“I could get some guys together,” said Rico. “Go to some markets where they’re selling that stuff and smash them up.”
I shook my head. “That’d be like stamping on roaches. We gotta hit them at source.” I examined the seams. The thing really was well made, far better than the crap our guys sold. “Vasiliy and Mikhail have to be getting this stuff into the country somehow. Probably through the docks. We’re going to find out when the next shipment’s coming in.” I pulled out my phone and dialed Peterson, the little prick I’d threatened to push through a window.
“And then what?” asked Rico.
“And then we’re going to steal it.”
* * *
We were in luck: there was a container coming in at nine that night. Peterson, his voice high and tight with fear, was only too happy to give us all the details. At eight-thirty, Rico and I pulled into the docks in a rental car, followed by another car carrying five of my best men. It was a moonless night and it was snowing again, the big flakes only visible when they passed through the beams of the security lights. We parked in the thick, black shadows between two shipping containers. The Russians wouldn’t even know we were there.
Rico took the men to prepare the ambush. That left me sitting alone in the car with the heater on and the snow falling all around me. It was completely silent, a warm little cocoon.
I hadn’t stopped thinking about her all day. Now, I couldn’t think of anything else. Fuck it. I had thirty minutes to kill.
I called Irina.
15
Irina
I was lying on my bed, staring at a book but not seeing the words. What am I doing? Why had I given in to Angelo and kept this thing going when it was impossible and horrifically dangerous? If Vasiliy found out….
But I already knew the truth. I hadn’t given in to him. I’d given in to it, this magnetic draw that was pulling us together, that wouldn’t be blocked by family or loyalty, that had no time for sense or reason. I remembered how confused Angelo looked, sometimes, before he kissed me, how he’d asked how do you do this to me?
He was as powerless as I was.
My phone rang. I had it to my ear before the end of the first ring. “Hello?”
I heard his intake of breath, as if just the way I said hello was an immense turn-on for him. “Irina,” he breathed, savoring my name. “What are you doing?”
“Reading. What are you doing?”
“Business.” Wherever he was, it was very quiet. I could hear every breath he took: it was as if he was lying on the bed next to me. “Are you alone?”
“I’m in my room. Rachel’s around.”
“Is your door open?”
“A little.”
“Close it.”
Two innocent words, but they made a thrill of excitement go through me and I wasn’t sure why. I pushed my door closed and the muted sound of Rachel’s dance music disappeared completely. The silence wasn’t like any I’d experienced before. It was thick and heavy, full of promise.
“Go to your bed and lie down,” said Angelo.
My breathing quickened as I started to guess what he had in mind. I lay down on top of the comforter.
“What are you wearing?” he asked.
I looked down at myself and considered lying and saying lingerie and heels. But Angelo’s voice was too real, too intimate, stroking at my mind. It would feel wrong to lie. “Jeans,” I said. “Blue ones. And a thick brown sweater.” I said it apologetically: I knew they weren’t sexy. I’d been in slobbing-around-the-house mode. Plus, it was cold in my room—I needed that sweater.
But Angelo didn’t sound disappointed at all. “Anything under the sweater?”
“My bra.” My voice caught on the word bra. I had to lift the shoulder of the sweater to check the color. “Red.”
“So the sweater’s against your skin,” said Angelo. “Is it soft against your stomach?”
I realized he wanted the detail so that he could imagine it. “Yes,” I told him. “Very soft. Angora.”
“Slide your hand under the bottom of your sweater,” he said. “Run it over your stomach.”
My breathing tightened. This was definitely turning into one of those phone calls. I’d never done something like that before, but the idea sent a hot wave down my body, making me press my thighs together. It’s nothing, I told myself nonchalantly. Just my hand on my stomach. I slid my hand up under the hem of my sweater and swept it across my skin.
Except...it didn’t feel like my hand, anymore. It felt like his. It felt like Angelo’s big, warm hand gliding across the soft skin of my stomach, fingertips reaching towards my bra.
“Arch your back up off the bed,” he said in my ear. My eyes closed. Each word was a throaty rumble that vibrated through my entire body: I thought of a slowly-throbbing engine, finished in shining Italian chrome. I arched.
“Unhook your bra,” he ordered, enunciating every syllable.
I reached under me and it was his strong fingers that found the clasp and unhooked it.
“Run your hand higher,” he said. “Over your stomach. Over your left breast. But don’t touch the nipple yet.”
I felt almost hypnotized. It was as if his voice was flowing into my ear and right into the very center of my brain, bypassing all my defenses. It fed into the molten core that I’d kept hidden behind layers of ice for so many years, making it glow hotter and hotter. I slid my hand over my stomach and gasped as my fingers brushed the lower slope of my breast. I went up and around, skirting the nipple as he’d instructed.
“When I next see you,” Angelo said, “I’m going to take that nipple in my mouth. I’m going to lick and lick in circles along its sides, feeling it getting harder and harder against my tongue. I’m going to suck it and then I’m going to just barely let you feel the edges of my teeth.”
I didn’t answer. My fingers stroked around and around my breast.
“Is your nipple getting hard, Irina?” he asked.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“How hard?”
I could feel it straining, aching. “Very hard.”
His voice tightened with lust. “Unfasten your jeans.”
I didn’t open my eyes but I turned my head on the pillow towards where I knew the bedroom door was. I don’t have a lock on my door and Rachel has a habit of just barging in. Of course I can’t….
I felt fingers popping open the button fly of my jeans. My fingers, but they barely seemed to be under my control.
“What sort of panties?” he asked.
“Gray ones.” My voice was a hoarse whisper. “Briefs.”
“Fingers under them. Now.”
My fingers slid under the waistband.
“I can’t wait to see you there,” Angelo told me. “I’ve been imagining what you look like. What color the hair is. What your lips look like. How they’ll part when I first slip a finger into you.”
My breath caught.
“Rub yourself for me, Irina.” His voice had grown even deeper, more gravelly, in his lust. It seemed to throb through me. “Two fingers, up and down.”
I still had my eyes tight closed. The air was hissing between my teeth as I breathed. His fingers—my fingers—stroked down through soft hair and then traced the line where my lips met. It felt so good...I started to move my body to the rhythm, my ass grinding into the bed. I sped up—
“Don’t speed up,” Angelo told me. “Slow.”
How did he know? I forced myself to slow down: long, deliberate strokes that just touched my clit at the top. I could feel my lips swelling, growing engorged and moist, and I let out a groan.
I heard his smile. “You’re getting wet for me.” Not a question.
“Yes,” I whispered. Behind my closed eyelids, I saw him, stretched out on top of me on the bed, his knee between my thighs, his hand down the front of my jeans. I’d never done anything like this before. Russian men—at least, the ones I’d known—were simple creatures. Sex, to them, meant getting a woman naked as
fast as possible, pawing at her breasts and then ramming it in. They’d never do this. They’d never wrap me up in words and ideas until it felt as if my whole body was being caressed.
“I want you to push two fingers into you, now,” he said. He spoke slowly and I could hear the tension in his voice. I imagined him sitting bolt upright in his seat, eyes closed, phone clamped to his ear. Wherever he was, he wasn’t there, any more than I was here. We were together in the hot, dark place we’d formed from words.
I did it, gasping as my knuckles spread my slickened lips.
“They’re not as thick as my cock,” said Angelo. “Or as long. But I want you to fuck yourself, now, as if it’s me fucking you. That means hard, Irina. That’s how I’ll take you.”
My fingers started to move, slow and then faster.
“Pull your knees up. Spread them wide. My hips are between your thighs, holding you open.”
I rammed my jeans and panties down my hips, panting. My fingers moved faster, thumb circling my clit. I couldn’t believe how wet I was.
“I’m fucking you, Irina. Right now, I’m fucking you. My ass is pumping between your legs. My cock is right up inside you.
My hand moved frantically. It didn’t feel like fingers; it felt like his cock. I could see him on top of me, those brown and amber eyes burning down into mine, his broad chest looming over me. My naked ass ground and writhed against the comforter. My mouth was open and panting, my lips aching for his kiss. God! The pleasure was rolling through me in quick, hot waves, but the waves didn’t dissipate: each one slapped up against the tight core of heat that was building at my center and added to it. It was growing hotter, tighter, making me gasp and buck.
“Faster now, Irina. Harder. I’m pounding you. My cock’s stretching you and it’s going fast and deep. I’m going to keep fucking you until you come your brains out.”
“Oh!” I gasped. “Oh, Jesus—”
“Tell me, Irina.”
“You’re f—fucking me,” I gasped, stumbling over the filthy words. The pleasure was tightening, tightening, turning white-hot. “H—Hard. I’m going to—” I bit my lip.
“Say it. Say it, Irina.”
His cock pumped at me, the base of it grinding against my clit. “Ya sobirayus' do orgazma!” I screamed. Then, as I tipped over the edge, I screamed it again in English. “I’m going to come!”
And suddenly the pleasure exploded, every muscle going taut. I arched my back, breasts mashing against the hardness of his chest, my ass lifting off the bed as he buried himself in me. My hands dug deep into the comforter and twisted, knuckles white. I pressed my lips tight together to keep from screaming again and my climax came out as a series of long, throaty groans broken by quick little huffs of air. Then I collapsed on the bed under him, my whole body soaked with sweat….
...and realized it was just me, lying there with my jeans and panties around my ankles and my knees spread wide. I was panting and flushed and very, very wet.
My eyes opened. I realized the distant music from Rachel’s room had stopped. Chyort! Had she heard me screaming? I quickly pulled my jeans up. Then I looked at my phone where, I realized, Angelo definitely had heard every groan.
It was a weird feeling, to have climaxed in front of someone before you’ve had sex with them. He’d shared something I’d never shared with anyone before. It should have been embarrassing. A little part of me was embarrassed, but….
But most of me was just deeply, deeply turned on. How could he make me feel so relaxed about sex, when the guys I’d known before had made me feel like a freak just for enjoying it? I think it was because of the relish he took in my pleasure, as if nothing made him happier than seeing—or listening to—me come.
“Tonight,” Angelo told me, “when I’m finished here, we’re going to do that for real.”
My mind spun. It had only been a day since I’d slapped him at the party. He’d lied to me: was I ready to trust him again, to take that step with him? But just the thought of it made my ass start to grind against the bed again. God, what’s he turned me into? “Where?” I asked, shocked at how breathless I sounded.
“I’ll pick you up at your place,” he said. “And then we’ll go somewhere, somewhere no one knows us.” His voice grew low. “And I’ll find something to bend you over and—”
A hard rap of knuckles on glass, seemingly from inches away. I actually looked around, startled, before I realized it was at Angelo’s end. I heard him curse. “I gotta go,” he said. “I’ll call you when I’m on my way.” And then he was gone.
A knock at my bedroom door. I jumped up off the bed and straightened the comforter. “Come in.”
Rachel pushed the door open. “What was that?” she asked cautiously.
I pushed my hair off my sweat-damp forehead. “What was what?”
“All that screaming.” Her eyes narrowed.
I did my best poker face. I was a Malakov, dammit. Ice-cold. My expression would reveal nothing—
Rachel’s eyes widened. “It’s that guy from Central Park!”
Chyort! However hard I summoned the ice, it wouldn’t come. Angelo had reduced me to a hot pile of mush. I sighed and nodded.
Rachel threw her arms around me. “Tell me everything. Only pausing to thank me for getting you together.”
I hugged her. “Okay, but it’ll have to be fast.” A ripple of excitement shot down my body. “I’m going out.”
16
Angelo
I watched from the shadows as the huge container was lowered towards the waiting truck. It was bitterly cold—even the Russians were wrapped up in thick coats and gloves, yelling to each other to hurry. They were more concerned with keeping warm than keeping guard. Good.
I glanced across at Rico, who was ready to give the order to move in. He gave me a friendly nod, but I could feel the tension between us. I’d chewed him out when he’d rapped on the car window, but the truth was it was me who was in the wrong. I’d been so busy imagining Irina pumping her slender fingers into her pussy, I hadn’t noticed the Russians arriving. What was with me? It was like the woman had cast some Russian witchcraft on me.
The container settled onto the truck and the Russians started to secure it. Rico opened his mouth, but I held up my hand: I wanted to wait as long as possible, get them to do all the work for us….
Now. I dropped my hand and Rico yelled the order. The Russians looked up in dismay as flashlights went on all around them. As they squinted against the blinding light, they heard five guns being cocked. “Give it up!” I yelled. “No one has to get hurt!”
The Russians looked at each other...and slowly raised their hands, cursing. Good. No need to make this thing bloody if we didn’t have to.
Less than five minutes later, we’d collected the Russians’ guns and tossed their cell phones in the water so they couldn’t raise the alarm too soon. Two of my guys got into the truck and we climbed back into our cars and prepared to drive off in convoy.
“Mikhail and Vasiliy will fucking kill you for this,” snarled one of the Russians through the car window.
I lowered the window and smiled sweetly at him. “Tell Vasiliy,” I said victoriously, “A wise man once said…’fuck you.’”
Our little convoy moved off and I raised the window, cutting off the Russian’s stream of cursing. And just like that, we stole a million dollars worth of counterfeit goods.
“That is one pissed-off Russian,” said Rico, watching in the mirror from the driver’s seat. “Hey, we should celebrate. Let’s hit a bar. Let’s hit five bars.”
I grinned. He was right: we did need to celebrate. And normally I’d have liked nothing more than to sprawl around a table in one of New York’s fanciest bars. But….
But I wanted to celebrate with her. “Nah. I got plans,” I told him.
I saw the hurt in his eyes straightaway and felt lousy. But he rallied quickly. “Well, sure,” he said. “That same chick again? Hell, I can understand that. You should get your dick wet.�
��
I nodded and grinned, but just a little uneasily. It didn’t feel like that, like I was just fucking her to celebrate, as I would have done in the past. It felt like much more than that.
A half hour later, the truck and its stolen cargo were safe in one of our warehouses and I’d given Rico a thick wad of cash to take the guys out on the town. I felt guilty...but the guilt evaporated as soon as I pulled up outside Irina’s house and saw her hurrying down the path towards me. Her coat covered her almost to her knees, but I caught tantalizing glimpses of the firm, stocking-covered thigh as she climbed in. She’d barely closed her door when I put my hand on her cheek and turned her to me, then drew her into a long kiss. I ran my other hand down her body, feeling her through the layers of clothing, eager to unwrap her.
“We could just go inside,” I growled as I broke the kiss. Less than a minute and we could be on her bed, doing for real what we’d played out on the phone.
She shook her head. “My roommate’s there.”
“So? Let her listen.”
For the first time, I saw her flush, a delicate rose blush that made her look delectably innocent. “She already listened!” she said with feeling. “Somewhere else!”
I grinned. “I know a place. But first…” And I slipped the long, slim box out of my overcoat pocket and handed it to her.
I’d bought it that afternoon, when Rico and I were cooling our heels in the city waiting for Peterson to get back to us with the information. I’d paid a visit to an Italian jeweler I knew, a guy who’d been under my protection for years. I knew he wouldn’t rip me off. And when I’d seen the necklace, it had been so perfect for Irina that I hadn’t even checked the price tag.
She opened the box...and gasped as she saw the slender chain with its shining triangles of polished silver. Each one was thicker at its center than at the edge, angular and yet touchably smooth. When I helped her slip it around her neck and fasten the clasp, the triangles lay flat against her skin around the base of her throat, twinkling in the streetlights as she turned her head to examine herself in the rear view mirror. I thought they looked like ice crystals—that’s why I’d picked it.
Kissing The Enemy Page 9
