Chapter 8
AbrAM
Her lips part beneath mine with a breathy sigh, sweet and soft and just a little bit unsure—like she’s never kissed a stranger before.
Good. I like the idea that I’m the first.
She tastes like whiskey and warm honey, and when I tilt my head and deepen the kiss, she moans—quiet, desperate, just for me. Her body presses flush against mine, all soft curves and barely contained want.
I slide one hand up her spine, the other anchoring at the small of her back, holding her there so she can feel me, feel what she’s doing to me. My cock is already hard, straining beneath my trousers, and from the way she gasps against my mouth, she feels it too.
I kiss her again. Slower. Deeper. Her hands tangle in the front of my shirt then drift upward, tentative fingers brushing the edge of my mask.
I catch her wrists gently but firmly. “Mm-mm,” I murmur, voice low and amused. “The masks stay on.”
“So how often do you do this?” she teases, a sly smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
I chuckle, backing her gently toward the bed. “Often enough to appreciate what’s in front of me,” I reply. Vague but true. She doesn’t recognize my voice and I don’t want her to. Not yet.
We kiss again, and this time, I let my hands explore. Her zipper is at the small of her back, and I take my time pulling it down, feeling the tremble in her shoulders as the fabric loosens around her.
The dress slips down her frame like water, pooling at her feet.
Beneath it, she’s wearing a dark green lace bra and matching panties—elegant and just a little daring.
My gaze slowly rakes over her, unapologetic.
Pale skin, red hair falling in waves down her back, green eyes that flicker with both heat and hesitation.
She’s exquisite.
She bites her bottom lip. “You’re staring.”
I take a step closer, slide my hand to the back of her neck, and draw her against me. She gasps when her body presses against the full length of mine—against how hard I am for her.
“I’m doing more than staring,” I murmur into her ear. “I’m memorizing.”
She lets out a shaky laugh. “What if I don’t measure up to your expectations?”
I growl softly, nipping at her jaw. “You’ve already ruined them, malyshka.” I grab her hand and press it to my clothed erection. “Does that feel like disappointment?”
Shit. I spoke Russian. Did she notice?
Her breath hitches. She shakes her head.
“Didn’t think so.”
I kiss her again, harder this time, hungrier, hoping she missed the slip. Her arms wrap around my neck, bolder now.
I feel the shift in her, the way her fingers curl into my shirt with purpose, not hesitation. After pushing my jacket off, she slides her hands to my chest, finds the buttons, and starts undoing them, one by one, her touch light and reverent.
I let her.
When the shirt falls open, her eyes drink me in—my chest, my stomach, the dark hair trailing down.
The ink on my right pec draws her attention most. She reaches out, tracing the design with gentle fingers.
It’s a black, intricately-drawn eagle. The ink is old, done in Russia when I was barely more than a boy.
“What does it mean?” she asks, voice husky, curious.
I glance down at her, eyes dark beneath the mask. “It means I’ll never forget where I came from,” I murmur. I lean in, brushing a kiss to her temple. “And that some things are earned in blood.”
She doesn't press. Smart girl.
Her hands move lower, sliding over my stomach, grazing the edge of my waistband.
I watch her green eyes light up with lust, lips slightly parted, as she pushes the fabric down.
My slacks hit the floor, followed by my boxer briefs.
When her hand curls around my length, I let out a low, guttural sound.
Fuck.
She strokes me, tentative but hungry, and for one dizzying second I feel like a beast—untamed, aching to rut. But I rein it in. She’s not a quick fix. She’s not a blur I’ll forget by morning. I want to savor her. Every curve. Every sound. Every breath.
“Enough of that,” I growl, and before she can blink, I lift her into my arms.
She gasps, arms flying around my neck, laughter spilling from her lips. Her skin is flushed—rosy and warm, her pale complexion blooming with arousal. I want to mark every inch of her.
I carry her to the couch—sleek, dark velvet—and ease her down onto it. Her hair fans out like fire. I kneel beside her and reach behind, fingers slipping beneath the clasp of her bra. I unhook it quickly, easily.
She tenses for a second, then lets it fall.
Christ.
Her breasts spill free, full and pale as porcelain, the pink tips peaked. I lean in, taking one into my mouth and sucking gently. She gasps and arches into me. I move to the other, lavishing it with my tongue before pulling it between my teeth, just enough to make her moan.
“You’re perfect,” I say against her skin.
Her hands cradle the back of my head as I move lower, trailing kisses down her trembling belly while her hips squirm beneath me. When I place my thumbs under the lace waistband of her panties and peel them down, she lifts her hips in offering.
And then she’s bare. Completely, gloriously bare. Her perfect pink slit is glistening for me. I can’t wait to taste it.
I pause, drinking her in. Then I kiss the inside of her thigh. Once, twice, higher each time.
She whimpers.
I look up at her, her eyes hazy with lust. She shivers, thighs parting.
I take my time before lowering my mouth between them, my breath warm against her slick heat. She’s so wet, so ready for me. One long, slow lick, and I feel her jolt as her fingers clench the cushions, a sharp breath escaping her lips.
God, she tastes like ambrosia. Sweet, earthy, heady. I want to drown in it.
I place my arms under her thighs, holding her open, anchoring her to me as my tongue moves with unhurried precision. Every flick, every stroke, every soft suck of her clit is measured and relentless. I want to undo her.
She arches her back, unraveling while her fingers tangle in her hair.
As her thighs tense and shake, I glance up to watch her.
She’s flushed, eyes glazed, chest heaving.
Her lips are parted in a gasp, and when I press two fingers inside her, curling them just so while I suck her clit harder, she comes undone.
Her moan rips through the quiet, ragged and beautiful.
I keep my mouth on her as she rides it out, one hand cupping her breast, thumb grazing the nipple until her body shudders and stills.
Only then do I stand, licking her from my lips, savoring her taste. She lies sprawled across the couch, flushed and glowing, chest rising and falling in uneven waves. Her curls are a halo around her face, and her green eyes—my God, her eyes—are hazy and full of something close to wonder.
She’s never looked more beautiful.
Never looked more mine.
She blinks slowly and asks, breathless, “What do you want now?”
I could tell her the truth: everything.
But instead I just smile and let the animal in me answer.
I grab her hips and turn her firmly, guiding her until she’s on her knees, hands braced on the back of the couch. Her ass is high in the air, full and perfect, my hands spreading over her curves with reverence and hunger.
She arches her back, her hair cascading down as she looks over her shoulder at me with those wide, lust-drunk eyes.
“Please,” she whispers, voice trembling. “I want to feel you.”
I want to give her everything. Every inch. Every filthy promise I’ve ever made in the dark.
I reach for the condom in my wallet, slipping it on with practiced ease. Even now—especially now—I won’t take a risk with her.
I line myself up, my hands settling back on her hips. She’s still fluttering from her orgasm, and when I push in, inch by aching inch, she cries out, loud and desperate.
Fuck, she’s tight. Hot. Soaked. I grit my teeth and bury myself all the way, filling her completely.
Her head drops forward with a moan and I give her a moment. My hands caress her lower back, her waist, her hips.
I begin to move, slowly at first, watching the way her body responds—arching, pushing back, welcoming me.
She feels like heaven. Sounds like it, too. Moaning, fingers clawing the cushions, her body taking everything I give her.
She’s so goddamn responsive—every moan, every tremble, every time she pushes back against me like she’s begging for more. I can barely hold on. The tight heat of her wrapped around me, her body slick and welcoming, is making it hard to think, to breathe.
I grab her hips, rolling mine in a slow, grinding thrust, deep and steady. She cries out, arching back into me. I do it again. And again.
“You feel that?” I growl, voice low, wrecked. “This cock was made for you.”
She moans, raw and breathy. “God, yes…”
“That’s it. Take it all. Every inch.” I lean forward, one hand sliding up her back, gripping the nape of her neck. “You’re mine tonight. Say it.”
She gasps, hips rocking against me as she chokes out, “I’m yours.”
I spank her lightly, but firmly enough to make her jolt and gasp. The sound echoes deliciously off the walls. Her ass is perfect, red blooming across her pale skin.
“You like that?” I murmur, rubbing the spot.
She nods frantically. “Please. Don’t stop.”
My control snaps. I move harder now, the slap of skin loud and rhythmic. One hand stays at her hip, grounding her. The other slides up, cupping her breast, pinching her nipple as I thrust deeper. She lets out a strangled sound—desperation and pleasure tangled together.
“You’re so tight,” I grit out. “So fucking good.”
She’s close. I feel it in the way her body clenches around me, in the soft gasps growing frantic, in the way she braces herself like she’s preparing for an impending storm.
“I want you to come for me,” I say, bending her over further, my mouth brushing her ear. “Come all over my cock. Let me feel it.”
That’s all it takes.
She shatters around me with a cry, trembling violently as I hold her still and fuck her through it. Her walls pulse around me, milking me, and I almost lose it right then and there.
But I need to see her. I pull out, gently flipping her onto her back. She’s a vision—flushed and panting, hair wild against the dark fabric, breasts rising and falling, a glistening between her thighs.
“Fuck,” I whisper, staring down at her. “Look at you.”
I slide between her legs again, her thighs parting willingly. I thrust in with one smooth stroke, burying myself deep.
She arches with a strangled gasp, nails dragging down my back. I find her mouth, kissing her hard as I thrust, hips snapping, sweat starting to bead at the base of my neck. This angle, this closeness, drives me mad. I grip the back of her thigh, angling her just right, driving in again, harder.
“Mine,” I growl against her mouth. “This sweet little pussy is mine tonight.”
“Yes,” she whimpers, clinging to me. “Please. Don’t. Stop.”
“Never,” I rasp, hand braced beside her head as I fuck her with everything I have. “You’re fucking perfect. You know that? Every inch of you.”
Her head tips back, mouth open, legs locked around my waist. The tension coils within, tight and furious. She squeezes around me, another orgasm building fast. Our bodies move in frantic unison, every sound she makes pushing me closer.
And then it hits—her release—crashing into her like a wave, pulling me down with her. I groan into her neck, hips stuttering as I spill into the condom, teeth clenched, every muscle taut with pleasure.
We collapse together, our breaths tangled.
I stay buried in her for a beat, unwilling to break the moment. Then slowly, I slide out, rolling off the condom and tossing it into the nearby bin.
Something about it feels… off. A looseness I don’t usually notice. But I don’t think about it too long.
She curls into me instinctively, her leg sliding over my hips, her cheek pressed to my chest, fingers splayed softly across my ribs.
I exhale, head falling back. Fuck, she feels good like this. Warm, soft, still trembling slightly. Her hair tickles my skin. I wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her closer, kissing the top of her head.
She fits against me too well. Like she was built for me.
And that’s dangerous.
Because I know what this was supposed to be. One night. A faceless, anonymous encounter, just like a hundred others I’ve had in this club. But this? Her?
She’s not faceless or anonymous. And she’s definitely not forgettable.
I know damn well I’m not done with her.
I shouldn't want her again.
But I do.
And I’ll have her.