Chapter 17
Chapter
Seventeen
Katya
I was hoping the water would wash away the blood on my hands. Make me clean, and not coated in shame and regret. George and Marguerite’s lives are gone, and it’s my fault. Or maybe that’s survivor’s remorse. I do take the blame for my local doppelganger choking on her own blood because whoever was hitting the place mistook her for me. The losses of the past few hours build and swell until I let out a sob. My tears mix with the shower water and it all vanishes in the drain.
Maybe it’s the weight of failure, because no matter what I do, I keep screwing it up. My feelings for Dimitri are real. Katya and Katie both think he’s everything I could want in a partner. But I spent a year lying to him, and he’s been betrayed by everyone he’s known and loved. He’s alone, and maybe that’s where he wants to be. He could start somewhere fresh and new and leave all of this behind. Maybe he could become an agent for the CIA or some sort of contractor, protecting the world and being the good person he’s always hidden, but was never allowed to be.
Now I’m trapped in a hotel room with him for God knows how long. My guilt for failing him and lying to him is crushing me. And since we’re out of danger and hope is within sight, the quiet thoughts start to scream.
While I was undercover, I never allowed my fantasies to creep in. I shut them down, locking them behind a steel door guarded by a three-headed dog named Pookie. But now? Now my cover is blown, he knows the truth, and I can’t see the harm in throwing a squeaky ball at Pookie and letting him run away while I pull back the door ever so slightly.
The shower masks my moans as my fingers slide between my legs, visualizing Dimitri's hands all over my body. As the water falls on my neck, I imagine his lips. Recalling how perfect he felt in the closet, before he tried to kill me and everything went to shit. Blocking that out, reliving the moments. A moan claws out of my lips as my fingers dip inside me and the slickness moves over my clit. I rub, imagining his mouth on mine, his hands cupping my breasts, and it brings me closer to the edge. But I stop. That’s as far as I’ll let myself go. To the edge but never over.
My personal morals don’t leave a lot of room for my own pleasure. But now my whole body is alive and supercharged and I have a chance for release.
Until the rise of bliss falls, and I’m left aching for more. And more frustrated at myself. I turn off the water and grab a towel, drying the water out of my hair and leaving the dampness between my legs.
I’m wrapping the towel around my chest when Dimitri’s voice calls out, “Aw, fuck.”
Alarm bells rattle in my head as I dash out of the bathroom to find him sitting on the bed, bloody tissues littering the nightstand. “You popped your stitches.”
“I am aware. It happened a few minutes ago.”
I grab the medkit out of my bag, my wet hair dripping all over my towel, and return to him. Dropping the medkit on the bed, I start to get to work. He’s shirtless, which makes it easier to work, but far more distracting. I’m not sure how much longer the liquid stitches will hold. At least the wound is healing nicely, no irritation or indications that something is wrong.
“Katya,” he says, his voice thick and hoarse.
“Yes?”
“Are you alright? I heard you in the bathroom.”
“When I was crying or moaning?”
“Both.”
His back is stiff, pressing against the headboard. He watches me with his hunter's eyes. I wipe away the blood and apply a second layer of liquid stitches, his breath hot on my wet skin.
“It’s been a long few hours, and a lot of feelings needed to be released,” I say.
“What were you thinking about?”
“You.” Our eyes meet, and everything feels electric. “For both.” He opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off. “I’m sorry for lying. You lost everything and I understand if you blame me.”
“It’s not your fault.” His voice is quiet. “You saved me, and I wouldn’t know that Uri is still alive. I’m not alone because of you.”
“Thank you,” I say as I continue to clean his wound. This time it’s not as bad, but it will never heal unless I take care of it now. “I’m done lying to you.”
“And what about the other sounds?” He says in a dark whisper, like he’s testing my newly found commitment to the truth.
“I allowed myself to play out the fantasies I’ve had in my head since I met you.” Lifting his left hand off his lap, I place it on my leg. “Go ahead and feel.” His fingers brush under the towel and glide slowly off my thigh. My breath hitches as he touches the slick skin between my legs.
“Did you finish?”
His voice is dark, and I can’t bear to look at his face. Is he mocking me? Is he disgusted?
“No,” I whisper while holding his wound together at the seams, closing the injury as his fingers part my seam and continue his slow strokes.
Focus on him, his injuries, keeping him alive.
But he turns his head and his breath whispers against my ear. “I can fix that.”
His words send a pulse of pleasure and fear through my body. His thumb swirls around my nub, evidence to support his claim. His finger slides inside of me and I gasp at the intrusion, almost dropping the tube of liquid stitches. He moves slowly as if he’s giving me an opportunity to revoke my implied consent. Once his finger hits a natural stopping point, he groans, and as he leans his head against the wall, his eyes flutter closed.
Applying another layer of the stitches, I ask, “You hate me. Why would you?”
His thumb makes lazy circles. It’s soft and delicate, like a tease. “I have many…” he lingers on the word, “feelings about you.” His finger reaches my entrance and circles the inner rim, stretching and making me crave more. “Your betrayal both slices me to the core and…” he pauses and his brow furrows, “honors me? That’s not the right word, but it’s something similar.” He slides his finger out and glides it against my clit, spreading my arousal. “Fuck, is this all for me?” His eyes remain closed as his lips part, pulling my gaze like a magnet.
Recalling our kiss—his taste, the way his tongue worked with mine, and how his hands felt on my body—I exhale. “Yes.”
His lips curl into a grin. “You’re so wet, my little otter.”
Otters are not sexy. If he wants to continue to do this, I need a better nickname.
His thumb resumes its circular motion, and with more lubrication it sends my arousal into overdrive. But as I moan, the corners of his lips fall and his expression darkens. “Svetlana was never this welcoming of me.”
Sveti. It always comes back to that bitch.
He continues, “It’s one of the reasons I stopped touching her.”
Cleaning the last of the blood with the towel, I try to distract, or maybe to prolong this moment, I’m not sure which. “Did you stop touching her because she was a cheating bitch who took every opportunity to emasculate you in hopes that it would make it easier to control you? God, she was the fucking worst.”
Dimitri freezes for a second and opens his eyes, rolling his head toward me. “Yes, she did.” Reality hitting him like a sunrise, he seems more confused than embarrassed. “She used to complain I couldn’t get her off, then fake not having an orgasm.”
What? I pinch the bridge of my nose and exhale all my rage. But you know what? It doesn’t work. “Why? How? I don’t understand.”
He laughs and it’s glorious. “Because she was the worst.” As a reward, he resumes fingering me, this time at a faster rate. His face softens as his voice darkens. “We were already broken, but I stopped touching her after you walked into my bar.”
He keeps his gaze deadlocked on me, while I split my attention between bandaging his shoulder and enjoying the way he’s working me to an edge. My cheeks flush and my heart feels like it wants to pound its way out of my chest. The pleasure builds faster than it did before. Once the bandage is taped and he’s not going to bleed to death, I can concentrate on how he’s making me feel.
“You wouldn’t fake anything with me, would you?” he whispers.
A second finger fills me and I gasp out a moan. Stepping closer, I fill the space between his legs, giving him easier access to my body and, even better, giving myself a chance to feel how excited he might be. His erection presses against my thigh. He wants this. He wants me.
I’m not sure what to do with my hands now that the triage is complete. His chest seems like the logical location. “No more lies with you.”
I can feel his heart race beneath his almost stoic seriousness, his hazel eyes never wavering. He increases his speed, my body welcoming him. The mounting pressure bears down on me, and I don’t know where to focus. His free hand runs up my arm, lacing into my hair at the back of my skull. I can’t leave. He’s trapping me, and I love it.
A rush of pleasure consumes my body, and as I shake under its pressure, crying his name and moaning something I can’t comprehend. All logic has left my body.
I notice his self-important grin right before he launches to kiss me hard. I want to lay in this post orgasmic haze, but his tongue and mouth keep me focused. More, my brain screams. I want more.
I shouldn’t. But I do. And there’s no reason to deny myself any longer.
My fingers graze over his stomach and hook onto his belt loop. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” Stroking his cock over his pants, he stifles a low groan.
“You’ve already done so much.” His voice is barely a whisper.
Yanking on his belt and sliding his zipper down, he gasps when I take out his cock, giving him a slow stroke. “Does it feel good having someone else's hand on you?”
I rub my thumb across the tip, letting his precum spread, and he moans an answer that I’m assuming is a yes. Sinking to my knees, my towel brushes against the backs of my thighs, a tiny detail that calls attention to the fact I’m basically naked. His breathing hitches as my tongue takes one long drag from the base to the tip and back again.
“Fuck, you’re amazing.” He rests his head against the headboard and exhales. I take him in my mouth, using my hands to compensate for where my mouth can’t accommodate, and glide up and down. His moans and hastened breaths spur me on. His fingers lace through my hair as I press my tongue flat against the underside of his dick. He guides me, quickening my pace. His breathing becomes erratic as his moans fluctuate between cursing in Russian and French.
“Katya, I’m close,” he warns, with a fiery intensity I’m getting used to seeing in him. He gasps and shivers as he releases. Once he regains control, he lifts me off my knees and our eyes meet.
I didn’t expect more. Correction… I didn’t need more. Wanting him was dangerous. And now I’ve already shot the shit out of professionalism and my morals.
With one quick motion, he tears the towel from around my breasts and throws it on the bed. His eyes widen as he takes me in. My hand covers the battle scars from a past mission, long faded but still visible in the light. But I hide nothing else, my bare breasts and the wetness between my thighs on full display.
He reaches for my hand and pulls it away, his finger brushing against the scar on my ribs. He leans forward, his breath warming my skin as he brushes his lips against the healed wounds. His lips travel up my chest and land along the underside of my breast. He grazes his teeth against it and the feeling jolts to my core.
Underboob, who knew it was that sensitive?
While his mouth continues its exploration, his hands continue their own path, with no rhyme or reason where they want to touch—my back, my ass, dipping between my thighs and circling back to my breasts. And with each new discovery, he moans in satisfaction.
He works his way to my neck before whispering, “You took it too far, and now I need time to recover.”
His teeth scratch across my neck and I sigh, sinking into him. “I’m not sorry about that.”
I can feel his smile against my cheek. “I know you’re not. I’m going to make you come until you think you can’t take it anymore.” His lips move to my earlobe when he whispers, “That’s when I will fuck you like I’ve imagined.”
Well it’s hard to argue with that logic.