20. Dmitri
Dmitri
The heavy bag rattles with every strike, but it’s not enough to quiet the thoughts clawing at my head.
Not when all I can think about is her.
Katya finds me an hour into my workout, appearing in the doorway wearing jeans and one of my T-shirts that settles just below her perfect ass.
“I wondered where you’d disappeared to,” she comments as she leans against the doorframe.
“Couldn’t sleep.” I land another combination on the heavy bag as sweat drips down my back. “Figured I’d put the time to good use.”
“Nightmares?”
“Business concerns. Territory disputes don’t resolve themselves just because I’m playing house in the countryside.”
She walks into the gym, examining the equipment. “This is where you learned to fight.”
I unwrap my hands and reach for a towel. “One of them. You pick up skills wherever you can in this line of work.”
“Show me.”
I pause in drying my face. “Show you what?”
“How to throw a proper punch. How to defend myself if someone grabs me.”
“You handled yourself fine during the kidnapping.”
“I got lucky. I want to know what I’m doing instead of relying on instincts I don’t understand.”
Something in her tone makes me look at her more carefully. This isn’t just curiosity about self-defense. This is someone asking for combat training.
“Basic defensive moves or actual fighting techniques?”
“Whatever you think I need to know.”
I drop the towel and move to the center of the mat. “Come here. Stand behind me.”
She positions herself as instructed, and I grab her arm to demonstrate a basic wrist escape. “If someone grabs you like this, you twist toward the thumb. It’s the weakest part of the grip.”
Katya nods and tries the technique when I grab her wrist. Her execution is flawless, textbook perfect, like she’s done this a thousand times.
“Good. Now let me grab you from behind and see how you react.”
I wrap my arm around her throat in a loose demonstration hold. Instead of struggling or showing confusion that I expect from someone with limited training, Katya drops her weight and executes a counter that would have broken my hold if I hadn’t been ready for it.
“Where did you learn that?”
“I don’t know? My body just knew what to do.”
“Try to break free again. I won’t make it easy this time.”
I grab her from behind with a proper restraint hold that should challenge someone without extensive training. Katya evaluates my position for all of three seconds before she drives her elbow into my solar plexus, stomps where my foot would be, and throws me over her shoulder onto the mat.
I land hard, and the wind rushes from my lungs as I stare up at her.
“That wasn’t self-defense, kotyonok. That was military-level combat training.”
She stares down at me, pinching her eyebrows together even as a satisfied smile spreads across her face. “I did it again. Knew something I shouldn’t know.”
“Attack me,” she orders before I can analyze what just happened. “I mean, really attack me.”
I pull myself to my feet and shake my head. “I’m not going to attack you.”
“Spar with me, then. Test what I know.”
There’s hunger in her voice now, something predatory that I recognize because I’ve felt it myself. The need to move, to fight, to prove capabilities through physical dominance.
“You sure about this?”
“Yes.”
I fall into a fighting stance. Katya mirrors my posture, her weight balanced, and her hands positioned perfectly for both offense and defense.
I throw a testing jab toward her face. She slips the punch like a professional and counters with a combination that forces me to block aggressively.
“Jesus. Who taught you to fight like that?”
“I wish I knew.”
We circle each other on the mat, and I realize this has moved beyond training into something more serious. The way she moves, anticipates my attacks, and flows from defense to offense...
This woman is a weapon. And she’s mine.
I throw a real punch this time, not trying to hurt her, but not pulling it either. She deflects it and steps inside my guard. Suddenly, we’re grappling for position. Her hands are on my shoulders, and my arms are around her waist as we fight for leverage.
She moves to throw me again, but I slam her back into the mirrored wall, pinning her wrists high above her head with my weight.
“Nice try,” she pants, eyes blazing.
I press harder into her, my cock straining against her stomach. “You think this is supposed to be easy?”
Our bodies grind together, sweat-slick and shaking from exertion, but the heat twisting through us isn’t just adrenaline.
I pin her wrists higher, forcing her back into the cold glass until her chest arches into mine. Her eyes have gone dark, wild.
“This is dangerous.” Her voice trembles, but she rolls her hips against me anyway. “God, I shouldn’t want you like this.”
“But you do,” I snarl, grinding harder against her. “Your body’s begging for it.”
“Fuck yes. Even when I know I shouldn’t.”
I kiss her hard, and she responds with the same aggressive energy she brought to our fighting. Her teeth catch my lower lip, demanding more as I release her wrists so she can rake her fingers through my hair and pull me closer.
“This is absurd,” she gasps against my mouth, but her hands are still working at my clothes despite her words.
I peel her T-shirt over her head, revealing the black sports bra underneath, which I remove as well. She shivers as the cool gym temperature hits her heated skin, and her nipples harden.
“My turn,” she declares, attacking the hem of my shirt.
I raise my arms and let her strip it off me, then catch her wrists when she reaches for my gym shorts.
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“I want to look at you first.”
I take my time studying every inch of exposed skin, and the flush that spreads down her throat and across her collarbones. She’s magnificent like this, aroused and impatient and focused on me.
“You’re staring.”
“I’m appreciating.”
“Appreciate faster.”
I laugh and hook my thumbs into the waistband before sliding the fabric down her legs along with the matching underwear beneath. When she’s naked, I step back to admire the view.
“Now you,” she orders.
“Demanding.”
“Motivated.”
I strip off the rest of my clothes, and her gaze travels down my body with unmistakable appreciation. When she reaches out to touch me, I catch her hand and spin her back against the mirror.
“Not yet,” I repeat, pressing my body against hers from behind.
The contrast between the cold glass and her heated skin makes her hiss and arch against me, and I feel every curve and valley of her body pressed against my chest and stomach.
“You’re killing me,” she breathes.
“Good.”
I trail kisses down the side of her neck while my hands explore her body. She tastes like salt and something uniquely her that makes me want to devour her.
“Dmitri, please.”
“Please what?” I murmur against her throat.
“Touch me.”
“I am touching you.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Tell me exactly what you want.”
She turns in my arms so she’s facing me again with her back against the mirror, and her blue eyes are dark with desire.
“I want your hands on me. Everywhere. I want you to make me come apart the way you did the other night.”
“Tell me that you’re sure.” I need to hear her choose this despite whatever doubts are running through her head.
“I'm sure. Even if it’s wrong. Even if I’m not sure I should trust you this much, I’m sure."
I cup her breasts in my hands, testing their weight, rolling her nipples between my fingers until she moans and pushes into my touch.
“You want me to touch this?”
“Yes, but more.”
I lower my head and take one nipple into my mouth to swirl my tongue around the sensitive peak while she tangles her fingers in my hair and holds me against her.
“God, yes.”
I give equal attention to both breasts, alternating between gentle suction and light bites that make her cry out and arch against me. Her skin is flushed and damp with perspiration, and I can feel her pulse race under my lips.
“More,” she demands when I pull back.
“So greedy.”
My hands slide down her body, tracing the curve of her waist, the flare of her hips, the strong muscles of her thighs. She’s built like an athlete but soft in all the right places.
“Spread your legs for me.”
She obeys, pressing back into the mirror as I slide my hand between her thighs. She’s drenched, her heat slick on my fingers.
“Fuck, you’re soaked, kotyonok.”
“Because of you,” she pants, cheeks flushed.
I bare my teeth. “Damn right. This pussy’s mine.”
I stroke her harder, no teasing, just enough to make her hips buck against my hand. Every gasp and whimper is a confession she can’t take back.
“I need more.” Her nails scrape at the glass of the mirror.
I slide one finger into her, then two, stretching her tight heat while my thumb circles her clit in a relentless rhythm.
“Oh, fuck—yes.”
She rides my hand shamelessly, moving her hips in counterpoint to my fingers while I watch her face transform with pleasure. Her eyes are closed, her lips are parted, and her head is thrown back against the mirror as she chases the release I’m building for her.
“Look at me,” I command.
She opens her eyes, and the trust I see there nearly undoes me. This woman, who can kill with her bare hands, who doesn’t remember her name, looks at me like I’m everything she needs.
“Don’t stop,” she whispers.
“I won’t.”
I increase the pace of my fingers inside her while my thumb circles her clit. Her inner muscles flutter around my fingers, and I know she’s close.
“Come for me, kotyonok. Let me watch you break.”
“I can’t. It’s too much.”
“Yes, you can. Trust me.”
I curl my fingers inside her, finding the spot that makes her scream, while my thumb drives her over the edge.
Her body tenses, and her nails dig into my shoulders as the pleasure overtakes her.
“Good girl. Show me how much you need me.”
She clings to me like I’m the only thing anchoring her to the earth. I catch her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze as she trembles through the aftershocks.
“No one sees you like this. Only me.”
She shudders, her chest heaving. I grip her chin tighter, locking her in place like she’s already mine to command.
“Tonight, I show you what being mine feels like.”