Chapter 5
5
NERO
She looks beautiful in her sleep.
Not everyone does: some people sprawl out, limbs all over the place, mouth wide open, looking like a cross between a goddamn starfish and a zombie.
Not her.
I slip from behind the window drapery, moving silently across the floor until I’m at the foot of her bed.
The bedroom is a mix of elegant chic and girlish princess, complete with a vanity lined with crystal perfume bottles, a walk-in closet overflowing with designer wear, and a four-poster canopy bed that Dracula would love.
I suppose that makes me the Count in the current scenario.
I vant to suck your blood…
Hmm. Haven’t ruled that out yet.
For now, though, I stand there and watch the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, her long blonde hair pulled back in its usual high, tight ponytail.
My jaw tightens.
That fucking ponytail makes me want things .
The same things I wanted the other night, when I watched it bounce and swish in front of me, taunting me as I ran after her.
I want to wrap it in my fucking fist and use it to guide that soft, pretty, pouty mouth of hers up and down every thick inch of my dick until it’s dripping and messy with her spit.
As if on cue, His Majesty rises to immediate attention in my jeans, swelling painfully tight against the denim.
The Kalishnik estate isn’t just set on some of the most sought-after real estate in New York, if not the world.
It’s also impenetrable .
Armed guards on every floor.
Motion sensors. Cameras.
A laser-assisted pressure alarm system on the roof.
Even goddamn drones sweeping the perimeter in alternating patterns.
Taken together, it makes the building impossible for most people to get into.
But I’m not most people.
And obsession makes a man…
inventive .
Still, it wasn’t exactly easy, getting in here tonight.
And being caught would mean—aside from me almost certainly losing my head, or at least several other appendages—all-out war between the Kalishnik Bratva and the De Luca family.
Which would probably spiral into a war between the Italians and the Russians, which would in turn pull in the Greeks, the Irish, the Yakuza—fuck, by that point, probably everybody else too.
In short, mutually assured annihilation and a large-scale bloodbath, all because a blonde ponytail gets my dick hard.
The rational next thought, then…
the obvious goal…is not to get caught.
The irrational next thought, which is the one I have, is to make the most of it .
I slowly move around the bed until I’m standing next to her pillow, still looking down at her sleeping form, watching her lips twitch in her sleep.
I’ve always thought of her as just another spoiled, untouchable Bratva princess.
It would appear I misjudged Ms. Kalishnik.
The real Milena is the woman who ran from me the other night.
Not just because I scared the fuck out of her, and she probably felt her life was in danger.
That’s too easy.
She ran from me like she wanted to be caught.
Squirmed against me with a heat I haven’t stopped thinking about since.
Now, she’s laid out in front of me like a question begging for the answer.
I reach for the blanket.
Not quickly, not greedily.
Slowly, like I’m unwrapping a delicate present.
For me .
The silk sheet slides away from her collarbone.
She’s only wearing a thin tank top, and my eyes feast on the way her nipples are pebbled and hard under the fabric.
Yep, those will be for me, too.
I keep going, gradually tugging the sheet off her, pulling a little harder to free it from her sleeping grasp.
It slides lower, over her taut stomach, toned from her punishing dancing routine and bare from the tank top riding up.
The sheet glides lower, over her hips, until I see pale pink lace panties.
The fabric’s thin and soft, molded so tight to her pussy that I can make out the cleft of her sweet cunt.
Why, hello there…
She’s got one leg bent, opening her up to my hungry gaze.
I crouch beside the bed, close enough to feel the warmth of her skin.
Close enough to inhale her.
She shifts slightly but doesn’t wake.
My fingers hover over the curve of her inner thigh, watching her breathe until I can’t resist any longer.
I drag a single finger along her seam through her panties.
She exhales softly, breathily, and her legs part a little more.
Good girl .
My heart pounds harder than it did during the kill at Court the other night.
My demons thirst for an even more intoxicating vice than blood.
I trace my finger over her again; slower, more firmly.
She’s warm.
More than a little wet.
My cock throbs behind my zipper.
My long fingers slide beneath the fabric, skin to skin now.
Her pussy is soft and slick, and my knuckles brush the top of her thigh as I part her folds and find the molten wet heat within.
Fuck.
I drag my finger up and down her slit, watching as her brow furrows slightly, her mouth opening to release a silent, sleepy whimper.
Slowly, I bring my finger to my mouth, wrap my lips around it and swipe it with my tongue.
Fucking FUCK .
She tastes sweet, like peaches and sin with a darker undertone of sweat and shame.
Like she wants this, even asleep.
I stare down at her.
Still unconscious. Oblivious.
I lean close, my lips at her ear.
“Dreaming of me, princess?” I whisper.
“Running from me again?”
Her body answers before her mind ever could.
Her hips shift, a soft sound escapes her throat, and it’s my undoing.
I hook my fingers into the waistband of her panties and slowly, silently, pull them down.
Her legs twitch when the lace slides over her thighs, but she doesn’t wake.
I palm the scrap of lace and slide it into my coat pocket.
She won’t be needing that.
Slowly, I swing her hips around, moving them toward the edge of the bed until her long, lean dancer’s legs drape over my shoulders.
She shifts in her sleep, and I pause long enough to let her sink back into dreamland.
My eyes drag up her inner thighs to home in on her glistening pink lips.
Fuck me, she’s got a pretty pussy.
A billboard in Times Square-worthy pussy.
The Cindy fucking Crawford of pussies.
It's mine now.
The peachy scent of her invades my senses as I lean closer, making my mouth water and my dick ache in my jeans.
I allow myself to wallow in delayed gratification just a few seconds more, my mouth hovering an inch above her glistening lips and swollen clit, my breath teasing over her skin as her hips roll in her sleep.
Then there’s no stopping me.
I drag my tongue over her slowly, tasting every inch as it glides between her lips: one long, deliberate lick from bottom to top.
Fuck.
Me.
She tastes like Heaven and Hell. Like sin and desire. Peaches and fucking cream. And it only takes about half a second before I realize I may already be fucking addicted to her sweet cunt.
I growl quietly and do it again, dragging my tongue up her velvety soft lips, letting the tip of it swirl over her throbbing clit.
Milena shifts in her sleep, and a low, desperate whimper tumbles from her lips.
Don’t worry, princess. I’m nowhere near finished .
I grip her thighs and delve deeper, tongue flicking, curling, stroking, pushing into her. Her arousal coats my mouth and drips down my chin as I eagerly devour her.
Her breath catches.
Her hips roll.
Her thighs tremble as she moans quietly, her fingers tightening their grip on the sheets.
I groan against her clit, sucking softly, teasing it with the flat of my tongue as I pull it between my lips.
I have a sudden, desperate need to make her come. To taste her as she floods my tongue. She’s getting close. I can tell by the way her legs start to tense and her breath is shuddering in her chest.
I circle her clit with the tip of my tongue again. And again. Pressing harder, pushing her to the brink as her face caves and pleasure tears from her throat.
Suddenly, her whole body arches. She gasps so loudly that for a second I think she’s woken up. Her thighs clamp around my ears, and when she moans, I can feel her flooding my tongue and chin with her cum.
Her orgasm rolls through her in a silent wave. No screams or cries, just a trembling exhale, a twitch of her hips, and the peachy sweetness of her pussy coating my mouth as I swallow every drop.
I stay there for a beat, savoring the way she pulses against my mouth as I keep licking her. I tease her clit once more with the tip of my tongue, relishing the way she squirms and whimpers in her sleep.
I don’t want to wake her. Not this time.
Tonight is more about leaving a message.
A simple, straightforward one, at that:
You, Milena, are mine .
I pull the blanket gently up over her hips. I leave the slick wetness on her thighs.
She stirs, eyes fluttering behind her lids, but still, she sleeps.
I go back to the window, but not to leave, not yet. I’m merely getting the presents I brought her. Back at her bed, looming over her as I look down at her quiet, sleeping, utterly wrecked face, I leave them on the pillow next to her.
Then I brush a strand of blonde from her face, my lips curling darkly.
We’ve only just begun, little princess…