, bleat the happy news. But when he pulled Oleg’s number up, his finger hovered over
“call.”
His success wouldn’t matter to Oleg, not set against years of failures. The old man would still despise him. And now Sasha would be there, in Dmitri’s face. Inviting comparison.
He needed to find a way to turn this to his favor. He strode through the lobby, took the elevator to the top floor, and started strolling the corridors, burning hot with psi-max. He was so excited, it extended his range by a good two yards. He was usually good up to about twelve to fifteen feet, but tonight he was having no problem reaching across the bathrooms to the beds beyond. Touching sleepers’ minds with a feeler. Most slept, at that hour. Some watched television.
He could tell none were Sasha without breaking stride. His feeler was a long, extended tongue. He dipped it in, tasted them.
Sipping the meaningless drivel of people’s dreams, spitting them out, moving on.
He hit gold on the second floor, the door next to the stairwell.
That time, he flicked out his tongue, touched a dreaming mind . . .
And saw Aunt Tonya.
She was smiling. Not the sad-eyed, shuffling skeleton she’d been when last he’d ignored her at some gathering or other at Oleg’s house. She was younger, dark hair barely streaked with gray. Taller, with dark, mysterious eyes. She pointed at a star.
Dmitri had never seen colors like that sky. Cobalt blue, so bright it made something ache inside him.
“That will be our star.” Tonya’s voice was tender. “See it?”
He’d seen stars. He didn’t understand why this one should make his pulse race like his heart was trying to break out of a cage.
Then, suddenly, Aunt Tonya’s face changed. Her eyes refo-cused, grew cold and hard. She made a sharp warding gesture.
“You don’t belong here! You were not invited! Be off with you!
Scat!”
He was flung out of the dream, so hard he stumbled back, making a muffled thud against the opposite wall, like a cat kicked out the door.
Sasha had thrown him out. Tonya had warned him, from the inside. Bitch. He’d never liked that woman.
Having found his cousin, it was just prurient curiosity, but he tasted the woman, too, just to see what type of female turned his cousin on. And if she did the same for him. He touched her with the dream-tongue, and flinched back. Her dream was darker, nastier. She was curled into a box, as small as she could make herself. A man raged in the room outside the box. Glass broke, thuds, things falling. A woman screamed. There was the sound of blows, cries of pain.
The sides of the box pressed her inward, like the machines that squeeze cars into a cube. Nobody here. Nobody here. Nothing
but air. Nothing but air. Silence, immense quiet, like a smothering blanket—
Ke-rack, the top of the box was ripped off, and he stared up, blinking, into a reddened, empurpled face. “Quiet girl,” the gob-lin said. “All women are pretty, with duct tape on their mouths.”
Dmitri recoiled, and just gasped against the wall, for a full five minutes before the true meaning sank in.
That had been him. Himself, but uglier. Those were his words.
It was her, in there! The quiet girl! Naked and lying next to Sasha!
His mind reeled. His cousin was fucking Nina Christie! Sasha must know about psi-max. He was probably on it. He wanted more. He wanted the new formula. It was Sasha who had saved her today, Sasha who had killed Mikhail and Ivan, Sasha who had shot at him, wrecked his car. So typical. As soon as Dmitri found something that would put him ahead of the pack, Sasha came along to try to take it from him.
But not this time. The psi-max itself wanted to be his.
He walked down the stairs and out, euphoric. Didn’t see a thing until the gun barrel was jammed into the nape of his neck.
“In you go, big boy,” a female voice taunted. “We need to talk.”
A door on a big SUV slid open, and he was shoved inside.
Anabel used the gun barrel to prod Dmitri Arbatov into the back of the SUV. “Hands out where I can see them.”
“What the fuck is this? I did what you asked me to do! And more!”
“I just bet you did.” She followed him in, jabbing with the gun. “A lot more.”
The tab of psi-max that Anabel had taken on the way over had finally kicked in, and that was good, because her head was so not in the game tonight. Kasyanov’s rotting corpse trick had thrown her off her stride. She couldn’t stop shivering, reaching to touch her own live skin, shuddering at the memories of maggots, stench, rot.
With Kasyanov dead now, there was no one left to punish.
Faithful old Roy was always good for a few kicks to the head, but his reactions were on par with a cinderblock’s. After a few years hanging out with Harold Rudd, Roy was just too damned accus-tomed to pain.
But this Arbatov guy, hmm. Big, strong, not bad looking. He might be different. She liked to surprise them. Make them squeal.
One Wrong Move Page 19
