Now, she is in mine.
I kiss her, and her body turns to electricity around me. Her hands search my muscles, feeling the hardness of my body as I grasp her behind her neck and on her hips, feeling her with a strong, aggressive grip. I guide her down, pushing her hands where I know she wants to feel me. I make her feel the abs running down my stomach to the V that points to my crotch. I let her feel my thighs that seem chiseled from marble. I tease her hair, coaxing her to be bolder with her tongue as our mouths open to each other.
Her sighs are like music, and our motions in the cramped back of the car are like a dance. She is cautious, but I bring her out of her shell. I give her silent cues with my hands, and she feels around me, desperate for more with every passing second. This girl is starved, I can tell. She isn’t just inexperienced, she’s a virgin.
I stole a virgin mafia princess from one of the most powerful men in New York City, only to sin with her in the middle of nowhere that very night. But it’s so much more than that. For her part, she is fleeing the marriage arranged by that same man and her own father. This is teenage rebellion, and I feel like the devil himself.
That isn’t a new feeling for me.
I have come to enjoy it.
My hips grind against her, and she can feel my thick shaft through my pants against her thighs. She whimpers when she realizes how large my manhood is, but she gets that much more excited. I break away from her mouth to loom over her and gaze into her face as I feel up her breasts. My large, strong hands are gentle at first, teasing around her shirt, feeling their shape. The feel of this intoxicating woman is everything I imagined and more, and I cannot deny that I imagined her. My body is full of need, and I’m going to let it loose on her.
Her pants are torn, so it will be that much easier to get them down. I bring my hand to the waist and run my thumb around it, teasing at what I want. She slows down, and I look into wide eyes that gleam with desire.
“I…” she starts, “I’ve never…”
“I know,” I say. “I will show you something first.”
She grips the seat and breathes slowly and carefully as I work her pants down her hips. She wiggles to help herself out of them, and I bring her underwear with the pants to reveal her untouched lower lips. I let out a rumble of hunger from my chest as my fiendish eyes drink her in. I look back up to meet her gaze, and I stick two fingers into my mouth, getting them wet before I slide them down to her lower lips without further warning.
She gasps as I make small, slow circles and feel how swollen her clit is. Her face is a beautiful mess of color, and I can’t help but smile at her. She starts to push her hips up into me, but my hands are firm and steady. I put a hand on her hip and hold her down, subjecting her to relentless torment as I touch her. She is already wet, and she just gets wetter the more I tease her. When I take my hand away, she whimpers in need and protest, but her face goes cherry-red when I bring my fingers to my lips again and taste her honey.
“I want more,” I say. As I do, my hands go to her thighs and start to part them with a steady, unstoppable force. A shiver goes up her whole body, so strong that I can feel it and share in its delight.
My face has stubble on it. I bring it to her inner thigh and let out a slow, hot breath as I brush up against it, feeling how soft and ripe she is. My face trails all the way down to where her legs meet, and she lets out a groan of desire at the feeling.
“Has anyone touched you like this, Anastasia?” I ask.
“No,” she breathes. “I’ve wanted it so badly, but it’s only ever been in my imagination. All of this feels so…”
“Unreal?” I say. “Adrenaline will do that to you.”
“I don’t want to waste a second,” she purrs. I feel fire flare up in my chest, and I dive in.
My tongue rolls over her lips, licking away the honey already there, and she gasps in pure lust. Her hips try to buck up into my face to feel more of my touch, but my grip on her hips is strong. She whimpers and moans in protest as I hold her down, just teasing the surface of her lips with every stroke.
“Please,” she complains.
“Spoiled brat,” I growl, “how does it feel to be denied something?”
“Fuck you,” she moans.
“Strong words, after what you just saw me do,” I say. “Are you always so brazen?”
In response, she reaches up to my head and holds onto it, fingers in my hair, nails digging into my scalp. I chuckle, satisfied.
I reward her with a little more.
My tongue dives into her, and I taste her wet, needy pussy. She’s overflowing with honey, and she lets out a delighted sigh when I finally touch those parts of her she wanted dearly. My tongue wanders down into her, then up to her clit from there, which I give the slightest of touches before going back down again.
I lick her pussy over and over again like that, making a mess of her and my face as I tease more honey from her. Her hips never stop trying to push up, trying to get any control back from me, and even her hands try to get me further down on her pussy, but I know what I want, and I’m going to both get it and give it to her.
I get into a steady rhythm, but each time, I tease a little more of her clit. I never give it the attention it really needs, because I want to push her to her limits.
Her skin is perfect. I’ve never tasted or touched anything like it, and I’ve had women all over the world. My instincts were right when I first laid eyes on her, and by the way she writhes in my grasp, I can tell hers were as well.
After what feels like an eternity, I start letting my tongue wash over her clit. The first time I touch all of it, she lets out a sharp whimper, and I feel sharp nails on my scalp that delights me. My heavy heart pounds in my muscle bound chest, and my whole body works to please her. There is no feeling in the world like this, adrenaline or no.
My tongue darts out, striking her clit with deadly precision each time. I let it linger a little longer with every stroke, teasing just enough that she feels like something is barely out of reach.
Then I feel a change in her. It’s subtle, but it’s there. Her body starts to tense, and her sighs and moans get more strained. I start getting faster with every stroke, lavishing her with attention and holding nothing back from her. This is the moment to let it all out, and I want to deny this princess nothing in this very moment.
Finally, her mouth falls open, her face blushes, and I feel a flood of honey coat my lips as she comes. Her voice cracks, but she lets out a long, high-pitched groan of ecstasy as her whole body convulses with the force of the orgasm. It pulses through her with her heart, and it goes on so long that I get lost in her wet folds.
I have to have her. I need to enter her. And I will.
When the orgasm finally dies down, I pull my face from her, looking at her with pure hunger and desire, and I wipe the honey from my face and smile.
My hands go to my pans, cock threatening to burst out if I don’t set it free soon.
The next moment, I freeze.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch something reflected in the rear-view mirror.
My jaw clenches at what I see.
Blue and red lights are approaching again.
That fucking cop.
Anastasia
My chest is heaving, every inch of my body positively on fire with the overwhelming waves of pleasure undulating from my head to my toes, all centered around the sweet spot between my thighs.
I can feel my pussy aching, dripping honey down my thighs to dampen the cushy leather seat underneath me. My fingers grip the sides of the seat, one of my arms hooked around the head rest as I breathe deeply and erratically. I have never known a sensation like this before. Nothing like the incredible rush, the release of so much tension held in my every muscle.
I have only ever even touched myself a few times in my life, and I never got very much out of it. In fact, it has always been so unsatisfying that I found myself pretty much completely uninterested in sex—after all, if I could
n’t make myself feel good, what hope would anyone else have of satisfying me? I assumed maybe I was broken. Faulty. Built incorrectly.
Or maybe all my girlfriends back in school who ranted and raved about the joys of dry-humping their boring milquetoast boyfriends in secret hiding places on the school grounds were just lying to me. Or at the very least, exaggerating the experiences.
But now? My mind is both blown and changed. Sex can feel good, when you’re with someone who knows what he’s doing. It’s like Nikolai can read my mind, like his fingers and his tongue can sense what my body aches for even before I know the answer myself.
Perhaps this is reckless. Maybe it’s stupid to be half-undressed in the back seat of some strange man’s car after very narrowly escaping the predatory clutches of the man I am supposed to marry. But right now? I don’t care.
My father wants to take my life and my future away from me, to keep me locked in this gilded cage until I die, alone and unloved. He should want better for me than to be arm candy for a disgusting man like Liev.
Besides, I feel way too good to give a damn what happens to us. Between the rush of adrenaline and the dopamine flowing through my body, courtesy of Nikolai’s expert lips and tongue, I feel exhilarated. Free. I have seen the light.
But then I see a different light, reflected in the rear view mirror upfront. Not only that, but Nikolai has suddenly stopped doing that magical thing he does with his tongue. I look down at him, confused and disoriented by the thrill of pleasure still coursing up and down my body, and I’m surprised to see the look of concern on his face.
Those thick, black eyebrows are knitting together in the middle, his jaw tensing up. He wipes his mouth and sighs.
“Der’mo,” he curses, hurriedly snatching up my jeans and thrusting them at me. “Put your jeans back on, and hurry. That damn cop is back.”
“What?” I burst out, my eyes going wide with terror. My hands start trembling, which only makes it more difficult to yank my jeans back on over my legs. They’re from a designer brand, so of course they’re made without a single ounce of stretch to them, and it’s difficult to put them on without standing and jumping up and down.
“Stay calm, but move fast,” he warns me as he clambers back into the front seat, somehow making it look smooth and effortless even though he’s got to be several inches over six feet and broad as a grizzly bear. He slides behind the wheel and rakes his fingers back through his dark hair, breathing slowly and closing his eyes to calm down and get back into character. I wonder if it’s going to be the same exact cop as before. What are the odds?
I finally manage to get my jeans on as the flashing blue and red lights behind us get brighter and brighter. Then I hear the telltale squeal of the squad car brakes and I all but leap into the passenger seat, desperately trying to smooth down my wild hair and make myself look presentable. Like Nikolai hasn’t just rocked my world and left me reeling.
“Stay calm,” he assures me. “Everything will be okay. I’m pretty certain that’s the same cop. Either way, we stick to our story, alright?”
I nod nervously, biting my lip. “Okay. Okay. Yeah. We got this,” I mutter, not convincing either of us, most especially myself. But Nikolai turns and smiles softly at me and reaches over to pat my thigh, sending another thrill of delight through my core, despite the fear bumping my heartbeat up.
“Wh-what should we tell him?” I hiss, turning in my seat to look back at the cop.
“Don’t look,” he commands. I hurriedly turn back around and start fidgeting with a lock of hair tangled over my shoulder.
“Nikolai, I’m scared. Surely he’s going to know something’s up this time,” I admit.
“No, we’re just two newlyweds in trouble. We need to get to our honeymoon, but our car broke down. We won’t be in trouble. We’ll be the ones needing help, not getting arrested,” he tells me earnestly. “We don’t look like trouble. We look normal.”
I snort, rolling my eyes. “Yeah, there’s nothing normal about any of this.”
Nikolai nods slowly, staring off down the road as we both hear the cop’s footsteps approaching for the second time. “You’re right about that, Ana,” he replies quietly.
He rolls the window down and plasters that same goofy, innocuous-looking grin on his handsome face again, leaning an arm out the window as the cop steps up and bends down, just like he did before. This is deja vu in the worst possible way.
“Now, folks, when you said you were on the way to your honeymoon, I thought you were at least going to make it out of town,” jokes the cop, smiling broadly. Oh, that’s a good start.
Nikolai groans and shrugs. “What can you do? These flashy new cars are all looks and no muscle. What’s the use of having something shiny and new if it can’t even get you from point A to point B?” he says good-naturedly. The cop chuckles.
“You kids alright in there?” he asks, squinting as he peers around Nikolai to look at me. I can feel his eyes taking in my disheveled, off-kilter appearance. He quirks an eyebrow, trying not to be smug about the inference he’s making here. I give him a sheepish smile and reflexively reach up to try and smooth my messy hair down.
“We, uh, tried to make the best of a bad situation, if you know what I mean,” Nikolai confesses to the cop. My jaw drops. He’s really throwing us under the bus! I wonder to myself if it really is illegal to have sex in a parked car in a private neighborhood. What crime would that be? Disturbing the peace? Public indecency? All the most worrying thoughts go through my mind at the same time. But the cop seems surprisingly nonplussed by the situation.
“Ah, to be young and in love again,” the officer muses. “Why, you two are just like high schoolers parked at makeout creek, aren’t you?”
Nikolai forces a laugh. “Yeah. You caught us. But when your car breaks down en route to your honeymoon, what else can you do? We called roadside assistance but they won’t be here for hours, so one thing led to another and...” he trails off.
“Fair enough,” guffaws the cop. “But the truth is, I can’t have the two of you necking on the side of the road. What if some late-night jogger comes by and sees something… untoward? So let me offer you something: I can get you a tow. I don’t know how far away your honeymoon cabin is, but there’s this cute little small town just a while down the road called Roslyn. I should know—it’s where I live, actually. Anyway, there’s this adorable bed and breakfast where you could rent a little cottage out back. It’s a mother-in-law suite, but it’s well-furnished and private and, well, I could rave about it forever, but I’m sure you’d rather just go ahead and get there.”
I blink in surprise at how easily the cop bought our story hook, line, and sinker. He’s even going out of his way to help us find a “honeymoon” spot for the night. Either this is the world’s most helpful government employee, or Nikolai is the most convincing actor in the universe. Or, I reason, it’s probably both. Nikolai taps the steering wheel, grinning at the cop.
“Wow, that is a fantastic idea, officer,” he says brightly. “We would love that, wouldn’t we, honey?” he asks, turning to me and giving me an emphatic nod.
I nod. “Yes. Yep. That’s a great idea. Perfect. Let’s do that,” I say awkwardly.
The cop claps his hands together. “Great! It’s a plan. I can have my tow guy here in just a few minutes, no worries.”
He stalks off to make a call, while Nikolai and I exchange amused expressions. The cop’s word is good. Within ten minutes, there’s a tow truck and a police escort taking us to the cute little town of Roslyn.
And the cop wasn’t lying about the mother-in-law suite, either. Even though it’s damn near midnight, the owner of the bed and breakfast, who is a little old lady with horn-rimmed glasses, lets us check in without so much as a complaint. With the car at a mechanic down the street, the cop bids us goodnight and congratulates us again on our fake marriage before heading back out on patrol.
Nikolai and I settle into our quaint little cottage, the windows plea
santly shrouded by flowering trees and bushes. The place looks like it was decorated by a high-society lady from the 1800s, but it’s cozy, and it’s far better than being stuck on the side of the road barely ten miles from Ovechkin’s mansion.
Once we’re locked into the cottage, we both heave a sigh of relief.
“Did that really just happen?” I ask, still dumbfounded by our stroke of good luck.
Nikolai nods. “Seems that way. Yes. Let’s not overthink it.”
I glance at the antique grandfather clock across the room, squinting to read the time. It’s nearly two in the morning. I groan.
“What’s wrong?” Nikolai asks, standing up and walking over to sit next to me on the edge of the floral-print chaise lounge. I stare down at my bare feet, overcome with emotion.
“It’s just that… my life seems to be going totally off the rails. I mean, my lifestyle has always been a little abnormal, what with all the traveling and the designer clothes and the—well, everything that comes along with being the only child of a rich and powerful man,” I begin sadly. “But I always found a way to make it feel normal. I’m a pretty adaptable person, I think. I’ve moved around so many times, I got really good at making friends wherever I go. I’m friendly, but I do okay by myself, too. I get lonely sometimes, but I deal with it. The expensive private institutions my dad sent me to for education had very high standards, and I always met them. I thought I could handle anything, you know? That’s partly why I wanted to become a diplomat. So I could help others learn to cooperate and get along. So I could, you know, fix things that were broken. Build a better future. I’ve been given so much privilege in my life but I’m self-aware enough to know that I should give back somehow.”
“Forgive me my ignorance, but that is surprising to hear,” Nikolai admits. “I did not come from wealth. I never lived a life of leisure. I always assumed that the children of rich men were just as deplorable as their parents. I mean no offense.”
Killing for Her Page 9
