Chapter Twenty-One
In which liberal applications of fortified plum brandy and cheerful Albanians can be very helpful.
Alexsey…
In the car on the way home, I watch my wife, not bothering to hide it. Her thick black hair is painted in reds and blues from the street lights, and she has a little smile on her plush lips.
"You looked like you were having fun tonight," I say, running my finger over my lower lip.
"I did," she says, turning to me. The Raki loosened her up, her skin is flushed and she's sprawled across the seat, her feet dangerously close to mine.
From her first day with me, Liria has always kept herself tightly contained, her arms and legs close together and rigid posture, with her back barely touching the seat.
This relaxed version of her is very different. Sexy.
"What about you?" Liria asks. "What did you think about the group?"
"I've primarily met the soldiers," I say.
Krasniqi's men have a reputation for viciousness, though most of the men I've interviewed had self-control and a clear interest in staying alive and moving into the Morozov ranks.
"These people were more of the support system, the ones who keep things running. "
"Everyone was curious about you." She shifts, getting comfortable and her thigh is pressed along mine. I'm not sure if she noticed. "You certainly won the guys over with your impressive knowledge about explosives made with household ingredients."
"Sometimes, you have to work with what you have." I smile modestly. "They were happy to see you. I think this was a good move."
"Why, Beauford, are you saying I did something right?" She opens her eyes wide and blinks innocently, and it's taking everything in me to not haul her over my lap and slap her perfectly shaped ass.
"You had all the grace of a seasoned diplomat, Miss Johnson," I agree.
Tonight, she's much more like the Liria I met in Boston, confident and happy, charming.
Her little mischievous smile is back and it unsettles me, how satisfying it is to see it.
The privacy screen is up in the SUV. I didn't want Radimir, our driver, to see my bride's long legs stretched out and her skirt hiked halfway up her thighs.
Liria didn't have any problem offering to roll up my shirt sleeve tonight, her fingers brushed against my glove and the stiff surface of the prosthetic without any hesitation.
Putting my gloved hand on her thigh, I wait for her response.
The leather is cool against her warm skin and when I slide it up and down her leg, she opens her eyes to watch me.
But she doesn't move away.
"You were a queen, so gracious with your people," I say, running my gloved hand along the thin skin of her inner thighs and back.
A little scatter of goosebumps pops up in the wake of the movement, making me grin.
"Singing with them, the piano- you were mesmerizing.
A few of the older people got choked up when you played some of the folk songs. They needed to see you, I think."
"Hardly a queen," she chuckles bitterly.
"More like a puppet. But it was a good night.
" She doesn't say anything about my gloved hand on her, stroking higher towards her pussy with each pass.
Her eyes are dreamy and a little unfocused, but she's not drunk.
I discouraged anyone else offering her alcohol after those first two glasses.
"Mmm…" I rumble my disapproval. "No puppet.
You were gracious and welcoming. So pretty, with your silvery eyes and wild hair, flowing down your back like a river, laughing and singing.
" I barely speak Albanian, and I knew her pronunciation was terrible.
The tip of my glove catches the edge of her undies and her breath catches.
She's finally looking at me, eyes wide, before her gaze drops to my hand. The prosthetic, covered by the glove.
Is she going to pull away?
Liria doesn't, she stays perfectly still, only the rapid rise and fall of her breasts show she's affected.
When the first gloved finger slides under her undies, I hold back a groan.
I can feel the heat of her pussy through the leather.
I roughly tug down the scrap of silk and lace and run my finger up and down her soaked slit.
"So pretty, this slick little cunt," I say.
I don't recognize myself, my voice raspy with need, a hard edge that betrays I'm barely holding onto my control.
Where's the man that did everything with a slight distance?
I'm here, in this moment with one of her legs thrown over my lap and the other pressed against the cool seat.
"I remember how tight you were. When I'd slap your ass, you'd clench down on me so hard I thought you were going to rip my dick off. "
My wrist turns, not as quick and graceful as it used to be, but it does turn. I slide my index finger, covered by the glove inside her. Liria sucks in her breath, shocked and every muscle locks down.
"Fuck…" I can't hide the groan this time.
"Just as tight and hot as I remember. Leaning forward, I raise my right hand, licking my thumb before I press it against her clitoris.
Now, she groans too, my wife, slumping back against the door and arching her back, hands tightened into fists.
"When you came the first time," I muse, "you gave out this breathy little cry, like you were surprised.
Your greedy little cunt tightened on my cock like you wanted to keep me inside you. "
It takes a bit of help from my right hand, but I put two fingers together on my left, driving them back into her.
"Look down." I slide my fingers through her hair and tug, forcing her to watch.
"You're so wet that you're coating my glove.
" There's a trickle of her arousal wetting the palm of my glove, dripping onto my wrist and I twist my wrist again, rubbing my two leather-clad fingers up against her slick walls, pressing hard, looking for the little sweet spot that will-
"Oh! F- fuck, Beauford," she gasps, falling back like her spine can no longer support her and I laugh.
"There she is," I murmur, my arm moving faster, the gloved fingers thrusting harder and I slide my other hand to the back of her neck, lifting her up, her mouth a breath away from mine. "There's the wet little girl I remember, wanting to get fucked, begging to come."
I pause for a moment before fitting three fingers inside her.
"It's too much with the glove, isn't it?
" I whisper, my breath mixing with hers, the plum of the brandy, sweet on my tongue.
Her hand grabs my wrist and I stop, the tips of my three fingers just wedged in her opening.
"You can take me," I promise. "You took my cock so well.
" Her grip loosens and I slide them higher, slower, more careful this time. "How does it feel?"
"Like too much," she wheezes.
"Do you want me to stop?" My forearm is shaking with the need to drive my fingers inside her, but I slow down.
The SUV's interior is dark, only the flashes of light from outside illuminating us. A streetlight illuminates her beautiful eyes, watching me. Wide, a little apprehensive but she shakes her head. "No." She licks her lips and my cock surges, trying to rip through my zipper. "Don't stop."
The lewd squelch of her wet center against my fingers is loud, my cock is aching, so hard that it's painful but this is for Liria.
Her little body is bouncing slightly from the force of my thrusts and she grabs desperate handfuls of my shirt, trying to hold on.
Her mouth parts like she wants to kiss me and I pull back, enjoying her groan of frustration.
"Tell me you want to come, bouncing on my fingers, soaking my glove and I'll give it to you, as hard as you want, as many times as you can come." I ghost my lips along her cheek.
"You love this, Beauford," she says, a hiss of breath. "Love making me beg?"
"Oh, Miss Johnson," I murmur back, "I fucking love it.
The sweet smell of you, how wet and slick you are against my fingers.
Those needy little moans you don't know you're making.
And I love hearing you beg. So, why don't you?
Tell me to make you come. We're almost home, and then, your window of opportunity is gone. Tell me what you want."
Her nails are digging into my shoulder hard enough that she's scratching me through my shirt and I chuckle breathlessly. "Harder."
Liria's lips are tight like she can keep the words from bursting free but it's only a matter of seconds and then, with one particularly brutal thrust, her lips land on mine. "Please," she groans, half kissing me, half speaking against my mouth. "Please. I want to come."
My tongue slides into her mouth as she screams against my lips, coming, arching her back, bearing down on my fingers and I swear I hear the prosthetic creak against the grip of her pussy.
I push her through it, and then the tell-tale trembling of her thighs shows she's ready again and my thumb lands on her clitoris, pressing hard, rubbing it in circles and now it's not just my glove.
My forearm is wet, the rolled up cuff of my shirt, her skirt…
"Goddamn," I chuckle breathlessly. "I could watch you come like that all day. So fucking pretty when you come, Liria." She collapses against me, warm breasts heaving against my chest, hands limp on my shoulders.
Cleaning her up as best as I can in the confines of the back seat, I pull her skirt down again and brush back her hair. There's no hiding how she looks, dazed and freshly fucked. My men know better than to look at her.
Lifting her out of the SUV, I carry her into the house and I'm a little surprised that she lets me. I feel her tense slightly as the door shuts behind us.
"I can walk." Her voice is small in the cavernous space of the main room.
"And I can carry you," I say, trying to sound casual, not like a man who was hit just as hard by her orgasms as she was. She must feel my hard cock rubbing against her hip as I carry her upstairs, but she doesn't say anything.
Pausing outside her room, I look at her bedroom door, and then down the hall to mine. Liria stiffens and slides out of my arms, nearly knocking her shoulder against the door frame.
Clearing her throat. "Goodnight, Alexsey." She hurries inside, closing the door in my face and I stand there, my glove soaked, smelling like her, and I regret not striding past her door to mine. Not giving her a chance to overthink this.