Her jeans were low rise, and loose enough for him to just slide his hand inside, over her ass. His fingers stroked tenderly into her sensitive cleft. Barely touching her labia with his fingertips from behind.
Her thighs contracted at the delicate touch.
He jerked her belt buckle loose and tugged her jeans halfway down her thighs. He sank to his knees. “Hold up your sweater and watch while I lick your clit,” he said. “Watch every detail.”
Sveti clutched the wadded sweater against her breasts. Her thighs quivered, trapped by the jeans that were snarled around her knees, but Sam didn’t pull them down. He seized her ass cheeks in his big, warm hands, clutching tenderly as he pressed his mouth to her mound.
The sound that came out of her was unrecognizable as his tongue probed boldly between her folds, swirling up around her clit. Kissing it, suckling it, trilling. Thrusting his tongue hungrily up inside her pussy.
It felt so good. She felt so naked, exposed, with all the glass, all the light, all that enormous space behind her, as if she could fall back into bright emptiness. The cold glass against her bare ass felt good now, against her hot skin. It was pleasure, joining all the other rivulets of pleasure. They all joined into a rushing torrent that crashed and roared, carving brand-new channels of sensation inside her body. Remolding her. Then they rippled out, into a sweet, shimmering endless vastness.
Sam held her steady, his hand splayed against her belly to keep her upright. The other hand was between her legs, fingers deep inside her pussy. Just holding her. Claiming her.
She licked her dry lips. Groped for words, found none.
Sam found them for her. “You want me to fuck you.”
It was not a question. She managed only a tight, nervous nod.
Sam pushed her jeans down and she stepped out of them, wobbling so hard she almost fell. Her face burned. She was abashed at how easy it was for him to manipulate her with sex.
She felt helpless and desperately eager. Vulnerable. Weak.
Sam jerked her sweater and T-shirt over her head. A flick of the clasp and the bra followed. She was naked, while he was fully clothed.
Sam’s eyes swept the room. “We need fresh sheets before we use the bed again. Put your hands on the back of the couch and bend over.”
She hesitated, so he guided her into the position he wanted. Arms braced, back arched, ass stuck out. Legs spread. The submissive pose triggered a rush of complicated, conflicting emotions, but nothing trumped that clawing, restless heat. She offered herself to him, shaking.
He let out a harsh, jerky sigh. “You are so beautiful from this angle. That sweet pussy. All shiny and pink. Mine.”
She moaned as he stroked her from behind, up and down her labia. “Wet and soft,” he whispered. He thrust two fingers inside her, forcing them deeper. His breath was hot against her shoulder. “Arch your back,” he directed. “Dance for me, around my hand. Show me how you’ll move around my cock when I’m inside you.”
She tried, awkwardly at first, but they soon found the perfect rhythm. Every probing stroke made pleasure jolt and swell, wafting her higher, higher . . . until it tipped, and became a crashing inevitability.
She came apart, like a dandelion in the sun. Disintegrated into a frothy cloud by a puff of air, and borne tenderly away on the breeze.
When her eyes opened, Sam withdrew his hand and leaned to tug the bathroom door open, so that the floor-length mirror reflected them.
It made her gasp. Her wanton, blushing face, her dazed eyes, her tousled hair. She jerked up, but Sam’s hands tightened on her body.
“Don’t move.” He wrenched his belt buckle loose, opened his jeans. He freed his cock, staying fully clothed as he prodded himself against her slick folds and forced himself inside her. Sveti pushed back, yielding into the heavy, slick caress of his thick phallus.
He wedged himself deep, then withdrew with agonizing slowness. In again, out again. Each slow stroke a hot, luscious lick of pleasure.
Amazingly, that breathless, terrifying tension was building again. She closed her eyes against it, pressing her face to the couch.
Sam seized a handful of hair at the nape of her neck and tugged her head up. “No, Sveti. Look at me. Look into my eyes.”
She met his gaze in the mirror, and her eyes skittered away from the intensity, as if it were an electric shock. “I can’t,” she gasped out.
“Do it.” His eyes demanded, implacable. “It’s important.”
She met his eyes in the mirror, saw the tension in his clenched jaw, the naked emotion in his eyes. His powerful body thudded against hers, stroking and stroking, demanding, insisting . . .
She came apart again, explosively.
This time, when she floated back, she was on the floor, with no memory of getting down there. No bumps or bruises, though. She’d floated down on a magic cloud. There was a heavy thrum of water from the bathroom. Steam floated from the open door.
Sam came out. He scooped her into his arms. “I ran you a bath.”
She was too limp to protest. He set her on her feet in the hot water, which foamed and roared from the pounding jet. She sank into it with a grateful sigh. He’d found something lavender scented to throw in. Ahh.
He hit the tap to stop the water, and crouched next to the tub.
For the first time, she felt relaxed enough to just look at him, full on. Not just the usual quick, nervous stolen glance, but an all-out, blatant, ogling stare. Enjoying every beautiful detail. It felt wonderful.
Sam grabbed the soap and pulled one of her feet out of the water. She twitched, trying to jerk it away. “What do you think you’re doing?”
He grinned. “Call it the audition. You know, for my body servant duties. I’ve never done a pedicure, but I’m a fast learner. I can’t wait to paint those pearly little toenails.” He leaned to kiss her toes.
Her foot jerked, involuntarily. “That’s silly.”
“Is it?” He yanked her foot back and planted it against his chest, heedless of the wet footprint she left on his shirt. He sudsed up his hands and dug his fingers deeply into her quad muscles, massaging her leg. Oh, God. She gasped, as tension released in a shuddering rush. After sex like that, she wouldn’t have thought there was any tension left, but Sam kept squeezing, kneading, releasing layer after layer of tightness and always finding another hiding beneath it. Some of those knots inside her were so old, she didn’t recognize them as pain anymore.
The sudden relief from the tightness was weird, unsettling. She didn’t know herself without it. She didn’t recognize the sensations in this unknown girl’s body at all. She felt lost. Floating in no-man’s land.
Sam was halfway down her second leg before she could gather her wits to speak. “You’re getting totally soaked,” she told him.
“A small price to pay. I give myself up to your service. Mistress.”
She snorted. “Mistress, my ass. You’re a dominating alpha male to the very core of your being, Sam Petrie. Pretend all you want, but you can’t fool me. Not now that we’ve . . . made love.”
His brow tilted up. “Say ‘had sex.’ You’ll feel more in control. ‘Fucked’ would be even better, if you could cough it out.”
She tugged her foot away, stung. “Ouch,” she murmured.
Sam stuck his hand into the water and seized her foot again. “At least the sex works. You did fine, in spite of my dominating alpha vibe. I’ve never seen a girl come so hard.” Sam soaked his sleeve up to the shoulder as he slid his hand up her inner thigh and cupped her muff. Her legs floated apart to give him better access. He slid his finger inside.
She sucked in air. “What are you doing?” she asked inanely.
“Washing your pussy.” His voice was silky. “You’re full of my come. It’s the least I can do. Mistress.”
She laughed, and he scooped his arm behind her shoulder and jerked her into a fierce kiss, accompanied by a huge slosh of soapy water. His tongue plunged, his hand thrust deeply, hitting spots inside her t
hat made a little sun come out in her body. Shining so bright.
“Would the sex-slave scenario work better if I cleaned you with my tongue?” he asked. “Because I’m all over that idea.”
The words alone detonated her.
The marvelous ripples pulsed and throbbed through her inner universe, dissolving her into liquid light. She clung to the ineffable sweetness, but she felt it start to fade before she opened her eyes. A sad, empty pull, deep inside. As if something was draining away.
Sam looked at her keenly and frowned. “Did that feel good?”
“You know it did,” she said.
“Then why the look?”
He had no right to read her mind so easily. “What look?”
“The look that says something sucks.”
She shook her head. No point in lying. He’d see right through it.
“I don’t feel strong, when we make lo—have sex,” she amended. “It makes me feel . . . soft. Melted out of shape. Scared. And . . . sad.”
He looked perplexed. “So? Scared and sad, those we’ll work on. But melted, soft? Since when are those bad things to feel?”
“It’s dangerous,” she said. “It makes me feel weak. Powerless.”
He was silent for a moment. He drew his hand slowly out of her body and stood up, dripping hot, sudsy water down his jeans.
“I didn’t mean to insult you,” she said miserably. God, this was a minefield, and she couldn’t even lie her way out of it. Not with him.
“I’m not insulted. I’m confused,” he said. “Sex games are for making you hot, making you wet. What the fuck’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, I guess,” she whispered.
Except that her subconscious mind would punish her for giving in to it by lobbing grenades at her. How to explain something so weird?
“I think you’re incredible,” he said. “I still can’t believe you let me get this close to you. All I want is to please you. Where in all this did I make you feel powerless? Because I am seriously missing something.”
It sucked, hurting him because of that sick feeling in her belly that she could neither control nor hide. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Feeling soft or melted is not bad,” Sam said. “That’s how it feels when the sex is good. You know how good it is by the extent to which it destroys you. Look at me, Sveti. Behold, a broken man.”
“I never said that the feelings were bad,” she hedged. “Just that they were . . . dangerous. For me, at least.”
“They wouldn’t be if you trusted me,” he said. “I’ll give you some space. Sounds like you need it.” He walked out and shut the door.
Sveti lay in the tub and listened to the hollow plop of water dripping from the faucet.
The sound was lonesome and desolate to her ears.
Sam stretched out on the couch, watching the sunset. It was the only spot in the room out of sight of the bed nook. Sveti needed to be alone, but he was not willing to go downstairs to be verbally tased by Tam Steele. Nor was he leaving this house without Sveti. The minute he turned his back, she’d bolt. He was sure of it.
He amused himself by poring over the poetry written on her mother’s photo. They’d had a bad moment when he’d insisted on taking the picture out of its frame again. She had a right to be twitchy, after seeing him take kitchen shears to the picture of her dad.
He’d won that fight, at some cost, and Sveti was pissed with him now. She’d made up the bed and dozed off in it, with her back to him.
He combed through the fragments, using Sveti’s tablet to research each one. First Peter Rodionov, “Darkness from that ragged hole/pulls like a prisoner’s shackling chain/drawing me into Hell’s blind realm.” Then Ruslan Lebedev, “Oh Orpheus, do not turn your head/Love follows only the flame of utter faith.” Then Jean-Michel Laurent, “I am swathed in the breathless hush of night/caressed by fluttering wings of ragged and disreputable bats.” Then Esther Rafael, “Bear witness to this bowl of bones, this yellowed snarl of sticks and twigs.” And finally, Vladimir Lukyenov, “Come, shuffling souls, in rank and file/through the tall, implacable door/to the echoing vault where Death awaits.”
Spooky, doleful, miserable shit, and it meant absolutely nothing, in regard to Sveti. Neither did the whole poems, when he read them through. It pissed him off that Sveti had been jerked around like that, and by her own mother, too. Crazy. But not surprising, considering that the woman subsequently threw herself off a bridge.
Or not. He would revise all his judgments about Sonia Ardova if she’d been forcibly thrown off that bridge. But that was another whole writhing snake pit of speculation. One thing at a time, for God’s sake.
A knock sounded on the door. Sam opened it and found Rachel, with a dinner tray. The girl carried it in, along with the stern message that the food was for Sveti, and Sveti only.
“It seemed kind of mean,” Rachel said apologetically. “I wanted to bring you some, too, but Mama said you could come and get something out of the fridge yourself, if you’re hungry. Sorry about that.”
Sam laid the tray on a table. “It’s fine. I’ll get something later.”
After midnight, maybe. Like a slinking thief, rummaging shifty-eyed through the congealed leftovers in the fridge. God, what he was reduced to. Like Sveti’s mom had said: Love made you stupid.
Rachel drifted over toward Sveti’s bed. “She’ll probably have nightmares tonight,” she said knowledgeably. “So watch out. She gets the really bad ones when she’s worried about stuff.”
“Nightmares?” he asked. “What kind of nightmares?”
“You know. About when we were locked up. She gets ’em bad.”
Sam looked at Rachel’s remote, abstracted expression. “You remember that? Weren’t you just a baby?”
“I remember it just fine,” Rachel said. “They don’t know how old I was when they got me, I was so shriveled. Failure to thrive, they called it. Plus, my eyes got screwed up, because I never got a chance to focus on anything farther than a few feet away from me while my eyes were developing. And the food was pus. The doctors told Mama I’d be retarded, from malnutrition. But I’m not.”
“You most certainly are not,” Sam agreed readily.
Rachel folded her skinny little arms over her narrow torso. “Sveti saved me,” she said. “She gave us all her fresh food. The milk, the bread, the fruit. She just starved. She was so skinny when they saved her. I’d be dead if it weren’t for her.”
They looked quietly at Sveti’s slender form for a moment.
“Sveti thinks everyone’s special enough to save,” Rachel said softly. “Even the broken, messed-up ones that get put in the garbage.”
He nodded. His throat was too tight to speak.
“It’s stupid, for her to go to London now.” Rachel’s voice was rebellious. “She should stay here, where my mom and dad and the rest of them can protect her! She’s crazy to leave now!”
“Couldn’t agree with you more,” Sam said promptly.
“She doesn’t listen to you?” Rachel’s tone was disapproving.
Sam shook his head.
The little girl harrumphed. “So what good are you?”
Sam choked on his laughter. “Whoa. Harsh.”
Rachel sniffed. “You think that’s harsh?”
Sam gazed at the young girl, who tapped her foot, looking over the tops of her thick glasses. Tam’s daughter for sure, with that attitude.
Rachel blew the mop that fringed her forehead upward with a puff of breath. “So you’re going to Italy with her? And then to London?”
He nodded. “That’s the plan.”
“You’re going to be with her all the time? Every minute?”
“Like glue,” he promised.
She crossed her arms, chin out. “Do you have a gun?”
“I can’t take one to Europe, because of their laws, but I’ll figure something out when I’m there,” he said. “On my honor.”
Her head tilted to the side. “You love her
, right?”
The matter-of-fact question took him by surprise. When he could inhale again, the answer flew right out, as if released from a cage. “Yes,” he said.
“Good,” she said coolly. “That way you’ll be more motivated.”
Calculating, for one so young. “I wish she thought so,” he said.
“Just know this.” Rachel’s girlish voice was hard. “You keep her safe, or it won’t be just Mama and Daddy coming after you. I will, too. And I’ll make them look like a couple of kittens rolling on the rug.”
Sam clamped down on the urge to laugh. Rachel reminded him of exactly that. A fierce little kitten, hissing. But kittens grew. Rachel was a panther in the making. “I don’t respond well to threats,” he told her.
Rachel sniffed. “It’s not a threat,” she said. “I’m just saying.”
“Thank you.” He kept his mouth from twitching. “I’d put my life on the line for her. I already did, yesterday. So you know I mean it.”
Rachel looked back at Sveti. “Careful if you wake her up from a nightmare,” she advised. “She hits. She gave Mama a black eye once.”
“Yikes,” he said.
“Oh, Mama didn’t care,” Rachel said. “Mama’s tough. That was the last time Sveti had a bad one. At least while she was here.”
“Was it after her mom died?”
“When her mom was killed, you mean,” Rachel corrected. “But, no, I was talking about last year, when you were in the hospital.”
Sam’s jaw sagged. “Huh?”
“She practically lived at Legacy Emanuel when you were in the ICU,” Rachel informed him. “Mama drove down to Portland to get her when you got put into a normal room. They wouldn’t let me sleep in here with her, like usual. Mama did, because of her nightmares.”
His mouth was dry. “Nobody told me Sveti came to the hospital.”
Rachel shrugged. “Your family didn’t see her. They wouldn’t have recognized her if they had. Sveti’s friends with a nurse who works in the ICU. She let Sveti sit with you whenever your family wasn’t there.”
In For the Kill Page 17
