by Cathryn Cade
And then he opened his mouth over her nipple and pulled it into his mouth and did just that. He swirled his tongue around her hard, sensitive tip and then sucked firmly, pulling her aureole into his mouth. Since he was fondling her other breast, and pinching that nipple between his thumb and forefinger, the onslaught of pleasure pulled a breathy moan from her throat.
She clung to him, one hand in his silky hair, the other clutching his shoulder as he enjoyed her nipples at length.
“Fuck,” he groaned, letting her nipple pop from his mouth and leaning up. “So sweet, I could suck these cherries all day. But I want pussy now.”
By now, Lesa was too far gone to do more than whimper when he pushed her thighs open far enough to settle between them. “That’s right, baby,” he approved. “Rev it up. ‘Cause you’re gonna be doin’ a lot more of that before I’m through.”
He wanted her to be noisy? That was …probably going to happen whether she wanted it to or not. Because he was not only a good kisser, he was absolutely fantastic at what he was doing now.
First, he cupped her thighs in his big hands, stroking her inner thighs with his thumbs as he nuzzled her, and inhaled, as if testing a new flavor of pie. “Mm-hmm, moye, love the smell of your pussy. Musky and sweet, all woman.”
Then, while she was still processing this, he lifted his head and just looked at her there. She quivered, a blush burning over her face and down her chest. Part of her wanted to shove him away and run and hide from that probing gaze. But a bigger part loved it—at least, did he like the way she looked? Or was she too hairy, or fat?
“Fuck, you’re just as sweet here,” he muttered, his gaze hooded, his cheeks flushed. Then he licked his lips. “Something about brunette pussy, makes it even naughtier. All wet and pink, with dark little curls. Makes me wanna lick it up.”
He put out his tongue and traced her labia from bottom to top, then again, deeper.
“Oh,” she breathed.
He slowed his progress, looked up into her eyes and delicately touched his tongue to her clitoris. “Oh!” she whimpered, as her pussy spasmed with need. “Oh, my God.”
His eyes twinkled wickedly. “Again, moye?”
“Yes,” she said instantly. “Yes. Oh, Pete … ohh-h.”
He chuckled, and circled her clit with his tongue, teasing but not quite where she needed him. Lesa dug her fingers into his hair and tugged, lifting up toward him as her pussy tightened even more. “Pete, please.”
He hit the target with gentle precision this time, and stayed on it, licking her like the world’s most delicious treat until the need coiling under his touch burst into wavelets of pleasure. She came with a breathless moan, clasping him to her like his hair was a lifeline and she was drowning.
“Mm-mm,” he approved. “Not loud enough, but we’ll work on that.”
Still panting, her body so suffused with aftershocks of pleasure that she just wanted to lie and purr like a cat, Lesa dragged her eyes open to see him looming over her, like a bad, sexy angel with wings on his chest and filthy intent in his eyes, here to wreak his will on her.
“We will?” she breathed.
“Yeah,” he told her. “We will. ‘Cause I’m gonna fuck you hard now, and I know you like that. Then later, you can take a turn suckin’ me off.”
It was hard to say which caused her pussy to spasm again, his cock prodding at her slick, weeping entrance, or his dirty words.
He laughed as he slid deep inside her, and reached back to hook her leg up around his waist. “You like me talkin’ dirty, don’t you? Ms Prissy likes gettin’ down and dirty with a biker man. Well don’t you worry, ‘cause I got lots more to teach you.”
Then he kissed her, smelling and tasting of her own sex and his own exciting taste, and began to move, his powerful thighs and ass working, pulling nearly out and driving back in, as deep as he could go.
“Christ, you grab me so tight,” he said, dipping his head beside hers on the pillow. “That’s right, baby. Dig your heels into my ass, and hang on tight. Wrap me up in sweet, hot woman.”
Then he said more in Russian, which Lesa didn’t understand but didn’t care, only that his low, husky voice in her ear and his big, hard, cock driving inside her, his big body moving over her, his heat and scent surrounding her all combined to drag her under, and into a velvet whirlpool of sensuality where their bodies slapping together, striving together were all that mattered.
And that she was the one he wanted to be here with. And that he, her nemesis, her tempter, was the man inside her, demanding with his body and his voice that she surrender to the pleasure along with him.
He groaned, then shoved one big hand under her ass and clamped her even harder against him as he thrust harder, faster, his breath thundering in her ear.
“Jesus fuck, moye. Cum for me now.”
She opened her mouth to answer him but the sound that emerged was wordless as he raked against that perfect spot inside her and she came all over again, this time so hard it went on and on.
Pete stiffened in her arms and arched like a mighty bow, his eyes rolling back in his head. Then he slowly collapsed on her, and they lay, wrecked on the rumpled bed.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Pete was sweating now, his big, hard body hot as a furnace. When sweat trickled down his neck and fell on Lesa's shoulder, she hunched her shoulder, and shoved at him. “Euww. Pete, move.”
When he grunted, burrowing deeper in her embrace, she grabbed the satiny skin under his ribs, and pinched him.
“Ow.” He levered himself up and to one side with a grumpy look. “Jesus, give a man a minute to recover.”
She took a deep breath and let it out. “How about letting a girl breathe?”
His gaze dropped to her breasts. “Yeah, keep that up, I like it. Your tits are gorgeous.”
She tamped down the warm squiggle of pleasure this gave her. “Thank you. So are you, but you’re all sweaty.”
“Oh, no,” he mimicked in falsetto, flapping his hand at her. “Sweat! That’s so disgusting. I only like clean, tidy sex.”
Startled by his foolery, Lesa snorted, then covered her mouth with her hand. He snorted back at her, mimicking a pig, and she smacked him, giggling.
He rolled onto his back, and lay, his hand on her belly, still quivering with laughter. He sighed gustily. “Yeah, now that’s what I call making good use of a blizzard.”
Lesa blinked, then turned her head toward him. She turned onto her side curving her top leg forward to cover her pussy, and her arm and hair to cover her bare breasts.
“A blizzard?” she asked, alarm chilling her bare limbs. Good grief, she’d actually forgotten the snow storm they’d negotiated last night. “Is it still snowing?”
He chuckled again. “Hear that wind? Take a look outside and tell me what you see. I gotta get rid of this condom.” He rolled off the side of the bed and disappeared into the bathroom.
Lesa fished around and found the tee she’d slept in. Pulling it on, she scooted to the end of the bed and stood. Whoa, her legs were a little wobbly, and her inner thighs still felt the bruising of a big biker pounding into her.
She went to the window, and pulled up the shade to look out. She gasped. It was no longer snowing, the sky a thin wash of pale gray clouds. But the landscape outside had been obliterated by white. The rocks in Pete’s yard were huge waves of snow, the shrubs beneath the window had disappeared under drifts, and the road—it was as if it had never been there.
“Oh, my God,” she said. “What are we going to do? We’re stranded out here.”
Pete strolled toward her with a look on his handsome face that was frankly raunchy. “Yeah. What will we find to do with ourselves?”
“No, I mean it, Pete. Look out there—we’re snowed in.”
Completely unselfconscious, he raked back his tousled hair—she’d messed it up like that, yay—and shrugged. “So we’re snowed in. We have food and a generator, so we’ll stay warm, fed and keep the lights on. Nothing to
worry about.”
Dima, having heard their voices, trotted up the stairs and loped into the room, wagging her tail. She came to Lesa, who petted her automatically.
Pete cocked his head with a quizzical look. “You’re not scared, are you?”
Lesa shrugged, then hugged her arms around herself, because she was getting chilled. The furnace was working, with warm air blowing from the vents, but she could feel cold air leaking through the window panes too. “A little? I’ve never been snowed in, not out in the country.”
Pete laughed again. “Moye, we’re not that far out of town. The county will have the snow plows out today, get the main road cleared. And my neighbor will show up sometime today, or tomorrow and plow this road.”
“Tomorrow? What about the Hangar?”
He shook his head. “It’s Sunday, remember? We have two days off. And don’t worry, I have plans for us. We won’t get bored.”
She rolled her eyes, ignoring the blush caused by his wicked look. “Conceited, much?
He chuckled. “You liked round one pretty well, so yeah.”
Dima trotted to the doorway, and whined, cocking her head. Pete grabbed his jeans off the floor, and pulled them on “Come on, girl, let’s go.”
He followed the big dog down the stairs, and Lesa heard the back door open, heard Dima’s bark of excitement as she greeted the new day.
Lesa pressed her hands to her hot face. Pete was right about one thing, round one had put the zing in amazing. Although it was actually round two. She was certainly counting last night in his office, even if he wasn’t.
Her chest squeezed. Was she just another fuck for him, inconsequential, except that she was the woman currently available? The thought made her feel a little sick.
She focused on the wintry apocalypse outside, which didn’t help. Okay, advantage. Pete wasn’t worried about their safety, which lessened her own worry. Second advantage, he was right, they weren’t that far out of town.
Disadvantage, those drifts out there were big. She wished she could at least see the road, to know they could get out if they needed to.
She tore her gaze away from the piles of snow covering the drive. She needed a nice, hot shower and some clothes.
Then she’d figure out the rest.
* * *
When Lesa walked into the kitchen, Pete was drinking coffee and looking out one of the windows. He turned as she walked in, and his face fell. “Aw, you put clothes on.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “I’m not eating breakfast in the nude, biker man.” Although she might be by tomorrow if she didn’t do some laundry soon. She wore black leggings and a burgundy sweater tunic with a draped neckline, black flats on her feet. Her hair hung loose in wet waves that would turn into curls later, but since they were just here for the day, she wasn’t going to put a lot of effort into fixing it.
Luckily, she didn’t need eye makeup if she didn’t want to wear it, so her face was bare, but for moisturizer. Sex with Pete made her cheeks rosy, so that was a bonus, she thought with a private snicker.
He sighed. “Well, maybe for lunch and supper then. Would you mind making breakfast, though? I gotta get out and shovel snow away from the doors, and a path to the carport. If it thaws with these drifts, could get ugly.”
“Cook in this kitchen? Heck to the yeah,” she said. “Do you have the stuff for pancakes? Or how about a waffle maker?”
He was laughing at her, as usual. “’heck’? Milaya, we gotta teach you some real curse words. And yeah, waffle maker’s in the cupboard down there, still in the box. Knock yourself out.”
He swatted her on the ass as he passed, and she yelped. “Just for that, I’m burning your waffles.”
“No, you’re not. You like taking care of folks too much.”
And with this off-hand piece of insight, he was gone, jogging up the stairs. She frowned after him. He was right, darn him.
He came back down a few moments later, and went through the mud room, then outside. Lesa had her head down, scrolling through recipes on her phone. She found one, and got busy snooping through his cupboards and refrigerator. He was well-stocked on basic dry ingredients although he could use some herbs and spices, sheesh.
The refrigerator contained eggs, milk, butter, packs of burger and chops of some kind, as well as nearly full fruit and veggie drawers. Huh, seemed he earned his lean muscle with good food, as well as weights or whatever he did to work out.
The freezer was a treasure trove of bachelor foods, however—crispy chicken and potato nuggets, a wrapped pizza from the Hangar, and two boxes of rolled taquitos and a pack of guacamole. Yum.
As she mixed batter in a big bowl, drank coffee and heated the waffle iron, Lesa could see Pete through the window, bending, scooping up shovels full of snow, and turning gracefully to toss it. She laughed as she saw Dima crouched nearby, hindquarters in the air, her tail wagging. As each shovel-full of white powder sprayed, she leapt into the air to catch it, her mouth open. The dog’s muzzle and head was covered in snow until she shook it, her ears flopping.
Pete said something to her and she barked happily.
The waffle iron beeped, and Lesa spooned in a portion of batter, then closed it. She took another drink of coffee and leaned her hip on the edge of the granite counter-top, admiring the way the light stone gleamed in the winter sunshine. This felt really … domestic. Which was weird. She’d best be careful not to allow herself to fantasize that this was her house, and Pete was her man.
No. Heck to the nopity-nope. That way lay crazy-times. This was a business arrangement, and an under-the-table one at that, and that was all it was.
Well, except for the sex. Pete was definitely giving her the business, but that was outside their deal, and outside any relationship, and she needed to remember that.
Any more daydreaming, and she’d have to look up that hostage syndrome on the internet. The one where women fell for their captors, and started assigning good motives to their actions. Instead of him just enjoying sex with a woman he considered reasonably attractive, and who happened to be in his house.
Pete and Dima came in just as the last waffle came out of the iron, and onto the platter in the warm oven. Pete’s eyes were bluer than usual in his tanned, flushed face. He speared his tousled hair back from his face and padded in stocking feet to the breakfast bar as Lesa set a fresh cup of hot coffee before him.
“Spasibo, moye. Mmm, smells good.”
She pulled the platter from the oven and set it carefully on the counter before him. “It should. Bacon, eggs and oatmeal waffles, with warm syrup. Oh, and some thawed blueberries. You had a bag in your freezer.”
“Lucky me.” He took a swig of coffee and grabbed the spatula, dishing up a heaping plate of food. Lesa watched him dig in, smiling to herself. She liked cooking, when she wasn’t tired from working.
His mouth full, Pete waved his fork at her empty plate. “Come, eat.”
“Don’t worry, I will.” She was hungry too.
Pete devoured his first plate, and served himself more. “This is so good. Better than the Waffle House.”
She snorted. “Better be. They use cheap package mix.”
“This your recipe?” he asked.
“That would be a no. I get recipes off the internet. People review them, and what they added, stuff like that. So, it’s kind of like having your mom’s favorite recipes, you know? Only it’s strangers.”
He shrugged. “Our mama loved package mixes. She thought the greatest Americans were Betty Crocker and Kraft. They didn’t have that shit in her village in Russia.”
Lesa laughed quietly. “Where do your parents live?”
“They’re both gone, have been for a few years. Stick was born when they were in their late thirties, me when mama was forty-three. The old man was older yet. They immigrated to Portland. There’s quite a community of Russian and Ukrainian immigrants there, and across the river in Washington. They like the weather—good for gardening, and going to the parks.�
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“You’re from Portland?” she asked, fascinated.
“Born there, grew up in Vancouver, north side of the Columbia River, on a little acreage outside of town. Too many fuckin’ people now. The traffic sucks, so does the rain.”
“Ivan is five or six years older than you?” No wonder he looked out for his little brother, he’d probably been doing so all his life.
“Six. You have sisters, right? Still in the Tri.”
She nodded. “They’re both in college. Traci’s in business ed, and Billie’s in computer programming—coding. She wants to move over here when she graduates in May, so I’m hoping she’ll get a job at one of the hospitals. And we’ll get an apartment together.”
Pete nodded, setting his fork on his empty plate. “How about the other one, Traci? She wanna come here too?”
“No.” Lesa set her own fork down. “She’s headed for Seattle, wants to live in the city.”
“Millions do,” he said wryly. “I like goin’ there for a couple of days. Downtown’s cool, great food and the beer’s not bad.”
She poked him in the ribs. “Says the brewer. Competitive much?”
He grinned. “Damn straight. Gonna enter my brews in one of the regional contests next year. The brothers think we have a good shot at winning some awards. That’ll look good on the website.”
Lesa sat up straight. “It really will. And you know, there are some other things you should do with the website. You need a—”
His gaze warm, he leaned in, and interrupted her with a smacking kiss. “Hold that thought, mischka. I need a shower and some clean clothes. Then we can talk long as you want. And do other things.” His heated look left no doubt what other things he had in mind.
He thudded away up the stairs, leaving her gazing after him, wanting him all over again. How did he do that to her with just a look, and a few words?
She shook herself, then got up and got busy cleaning up the kitchen. Since one of the accoutrements was a big, nearly new dishwasher, this was not difficult. But she thought about Pete, and what they’d done in his big bed the whole time.
And what they might do next.
