Chapter 20
Alexei
The restaurant doors finally swing open, and I watch as Zoya stumbles out onto the sidewalk. It only takes a single glance to realize she is drunk; her gait is heavy and unsteady, her cheeks flushed a deep rose, and even from this distance, I can see the glazed sheen in her eyes.
Viktor moves with his usual efficiency to open the car door, but she just stands there, staring at the open interior and then down the length of the street. I know that look immediately - it is the stubbornness taking hold.
“I’m going to walk for a bit,” I hear her mutter through the door, her voice thick. “I need to walk off the booze.”
Viktor doesn’t skip a beat. “I’ll follow at a distance.”
“I figured,” she sighs, already beginning to drift away from the car and away from me.
I watch her disappear around the corner before quietly slipping out the opposite side of the SUV.
With a quick signal to Viktor to trail us in the car, I start following her on foot, sticking to the shadows.
There is no way in hell I am letting her wander through Moscow alone at night in this state.
I track her for a few blocks, watching as she sways slightly in her heels, her movements aimless and erratic. Suddenly, she stops, her pace quickening as she almost trips over her own feet. Even through the alcohol, her instincts are sharp enough to realize she is being followed.
She ducks into a dark alley and spins around, her voice echoing off the brick walls. “Stop acting like a fucking stalker creep!” she yells into the darkness.
I step out from the gloom, unable to suppress a smirk. She squints at me, her hair starting to escape its ponytail in messy strands as she pouts. “I knew it was you,” she grumbles.
“I’m sorry,” I say, closing the distance between us.
“No, you’re not.”
I stop right in front of her, looking down into her defiant face. “You’re right. I’m not sorry for following you, Zoya. I’m only sorry I got caught.”
She let out a huff of breath, looking undeniably adorable in her failed attempt at anger. I reach out to guide her. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
“I don’t want to go home yet,” she says, swaying into me. “I want fresh air.”
“We can go to the car, and I’ll blast the AC. We’ll get you settled, maybe get some water in you…”
“No.” She plants her feet like a child refusing to leave a playground. “I said I want fresh air. Real, outside air.”
“Zoya, don't be difficult.”
“Make me,” she challenges, turning on her heel and heading toward the park across the street.
I follow her, signaling Viktor to stay back. There is no point in arguing with a drunk woman; it is easier to let her walk it off while I stay close enough to catch her if she falls. We reach a cluster of trees near the edge of the woods where she halts, fanning herself with a hand.
“I’m hot,” she complains, and before I can respond, she sheds her coat, tossing it onto the grass, and reaches for the zipper of her dress.
“Whoa, wait a second,” I say, catching her hands in mine. “We aren't doing this in public. I’d rather not have to kill a stranger tonight because they caught a glimpse of you naked.”
“Oh, okay,” she whispers, looking up at me with wide, glassy eyes. Her lipstick is smudged, her hair a disaster. She looks like a beautiful, chaotic mess. “But I’m still taking my clothes off. Unless... you want to do it for me?”
She tries to make the offer sound sultry, but it comes out breathy and slurred. Still, the visual is enough to make my blood pressure spike. She reaches down and hikes the hem of her dress up to her hips, revealing the pale blue thong I remember all too well from our video call.
“Do you like it?” she asks, swaying as she seeks my reaction. “Did you see it before? Did you?”
My mouth goes dry, every ounce of my self-control straining against the sudden rush of heat in my veins.
“Why are you so reckless when you drink?” I ask, forcing myself to pull her dress back down despite the instinct to do the exact opposite.
“You’re usually so level-headed. Should I be worried about you going out with those girls? ”
She pouts again, her bottom lip trembling as her eyes grow watery. “Is it because I’m drunk? You don’t find me sexy anymore?”
“God help me, I do,” I say, cupping her face and forcing myself to be gentle. “But flashing the world is only going to end in a bloodbath. Let’s get you home, get you into a warm bath, and tomorrow you can go back to being a bride-to-be.”
“No.” She reaches down, her hand disappearing under her dress, and before I can move, she grabs my hand and shoves it between her legs.
I go rigid. She is absolutely drenched, the silk of her thong soaked through with hot, slick friction. I can feel the heat of her clit against my knuckles, and the sound I make is more of a snarl than a groan.
“I’m wet,” she whispers, grinding her weight into my hand. “You can touch me.”
“This is a fucking disaster and you know it,” I rasp, my voice sounding like a stranger’s. “You’ll regret this when you’re sober, and I told you I wouldn't break my word about touching you.” I force myself to pull away, but the ghost of her heat still stings my fingers.
“Stop with the bullshit,” she snaps, glaring at me with a sudden clarity. “I want you to fuck me. Why are you acting like some saint? If you won't do it, I’ll find someone else who will.”
She turns to walk away, and the thought of another man’s hands on her body - of someone else tasting that wetness - snaps the last thread of my restraint.
I move before she takes another step, fisting her hair and yanking her back toward me so hard she gasps.
I spin her around and slam her against the rough bark of the tree, my body pinning her in place.
“Oh,” she breathes, her eyes blowing wide with a mix of shock and heat. “So you want to play rough.”
“Stop testing the limits of my patience, Zoya.” I fist my hand deeper into her hair, yanking her head back until her throat is arched and she is forced to look me in the eye.
My voice is a low, dangerous vibration that feels like it is coming from my chest rather than my throat.
“You want to be fucked? Fine. I’ll fuck you.
But don't you dare think I’m going to be gentle with you tonight. Not after that stunt you just pulled.”
I watch her pupils dilate as she bites her lip, the fear and the arousal bleeding together until she trembles.
I grip her hair even harder, tilting her head back until her pulse jumps under the skin of her neck, then lean down to whisper right against her ear.
“If you’re sober enough to get my dick out of these pants, then I’ll give you what you want. ”
She doesn’t hesitate, but her hands are clumsy and heavy with booze.
She looks down at my belt, her fingers fumbling with the buckle as she struggles to work the leather through the loop.
It keeps slipping, her frustration mounting as she pulls and tugs at the stubborn material.
I just stand there, watching her work, my heart hammering against my ribs as my cock strains painfully against my zipper.
“Tick tock, Vedma,” I provoke her, a dark smirk tugging at my mouth. “I might just go soft if you take any longer.”
She shoots me a drunken glare, her jaw tightening as she finally manages to jerk the belt loose. Her hands shake as she works the button and the zipper, and when she finally frees me, I spring out…hard, thick, and already leaking at the tip.
She stares at me like she’s never seen anything like it before, dropping to her knees on the cold, hard ground without a second thought. “Wow,” she whispers, her eyes huge. “So big. So pretty.”
Then she leans forward.
Zoya starts with little kitten licks, tracing the underside of the length and swirling her tongue around the head like she’s tasting something sweet.
She explores, taking her time. It feels fucking maddening.
My hands clench at my sides, every muscle in my body pulling taut as she finally wraps her lips around the tip.
She stays shallow, sucking on me with a gentle, tentative rhythm that isn't anywhere near enough.
I feel her tongue swirling, her mouth hot and wet, but she barely scratches the surface.
I can’t take it anymore. I grab the back of her head with both hands, my fingers tangling deep in her hair. “Brace yourself,” I warn.
She looks up at me, her eyes glazed and confused, not quite processing the warning until I push her head down, burying myself deep in her throat.
She gags instantly, her eyes watering as her hands fly up to my thighs to try and push me away.
But I hold her firm. I let her throat squeeze around me, the tightness so perfect it almost makes me lose it right there.
“That’s it, Vedma,” I groan, my eyes sliding shut as the heat consumes me. “You want to be a bad girl so fucking bad? Huh… well bad girls get their throats fucked raw in public until they’re gagging and swallowing every drop like desperate cumsluts.”
I pull back just enough to let her catch a jagged breath before I shove in again deeper, until her nose is pressed against my pelvis.
She’s choking, tears streaming down her face and drool slicking her chin, and to me, she looks so fucking beautiful.
I start fucking her face, slow at first to let her adjust, then faster, harder, using her throat like a toy while she grips my thighs and holds on for dear life.
“Good girl,” I mutter, watching the way her throat works to accommodate me. “Fuck, you’re such a dirty little slut,”
After ten minutes of using her mouth, I finally pull out with a loud pop.
She gasps for air, coughing as she wipes at her face, her mascara running in dark streaks down her cheeks.
I don’t give her a second to recover. Yanking her up by her hair, I spin her around and back her up against the tree, trapping her between the rough bark and my body.
“Hands on the trunk,” I order. “Don’t you dare move them.”