5. Ravage Me
RAVAGE ME
GAbrIEL
Gabriel was ready to rock his sexy mystery lady. As they walked down the hall to the hotel suite, he caressed her back. And her body went rigid.
No way would he touch her if she didn’t want it. But something had changed when he was checking into the hotel. He did have a reputation as being a lady eater. Figuratively and literally, but she was Russian.
Unconfirmed.
His guess… if she was Russian, she hung in different circles. The Russians he knew tended to keep their circle tight, not venture into mainstream America.
That’s because they’re all Bratva.
A chill slithered down his spine. Teddy still had his weapon. He’d forgotten it when he’d abruptly left the Black Site.
Yet, sultry No Name intrigued him. She spoke English, Russian, and Italian.
He stopped in front of the suite.
“How many languages do you speak?” he asked as he tapped the keycard against the receiver. The light turned green, he turned the handle, pushed open the door.
She peered up, her gaze searching his. “Six. I don’t hookup with strangers.”
“I’m not a stranger,” he said. “You know my last name.”
“That might not be your real name,” she pushed back, the Russian accent catching his ear.
“How long have you been in the States?” he asked.
She entered the hotel room, he followed.
“No questions,” she replied as he closed the door behind him.
To his surprise, she didn’t glance around. Standing no more than three feet away in the upscale hotel room, her fiery gaze drilled into his. She heaved in a deep breath, released it slowly.
No doubt, she was hot with a tight little body. His cock started to harden. He opened the condom box, separated the three-pack, and set the items on the night table.
She hadn’t moved, hadn’t started stripping off her clothes either. She stood like a statue in the middle of the room. She’d said yes, she’d kissed him back, and she just told him she didn’t hookup with strangers.
“I’ll be gentle,” he said.
“I don’t want gentle. I want raw, wild fucking. I’m not afraid of you.”
He went to her, drew her hand to his mouth, dropped kisses on her fingers. Slowly. One at a time, while he watched her. Her breathing shifted, a tremble skirted through her, but she didn’t pull away.
“Music?” he asked.
She jumped in his arms, wrapped her arms and legs around him. Her strength surprised him. She couldn’t be more than five-six. Her kiss was hard, her hands plunged into his hair. She fisted his waves while she ground against him in a slow, sensuous rhythm.
He snaked his arms around her, trapping her against him. On a growl, she deepened the kiss, her tongue stroking his. Her throaty moans turned him hard, but his leg started aching and he grabbed his thigh.
She broke the embrace, her fingers cemented in his hair. “You’re injured.”
Without waiting for his response, she climbed down, reached behind and unzipped the halter top.
As she struggled with the zipper, he stepped behind her, pressed his lips to her warm neck, and kissed her heated skin.
Then, he slowly unzipped the jumpsuit revealing a black strapless bra and a pair of black panties.
The garment fell away and she stepped out of it, draped it over a nearby chair and turned to face him.
He stepped close, his gaze dropping to the swell of her breasts while he stroked her hourglass waist. She tugged down the zipper on his quarter-zip sweater, then pulled it over his head, sending his hair flying in every direction. His mussed look made her wetter still.
Then, she eyed a light dusting of dark hair on his defined pecs while a gauze bandage covered his shoulder wound. “Part of the attack?”
“Yes.”
After tossing the sweater aside, she got busy removing his pants. When they pooled at his ankles, she stepped away and eyed the bandage over his thigh.
“You’re lucky it didn’t hit your femoral artery,” she said. “We’ll find a position that’s comfortable for you.”
Up went his eyebrows. Why in the hell would she care about him? Was she just a kind, considerate person? There were so few of those left.
Me, included.
“I’m here to pleasure you, No Name.”
He was rewarded with a little smile as she stepped close, slipped her warm hands into his boxer briefs and around his junk.
Bolts of need pounded through him, and he firmed as she stroked his shaft. When his juices seeped out, she ran her index finger across the opening and extracted her hand. Then, she smeared his juices over her lips and tongued off the wetness.
“Jesus,” he groaned. “You’re hot.”
“Russian women are animals,” she murmured. “So horny, all the time.”
She tugged his underwear down, leaving his cock jutting to the moon. “Nice.” She stroked it, then said, “Take off your shoes.”
He sat on the ottoman, untied his dress shoes, removed his pants and boxers. When he flicked his gaze to her, she’d slipped her hand down her panties and was touching herself.
Desire shot through him, more wetness glistened on the head of his cock. “That’s my job.”
She removed her hand. “Smell my pussy.”
He stood, did as she told him, then took her finger into his mouth, sucking and licking. “You taste like someone who needs to get fucked.”
Another raspy groan escaped from her throat as she set her eyewear on the dresser, slinked close, and pressed her mouth to his.
Her kiss was hungry, desperate, her sexy moans filling his ears with the sounds of passion.
He shouldn’t be fucking her. She was probably the girlfriend of a Bratva sent to take him out.
That had never stopped him. Wouldn’t now either.
She broke away, her lips red from the hard kiss. She unhooked her strapless bra, let it tumble to the floor.
Perfect tits with hard nipples was the reason God had spared him. Hers were fucking incredible. As he closed the short distance, she placed her palm on his chest, stopping him. Then, she shimmied out of her panties.
“Come and get me,” she said, her husky voice dripping with lust.
Like earlier, her accent had slipped—barely—but he’d heard it. The throbbing in his thigh was matched by his throbbing dick. One was pain. The other pure pleasure.
They came together in a rush of lust, their naked bodies crushed against each other. Her breasts pressed against his chest, his cock against her tummy. She placed both hands on his cheeks, pulled him down to her, and kissed him with the energy of a thousand suns.
He palmed her ass, squeezed her butt cheeks, then he slipped his hand between them and cupped her tit.
“Let’s fuck,” she said.
She flung back the linens, crawled in on all fours, then turned back and motioned with her finger. “Come, Mr. Santini.”
He stared down at her. “Sit on my face.”
“Yesssss,” she whispered.
He tossed the pillows onto the floor, lay on the king bed, pushed up on his elbows. That hurt his shoulder, but he didn’t give a damn. Off came her heels. She climbed over him, facing his cock, positioned her snatch over his mouth, and dropped down.
He licked her soaking wet folds while her guttural groans filled his ears. He tongued her slowly, teasing her tender skin and her nib. Then, he slipped two fingers inside her. She cried out, started shaking.
“Yesssss, sooo good.” Her groan rocketed through him, stiffening his already hard shaft.
She was holding herself up with her legs, but the harder he licked and finger-fucked her, the more violent her body tremors. She wrapped her fingers around his throbbing cock, rubbing his juices over the head.
And then, she went down on him. Taking his massive cock into her mouth, she deep throated him, sucking and licking.
She started crying out, pressing her pussy against his face while she massaged his balls and ran her tongue wildly back and forth over the sensitive head. Her pussy tightened around his fingers, and she shuddered through her orgasm while her juices exploded out of her.
His balls tightened, he couldn’t stop moaning through the onslaught of pleasure. Then, she massaged the tender spot behind his balls and the orgasm rocketed out of him, his juices shooting into her dirty little mouth.
“Fuuuuuuckkkkk,” he ground out as he surrendered to the ecstasy.
Seconds passed before she pulled off him, then moved so she was planking over him.
“Nice,” she said, her chin wet with his juices.
She swallowed. That’s hot.
“Kiss me,” he ordered.
She pressed her wet lips against his. He plunged his tongue into her mouth, wrapped his arms around he back, and kissed her breathless.
Then, he flipped them over slowly and placed a possessive hand over her tit.
“More,” she said. “I want more.”
“Greedy, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Mr. Santini, I am,” she replied, a wild hunger in her eyes.
He fondled her tit, placed his mouth on her erect nipple and sucked.
The harder he sucked, the grittier the sounds he could pull from her.
He stroked her inner thigh, appreciating the striations in her toned muscles.
She was strong, but not bulky. Tall, short, he didn’t give a fuck.
She was naked, she was beneath him, and she was asking for more.
That worked. He’d pay the devil for his evil deeds tomorrow. Sleeping with a Russian had to come with consequences, didn’t it? With more gas in the tank, he covered himself with a condom. When he started to plank over her, searing pain shot through his leg.
“Fuck,” he bit out.
“Are those knife or bullet wounds?” she asked.
They’d agreed to no questions.
“Doesn’t matter.”
“I’ll ride you,” she said mounting him. “Lay there like a slug and let me do all the work.”
He chuffed out a laugh. “I’ve heard that Russian woman are—”
She put her finger over his mouth. “No talking.” With her half-lidded gaze locked on his, the lust pouring from her jet-black eyes, she rose up, wrapped her hand around his cock, and guided him to her opening.
Then, she sank down, the pleasure shooting through him at Mach speed. Again, her breathing changed. He focused his attention on her fantastic tits.
When he placed his hands on them, she said, “Twist my nipples. I want to feel your control and feel the pain.”