Chapter 34 Alison
ALISON
For a second, I was too surprised to do anything.
I think I might have let out a very un-me whimper of shock, and then his hard lips were forcing mine open, and his tongue was darting in to freakin’ own me.
The kiss wasn’t delicate or sweet; it was months of pent-up desire all hitting at once, overwhelming and glorious, and I sat bolt upright in the saddle as the raw sexual heat of it lashed down to my groin like a bullwhip.
The heat expanded outward, and I sagged, my eyes closed, now, melting into it.
As the shock that this is real, it’s finally happening died away, I finally began to respond, my lips moving on his, feeling my softness against his hardness, my tongue making little flicks against his.
He growled, trying to pull me closer. But I was still awkwardly twisted around on the saddle, I couldn’t come any closer unless I—
It took both hands on his chest, pushing hard, to break the kiss. “Wait,” I panted.
Gennadiy glared down at me, eyes glazed with lust and caveman-stubborn: No wait.
Want now. I gulped because I could feel that if I didn’t get back to the kiss right now, he was just going to grab me again, and the idea sent a wave of heat rushing right down to my toes and back up to my face.
As fast as I could, I hooked one leg up and over the bike, twisted around on the saddle, and got the other leg up and over, so I was sitting facing him. “Okay,” I said, breathless.
His hands captured my cheeks, and he kissed me again, hard and deep, and this time the kiss twisted and moved, both of us urgently seeking the other one.
Waves of pink pleasure rippled down through my body, layering and building in my core into a tight ball of glowing heat.
I was so small, next to his hulking body: he was kissing down into me, and the kiss was lifting me up, up, up, a fragile, silvery excitement unfurling inside me until it felt like my ass was going to lift right out of the saddle.
Then he growled and ran his hands down my neck and over my shoulders, his palms warm through my soaked blouse.
His hands traced down my spine, hungry but slow, as if he was filing away how every part of me felt.
They closed on my ass and squeezed hard, and I yelped against his lips.
Then they tugged me roughly along the saddle towards him.
I felt his knees opening my thighs wide and then.
“MMF!” I was squished up against him, and I could feel every movement of his powerful chest, his breathing shaky with lust. I could feel my nipples, pebble-hard from the excitement, scraping against his body through a couple of layers of wet cotton.
And I could feel the hard length of him throbbing against my inner thigh.
I knew, right then, that this wasn’t going to be just a kiss, that we’d already passed some point of no return and were now plunging headfirst towards him inside me and me clawing at his back.
The thought made the heat inside me go weighty and dense, my ass tightening in his hands and my pussy stroking needfully against his cock.
He growled again and pressed harder against me, but it wasn’t enough, even with our clothes soaked by the rain: I could feel him scowl against my lips. He needed to feel me skin-on-skin.
Without breaking the kiss, he grabbed the collar of my blouse and wrenched it open right down to my jeans, buttons popping and flying.
Then his fingers pushed the cups of my bra up, and suddenly his heated palms were gliding over my cool, rain-slick breasts.
I trembled and squeezed the bike between my ankles.
His hands made circles, lifting my breasts and stroking my nipples against his palms, and I panted against his mouth.
Then he broke the kiss and lowered his head, and—
I threw my head back and gave a strangled groan as his hot mouth captured my breast, his tongue lashing over my hard nipple and coaxing it even harder.
My eyes were closed, and the rain was hammering down on my upturned face.
It should have felt cold, but all I felt was heat, like the rain sluicing down our bodies was the only thing stopping us from burning up.
His tongue traced my nipples, exploring the tips, the sides, and every little bump around the areolae.
His fingers pressed against my breast, gentle but eager, relishing its softness.
A glow spread through me and something deep in my chest, something that had been there ever since high school, eased.
I didn’t feel small or inadequate with him.
I felt...perfect. We sat there for long minutes with me leaning back over the handlebars and him hulking over me, worshipping my breasts.
My toes danced and splashed against the floor of the alley, and I thrashed and panted, scarlet pleasure lifting me higher and higher, until I couldn’t take it anymore.
“G—Gennadiy!” I croaked, tangling my fingers in his hair.
He understood. He felt the same need as me. All the months of fighting had been leading up to this, like we’d both been straining on the two ends of an elastic rope, building up more and more energy, and now we’d been catapulted together. It wasn’t a want, it was a need.
He stood, swinging his leg over the bike.
I started to stand up, too, but he didn’t give me the chance: he grabbed me around the waist and lifted me up and off the bike.
He pulled me against his chest, and I threw my arms around his neck and hung on, my legs wrapping around his waist. He cradled my ass and walked us to the wall of the alley, every step stroking my groin against his washboard abs.
My back pressed against the brick wall, and he kissed me again, long and deep. Then he started unbuttoning my jeans. How the hell is he going to get them off? I wondered: the jeans were tight and the fabric was sopping wet, and I was in an awkward position, and anyway I had boots on…
Answer: with sheer brute force. Gennadiy peeled my jeans over my hips and down my thighs, and my heart gave a little jump when I realized he’d hooked his fingers into my panties and those were going, too.
As he slowly stripped me, I started running my hands over the hard swells of his shoulder muscles and then down over his chest. His shirt today was deep blue, and the rain had turned it translucent, a blue-tinted fog cloaking the dark swirls of his tattoos and the rich caramel of his skin.
I started unbuttoning his shirt, exposing a tantalizing vertical slice of him and then, as I tugged the shirt free of his pants and spread it wide, the full, rugged majesty of him, a hard body painted with the story of his life.
I’d seen him topless before, when I watched him at the docks with Yakov.
I’d even guiltily doodled some of his tattoos on a notepad, telling myself it was to help me research his background.
But now I could see every detail: crosses, numbers and stars that I knew charted his time in the borstal and the rise of the Aristovs, but other designs, too: serpents that coiled around his biceps and disappeared around his back; figures that looked like angels but with dark, bat-like wings.
He’d painted hell across his body: to intimidate his enemies, or scare his underlings?
I smoothed my hands across the dark ink, feeling each breath under my palms.
By now, he’d hauled my jeans and panties down to my shins.
He pulled off my ankle boots, and they clattered to the ground, and then the whole mass of fabric was over my ankles and smacking wetly to the concrete.
My legs kicked free, one smooth and one ruined, and I felt my stomach go tight, even though he’d already seen them once.
But then he set me gently down on my feet, knelt, and laid a kiss first on the scarred thigh and then on the normal one.
He started alternating, crisscrossing his way down my legs, all the way to the toes and then all the way up again, pink ribbons of pleasure twisting together with silvery, heady joy.
I blinked and blinked, but it was fine because so much rain was racing down my cheeks, you couldn’t even tell I was crying.
He reached the crease at the top of my thighs and kissed along it, then ducked his head and flicked his tongue along my pussy lips.
I gasped and threw my arms out either side of me, dragging my fingertips against smooth, wet brick and rough lines of cement as the tip of his tongue tasted me, traced my shape and then nudged me open.
He was shockingly gentle, and I felt my legs weakening as the heat inside me turned to slickness.
He was running his hands up and down my hips and ass, now, his tongue spearing up into me and his upper lip rubbing at my clit.
I grabbed at his shoulders, digging my fingers into his muscles and rising up on my tiptoes as the pleasure rocketed higher.
“I—” I broke off, not wanting to say it.
Then his tongue circled my clit, and I groaned and had to say it. “I need you,” I panted.
He drew back just enough that he could look up at me. Dark hair soaked with rain, pale gray eyes hooded with lust, the denizens of hell dancing across his chest. A man has never looked so unapologetically wicked. “Tell me,” he said.
I stared down at him. I was standing virtually naked in a dark alley in the middle of the city.
On some level, I knew I was supposed to feel unsafe, or at least nervous.
But I didn’t, not even a little bit. Being next to Gennadiy was like bathing in the protective light of a campfire.
If anyone braved the rain and wandered along this alley, one growl from Gennadiy would send them fleeing.
“I just told you,” I said, my voice tight with need.