Chapter 56 Alison
ALISON
I woke to daylight and a space in the bed where Gennadiy should have been. For a second, I panicked. Then I saw the note on the pillow.
Wait here. I will return with breakfast.
G.
I grabbed a quick shower and then climbed back into the bed naked.
I felt comically small in the immense four-poster but it was divinely comfortable, with my back against a wall of thick pillows I figured were probably goose down and my bare feet unable to stop stroking the decadently smooth sheets.
The door swung wide and Gennadiy entered, in just a pair of boxers and carrying a tray.
There were plates heaped high with waffles and three sorts of fresh berries, and individual jugs of maple syrup.
There was a pot of coffee, cups and saucers, sugar and milk and cream, cutlery and napkins held by silver napkin rings.
I had an image of Gennadiy asking the chef if he could do breakfast in bed, and the chef taking it as a challenge.
“What is all this?” I asked, as Gennadiy set the tray down on the bed.
“You drowned,” he said seriously. “You deserve a little luxury.” He sat down on the bed and poured me a cup of coffee, then added two lumps of sugar.
I stared at him. “How did you know—”
“You forget, all the time you were watching me, I was watching you. Do you know how many times I’ve watched you sitting outside my house drinking takeout coffee?” He passed me the cup. “And... this is thank you. For last night.”
I sipped and nodded. You’re welcome.
“And…” He looked at me thoughtfully. “Our first time was up against the wall, in the rain. A woman like you deserves to be fucked in a proper bed on Egyptian cotton sheets.”
I narrowly avoided spitting coffee all over those Egyptian cotton sheets, which made him grin.
My heart fucking took off, seeing him so light and happy.
I knew I hadn’t fixed things, not yet. But I was getting a glimpse of how things could be if he did manage to let go of the anger, and it was glorious.
I reached for one of the plates of waffles.
“No no,” he told me. And poured maple syrup over it, then cut off a perfect, bite-sized chunk of waffle and berries and…
“Oh, no, you don’t have to—mmf.”
He wagged the fork at me knowledgeably. “A wise woman once told me: we all need someone to tell us to stop, once in a while.”
I swallowed. “I don’t recall anything in there about being hand-fed.”
“She was wise, not perfect.”
I snaked my hand down and tickled his side. He jerked, wide-eyed, like no one had ever tickled him before. “Martial arts,” I teased. “I know all the sensitive spots.”
He captured my wrist in his hand and pinned it to the bed. Then he captured my other wrist and used one big hand to hold them safely in my lap. “Be a good girl,” he warned. “And eat your breakfast.”
I stuck my tongue out at him, but let him feed me. I felt giddy and silly. We could be good together.
Until I go back to the FBI and we’re on opposite sides again.
Nope. Not thinking about that. Not right now.
He ate, too, and we worked our way through both plates of waffles.
As he lifted away the tray and put it down on the floor, the sheet slipped down around my waist. Instantly, his eyes locked on my breasts.
I pulled the sheet back up to cover me, and he pulled it down again.
I smirked: whenever he saw my breasts he was like a big, out-of-control bear, and as someone who’d always been self-conscious about my flat chest, it was oddly flattering.
I went to lift the sheet again and this time he grabbed my hands and pressed them to the bed.
“Stop it,” he growled. “I’ll tie you down, if I have to. ”
An unexpected surge of heat went straight to my groin.
If he’d said tie you up, that would have been one thing, but tie you down sounded deliciously wicked.
It made something rebellious rise inside me, an urge to fuck about just so I could find out.
I felt my face heat. What’s happening? I’ve never been into that.
He’d leaned closer, while I was thinking.
“I love your breasts,” he told me. He moved closer still, his mouth just a few inches from my breast, and each Russian-accented word was a warm little gust against it.
“They’re so perfectly shaped.” I gasped and he moved a little closer, his lips almost brushing my nipple.
“I obsessed over what they’d look like, if I ever got your clothes off.
Dreaming about doing this.” His lips suddenly closed around my nipple and I jerked and inhaled.
..then moaned as his tongue started to lash the soft bud.
His hand started squeezing my other breast, his thumb stroking the nipple, and I began to grind my hips.
I closed my eyes and let the pleasure take me, two harmonized drumbeats of perfect sensation that vibrated straight to my core.
He opened his mouth wider, taking in more of my breast, and his hand grew rougher.
The drumbeats shifted, becoming darker and more insistent, and I began to pant, open-mouthed and needy.
His mouth left my breast and an instant later, his lips found mine, his tongue searching out my tongue and dancing with it.
Both of his hands worked my breasts and I was pinned against the wall of pillows, helpless.
I knew that he could feel, from my ragged breathing, how turned on I was.
Then he plunged one hand down under the sheets and between my thighs, and found my heated, sticky lips, and that was his confirmation.
He growled and inserted one knee, then the other between my thighs until he was kneeling there, his legs spreading mine wide.
He was kissing down into me, deep, hot, conquering kisses that sent ripples of pleasure right through my body, crumbling my defenses.
I went dreamily passive, my tongue lightly teasing his and my fingers dazedly tangling in his hair.
His fingers pushed under me and traced the shape of my lips, slowly at first and then faster and faster, and I could feel myself slickening and opening.
Then a thick, tattooed finger was pushing up into me, stretching me, and my breathing went trembly.
He began to finger-fuck me with slow, deliberate strokes, his other hand and his kisses still keeping me firmly pinned to the pillow wall, I went crazy, thrashing against him as the pleasure built, my heels drawing wide half-circles on the soft sheets and my ass grinding against the bed.
I was so used to scaring men away, of always being the one who could win in a fight, but right now I was pinioned and powerless to do anything but enjoy it and it felt amazing.
But he wanted more. He broke the kiss and I slowly opened my eyes...to find him staring down at me, eyes hooded with lust and a smile on his face that was pure, calculating evil. My eyes widened…
He threw the sheets off the bed, leaving me completely naked. Then he hooked his forearms around my thighs and tugged. I yelped as I slithered down the bed, my back on the sheets and my hair fanning out above me. My lower half was lifted up into the air, my legs parted and—
I cried out as his mouth came down on my pussy, his tongue teasing while his upper lip ground against my clit.
I had time for, “What are you—” and then his tongue thrust deep into me and my mouth opened in a silent gasp.
He growled, long and low, and the vibrations made me arch my spine off the bed.
Then he started licking me. Long, firm strokes that traced the shape of my lips and sent pink ribbons of pleasure rippling to my core.
Then quick little circles around my clit that snapped those ribbons tight, cinching the pleasure so it was denser and hotter.
I began to moan, kicking my legs in helpless pleasure either side of him as a climax started to build.
His hands were holding my ass rock-steady in the air as he leaned forward to devour me: with his hulking strength, it felt like he could hold me there all day, if he chose to.
I couldn’t even reach him: all my hands could do was grab handfuls of the sheets as the pleasure circled higher and higher inside me.
His thumbs began to stroke the sensitive skin of my inner thighs and my breathing hitched, the orgasm close, now.
I thrashed and panted, arching my back and feeling the cool air of the room waft over my sensitive, spit-wet breasts.
God, he knew exactly where to touch me and exactly where to flick and swirl his tongue to push me up and up and up.
He lifted his mouth from me for a second. “I always dreamed of having you like this,” he murmured. “Flat on your back and helpless, begging me to let you come.”
I panted and half-opened my eyes. The sight of him, kneeling over me like a tattooed colossus, was almost enough to send me over the edge.
“I don’t...”—I fought to untangle my thoughts—“recall... begging.” A fresh wave of heat went through me, twisted and dark.
It wrapped the orgasm like black silk ribbons and cinched it even tighter.
Gennadiy’s eyes gleamed. He licked me again, teasing my clit and watching my reaction, giving me just not quite enough sensation to crest my peak. When he spoke, his lust made his accent stronger than ever. “Beg me, Agent Brooks!”
I felt all our teasing competitiveness come back, but with a deep, trusting love replacing the hate. It took hold of me, rocketing me upwards. “Never!” I told him, like some sort of haughty princess.
“Then you don’t get to come,” He gave me one last, mocking lick and then lifted his mouth from me.
I glared...and scissored my legs behind his head, pulling him to me and pressing myself hard against his lips. “Sure about that?” I asked.
His eyes widened in shock, then narrowed in mock-anger. You’ll pay for this.
I tightened my grip. I didn’t fear the consequences, I wanted them.