Chapter 10 #3
I don’t lose time with words and use the pad of my tongue to draw little circles on her clit while slowly thrusting my digits into her hot pussy. My eyes close of their own accord at how tight she is, how her walls seem to want to strangle my fingers and never let them go.
Fuck!
I slide them in and out, slow at first, so she can get used to their feel.
Proof of her arousal begins to drip down her thigh as I curve my fingers to hit every pressure point I can find.
I know I hit the right one when she lets go of the wall and clutches a fistful of my hair to keep her balance.
Her legs begin to shake as I speed up my thrusts, driving my fingers in and out of her pussy, my cum and her arousal now entangled and smeared as one.
“Faster!” she cries out, no longer keeping her words to herself. “Just like that, Kill. Oh, fuck. That’s it. Right there. Yes… yes… YES!” she shouts at the top of her lungs, riding my face as I fuck her with my fingers.
My cock is hard as steel with the sound of her loud wails, and when I tip her over the edge, the fucker comes in unison with her, her cries of ecstasy too much for it to bear.
She rides her orgasm out on my face, slowing her dance as she falls back from the heavens.
And when her legs threaten to buckle, I grab her waist and gently pull her onto my lap, her head nestling on my chest, as my arms lock themselves around her.
Stella’s face is beautifully flushed, the afterglow making her look almost ethereal. I swear I’ve never seen real beauty until this exact moment. Words scrape like sandpaper on my tongue as I fight to keep my own emotions under control.
Only when her breathing evens out do I even dare to say a word. “Can I see you tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” she echoes as if half asleep, her gaze still heavy-lidded, pupils wide and dark.
“Yes, milaya. Tomorrow,” I repeat, brushing her hair lovingly away from her face.
I take a mental picture of her just like this.
Stella is usually all fire and fury—sharp retorts, raised hackles, a spark waiting to ignite.
But right now? She’s soft in a way that is completely disarming.
Not delicate—never that. More like a storm that’s momentarily stilled, quiet enough for me to see the peace simmering underneath.
The soft beauty she tries to hide from the world.
And fuck, it doesn’t do something to me.
“I… I can’t,” she says, as if remembering herself and who she’s supposed to be.
Stella gently pushes her head away from my chest, enough to create the distance she needs to slip off my lap and rise to her feet. My forehead pulls tight in disappointment, watching her smooth out her rumpled dress and tuck every loose strand of hair back in its place.
“I see,” I hear myself say, cold and clipped, mimicking her stance and fixing my own clothes. But my performance must not be as good as hers, because she sees right through it.
“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Kill,” she snaps, kicking her own torn panties around her ankle to the air and snatching them before I can. “I’ve got things to do tomorrow that can’t be postponed, that’s all.”
“May I ask what?” I raise a brow, unimpressed by her vagueness.
“No, you may not.” She starts to turn away, but I slide an arm out and catch her, pressing her gently back to the wall.
She’s lying. Not about being busy, but about using it as an excuse to push me away.
Maybe she’s the smart one here. Nothing good can come from wanting Romano’s daughter.
She should be nothing more than a piece in the game, leverage to get closer to Kira.
That is all she was ever supposed to be.
But then there’s the one variable I never accounted for—me wanting her.
Wanting her in ways that have nothing to do with strategy, nothing to do with obligation, and everything to do with the way she looks at me.
As if her darkness knew and understood mine.
And that want—that raw, vicious desire to keep her—is far too real to ignore.
“Let me go, Kirill,” she says, fire flashing in her eyes.
I’m about to do just that when a more maddening thought passes through my head.
“Are you meeting someone else tomorrow?” I ask, my voice coming out rougher than I intend. “Another lover?”
I sound jealous. I sound fucking insane. And still, I don’t have it in me to care. I need to know whether another man is touching what’s mine.
Blyad. I am jealous.
“Come what now?”
“Just answer the fucking question. I know you heard me.”
“And if I was?” she challenges.
Of course she does. It wouldn’t be Stella if she didn’t give me grief.
“Then all I’d need is a name,” I say simply.
“Why? So you can scare him off?” She laughs right in my frustrated face.
So I can kill him, I think to myself.
Even though I don’t say those words out loud, my expression apparently says it all.
“I’m no man’s possession, Kill. If we’re going to get along, it would be in your best interest to remember that.”
“I don’t share, milaya. It would be in your best interest to remember that.”
“Jesus Christ. Stop going all caveman on me. It’s not attractive.
” She rolls her eyes. “Besides, there is no other guy. And who even says ‘lover’ anymore? Ew.” I feel her pulse under my fingers, her heartbeat never accelerating, indicating she’s being truthful for once.
“Not that it is any of your business, where I spend my time or with who,” she points a menacing finger at me before continuing, “But if you must know, me and my siblings are having brunch tomorrow before we have to go to their school and help decorate it for the Christmas party they have every year during winter break,” she explains.
“So no need to go all alpha on me. Unless you’re jealous of my brothers and sister, too. ”
Am I jealous? Yes.
Will I ever admit that? Absolutely fucking not.
She’s already made it very clear that possessiveness is a turn-off for her. And I intend to do only things that turn her on. Even if that means going against my true nature.
I loosen my grip on her wrists and plant my hand on the wall beside her head, leaning in until our faces are at eye-level again.
“Then Monday,” I murmur. “I’ll come to you.”
Her eyes search mine, deep and unguarded for a heartbeat.
“If you can find me,” she whispers, back to her teasing self.
Stella then rises onto her toes and presses a slow, seductive kiss on the corner of my mouth. It takes every ounce of discipline not to grab her face and kiss her like I need to.
Tonight, we’ve played enough. When Monday comes, I intend to play for real. When I find her—not if, as she suggested—I’m taking her back to my place and ending my misery once and for all. But for now, I’ll just have to content myself with the remaining seconds I still have just watching her go.
Feeling my eyes on her, Stella doesn’t hurry, doesn’t look back, just glides down the dim hallway with that impossible confidence of hers.
Hips swaying, hair brushing her spine, leaving a trail of black cherry perfume that hits like a drug.
Every step she takes feels like something tugging harder at my chest. I wait until she’s almost at the end of the hall before pushing off the wall and following her at a slow, measured pace.
I just need to keep her in my sights for a few seconds longer.
Stella disappears around the corner, back toward the thump of bass and strobing lights.
I trail behind her, letting the anticipation crawl under my skin.
I want to watch her until the exact moment she slips into the crowd.
I want to see who she talks to, who she ignores, and who she looks at.
I want to be the last thing she thinks about when she goes home tonight.
I’m almost at the hallway’s end—almost close enough to slip into the flow of bodies after her—when something slams into my shoulder.
“brOTHERRRR!”
Kostya’s voice hits me like a mallet to the skull. Before I can sidestep him, he throws his entire drunk weight onto me, looping an arm around my neck and nearly knocking us both over.
“Kiiiilll!” he slurs in my ear. “I hic lost my friends. Wait? Or they lost me? I don’t know. I can’t hic remember!”
I grit my teeth. “Get off me.”
Kostya clings harder, laughing like a lunatic. “Nooo, no, no. Don’t be mad. I love you, bro. I love youuu. Even when you’re all grumpy and shit. You’re my favoriiiiiittte. Shhh, don’t tell Misha.”
I try to shove him off, but he’s deadweight.
Warm vodka-soaked deadweight. By the time I peel him off to look toward the crowd, Stella is gone.
No flash of red. No streak of her wild hair.
No curve of her slender neck. Nothing. She’s already swallowed by the bodies, by the lights, by the fucking music pounding through the floor.
Kostya throws his arms around me, clinging to me like molasses, burping in my ear. I swear, I actually consider tossing him to the floor.
“Brother,” he groans dramatically, “I think I’m gonna puke. M’kay?” That’s all he says before he hunches over and vomits all over my shoes.
I drag a hand down my face. Stella is gone, and so is the magic of the moment we just spent together. And now I’m stuck babysitting a drunk idiot. Perfect. Just how I wanted my night to end.
Pizdets!