Chapter 18 #2
He glances out the window at the upscale building and nods. I move around to open his door. He lets me take his hand. We walk toward the back entrance. I type the code into the keypad, and the door clicks open. Dropping his hand when we step inside.
He looks around, probably wondering why we’re not going through the front like normal customers.
Gloria’s the first to see us. She’s wearing a red dress tonight, skin-tight, with blonde hair falling past her waist. She works under Yulian but answers to all of us when needed.
She’s beautiful despite being scarred all over her face and body. Even with her missing ear and fingers. It doesn’t take away from her appeal. If anything, it adds to it. She survived something terrible.
Yulian pulled her out of whatever hell she was in years ago, gave her a job and purpose. He has a habit of picking up damaged people and making them useful.
“The room’s ready,” she says, eyes flicking curiously to Kelly. “Menus are on the table, servers are waiting for your signal.”
She gives me a small smile. I don’t return it. I don’t like the way her gaze lingers on him with obvious interest.
We follow her down the hallway. She opens a heavy door and shuts it behind us.
The private room has dark green walls with low lighting from the ceiling.
One wall is covered entirely with mirrors, the other draped with heavy curtains hiding nothing but concrete.
Yulian’s always been a dramatic asshole.
Everything has to look like a stage set.
In the center, there’s a table set for two with black chairs and a single candle flickering between us.
I pull out his chair. He sits, and I push him in, then move to the other side and drop into my seat.
He studies the room, taking in every detail.
“What is this place?”
“A restaurant.” Among other things, which I’m definitely not telling him about.
He nods and glances down at the menu. “I can’t afford this. These prices are insane.”
“Don’t think about that. It’s on me, zaychik.”
He chews on his lip and keeps scanning the menu.
I’ve eaten here more times than I can count and know exactly what I want. Besides, my dessert is sitting across from me. I plan to devour him later.
A waiter approaches our table and nods respectfully. “Ready to order?”
“I’ll have the special and a bottle of vodka.”
Kelly snorts, then clears his throat. “I’ll have the roasted chicken with herbed potatoes and garlic cream sauce. And wine, not the bottle, just a glass.”
He looks over at me while holding back a smile. He’s so pleased with himself for that one. The corner of my mouth pulls up before I can stop it.
The waiter nods and disappears, returning a minute later with our drinks before leaving us alone.
I tap my fingers against the table. “Not what you thought a first date would be like?”
“This is nice. I’ve had such a terrible day, you have no idea. I wanna quit and find another place to work.” He rubs his temple, then takes a sip of his wine.
“What’s so bad about it?”
He snorts. “My boss is such a cheap bastard. He refuses to upgrade anything; half the machines break down every other week. And now he wants to cut staff because apparently we can’t afford proper equipment or enough people, but somehow there’s money in the budget for his personal espresso machine.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Two thousand dollars,” he adds. “And it’s only for him. Has his name engraved on it and everything. The rest of us aren’t even allowed to look at it.”
I listen while he continues talking about inventory problems, scheduling issues, then something about Camilla. His hands move more when he gets worked up. I let him ramble. I like the sound of his voice. Even if I’m only catching half the details, the rhythm of it settles something in my chest.
His boss is already on my growing list.
I wonder how he’d react if I started rambling about my day. I got one step closer to finding that retired detective, which is progress. I still have to work through more names. It’s eliminate, interrogate, disappear, repeat. It’s boring work; I’d rather be here.
The food finally arrives. Kelly takes his first bite, then closes his eyes. I stare at his mouth a little too long.
I pop the cap off the vodka and drink straight from the bottle.
“You’re not even going to pour it into a glass?”
I stop mid-drink and shake my head, then take another sip and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
“Can I try it?”
“Sure.” I lean across the table and hand him the bottle. He sniffs it first, his nose wrinkling, then brings it to his mouth and takes a small sip.
He coughs immediately with his hand flying up to cover his mouth as he wheezes out, “Christ. That’s strong. What the hell is that made of?”
“It’s the best you can get from Russia.” I shrug and take the bottle back for another sip.
He’s still blinking hard like it physically hurt him. I enjoy his reaction more than I should. One day, he will appreciate vodka.
“Are you done with the food?”
He nods.
“Good. Because I want my fucking dessert now.”
I push back from the table, walking around to his side. He’s already watching me with eyes that flick down, then up again like he doesn’t trust what I’m about to do.
I reach for his chin with my thumb, brushing slowly underneath it, then drag my fingers up to his ear and slide them around the back of his neck.
Then I drop to my knees.
I shift his chair to pull him closer. His hands land on my shoulders immediately. “Wait. You mean here?” His voice is tight, breathless. “What if someone walks in? The servers … don’t they usually check in or ask how the food was?”
“They won’t.”
“How do you know that?”
“If they open that door, I’ll put a bullet in them without pulling out of you. Let them watch me fuck you while they bleed out.”
His fingers tighten on my shoulders. He’s trying not to react to my words, but I feel the way his thighs tense under my hands. He’s torn between fear and arousal, and both responses make me want to devour him right here on this chair.
I unbuckle him and drag his pants down, press my palm to his stomach, and push him back into the chair. He leans back, eyes wide, cock already half-hard and twitching. I take him into my mouth before he’s even fully hard and feel him swell against my tongue.
My tongue drags down the underside, swirls around the tip, slow and wet, before I take him deeper. His moans start low and tight, growing louder when I pick up pace, hollowing my cheeks. I work him down until his hips jerk, and he twists his hands into my hair.
I reach down and dig into my pocket, pop off him for a second to rip open a packet of lube with my teeth. Squirt it into my hand, throw the wrapper somewhere on the floor, and take him back into my mouth like I’m starved.
Slick fingers trail down, past his balls, along his taint until I reach his hole. I circle, slow, teasing, then push one finger in. “That’s so good.” His voice shakes as he grips my hair tighter.
I groan, loving the way he clenches. I work him open, second finger sliding in, then third, taking my time stretching him with soft thrusts until he’s panting. My mouth never stops, tongue working him while my fingers fuck him open.
When I’ve had enough, I stand up and drag my fingers out slow, watch the way his thighs tremble. His cock’s flushed and leaking, stomach tensing with every breath.
I push my pants down enough to pull out my cock and slick the head with leftover lube still coating my fingers.
The things on the table are in my way, so I grab the edge and tilt it up, letting everything slide off in one loud crash.
Plates, glasses, the candle, all of it shatter against the floor.
I set the table back down flat and empty.
“What are you doing?” he blurts, half-laughing, half-horrified.
“Come here.”
He swallows hard and mumbles something about insane Russians.
I grab him gently by the throat. Walk him backward until he hits the table. Slide my hand around to the back of his neck and crush our mouths together, tongue sliding into his, swallowing the sound he makes.
It’s messy and perfect. I don’t stop until I can’t breathe.
I lift him up onto the edge of the table, guide his hips toward me, then line myself up and look at him.
He meets my eyes and nods, jaw tight, already bracing. I start pushing in. My head drops forward, breath stuttering. He grabs the edge of the table, body tensing, a soft moan slipping out.
“Shhh. I’ve got you.”
I pull out and grab another lube from my pants, rip it, and pour more onto my length.
I position myself and push in, slow at first. He’s looser now, easier, but still so tight it makes my whole body jerk. I glance down and watch my dick stretching him open, disappearing into him inch by inch. “Fuck, look at you,” I say roughly. “Opening up for me.”
He gasps when I bottom out.
I stay there a moment to let him adjust. Thighs trembling, eyes wide and glassy, mouth open.
When he nods, I draw out and sink back in harder.
Grip his knee to hold him open while I start to move faster, working him open with every thrust. “You think I’ll ever let anyone else have you?
” My voice is rough, breath catching. “Ty moy.” You are mine.
He tries to speak, but nothing comes out except messy little gasps and curses, hands flying up to cover his mouth. I don’t let him. I grab his wrist and pull it away, shake my head while I keep fucking him. “Let me hear you.”
Each thrust hits deeper, the sound obscene. I can’t hold back. Can’t even think. Every squeeze around me drags me closer to the edge. When I glance down and see his cock twitching against his stomach, I almost lose it.
“Feels so good,” he gasps.
I grab him and start jerking him, fast and tight. He barely lasts. He seizes and spills across his stomach and my hand. I smear it with my thumb, then bring it to my mouth, licking it clean while I stare into his eyes.
That’s what finally does it. I slam into him harder, chasing the heat, everything coiling tight in my gut. My cock swells, and I come inside of him with a deep groan, thrusting hard until I’m empty.
The second I pull out, I drop to my knees between his legs and hook his thighs over my shoulders, opening him up completely. I was raised to finish my meals, and I don’t give a fuck that his legs are shaking or that his cock is oversensitive and twitching.
I press my mouth to his cum-soaked hole, tongue sliding inside. The taste of myself mixed with him makes me groan against his skin. His whole body trembles as I lick deeper, chasing every drop.
“Alexei—oh fuck.”
My hand finds his cock, still half-hard and slick. He hisses when I wrap my fingers around him, but I don’t stop. I work him with firm strokes while my mouth stays busy between his cheeks, catching every sound, every reaction.
He shudders, swears, begs. I feel him clench around my tongue as I alternate between licking up my mess and fucking him with my tongue.
His cock hardens in my grip, and I know he’s close again.
A soft gasp, then he’s coming hard, hot jets shooting over my hand and his stomach while he shakes apart above me.
I hold out my hand to help him up. He’s shaking slightly, so I pull him against me and wrap my arms around him, running my hand up and down his back.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, sorry.”
“Stop saying sorry,” I mutter into his hair, breathing in that coconut-lime scent like it’s oxygen. “If it was too much, you can tell me.”
“No. It was perfect.” He lets out an exhausted little laugh. “I’m completely wrecked. Thanks for basically ruining every other date we’re ever going to go on.”
“Good.” I press my mouth to the side of his head. “Glad you liked it, zaychik.”
He wipes at his eyes quickly.
I grab his chin, tilting his face toward me. “Did I hurt you?”
His eyes are red and wet, not crying exactly, but full, like whatever he’s been holding inside finally cracked and there’s no space left to hide it.
It hits me harder than it should, right in the heart, worse than any bullet I’ve ever taken.
It makes something go cold and hollow inside me, seeing him like this and knowing I might have caused it, even if he says I didn’t.
“I’m fine,” he whispers. “Sorry.”
That word again.
“What’s wrong? Talk to me.”
He shakes his head and folds himself against me with his arms around my waist, his face against my shirt like he’s trying to disappear completely.
“It’s nothing,” he mumbles into the fabric. “You’re perfect, okay?”
No. It’s definitely not nothing.
Something is very wrong.
Every instinct I have is screaming that he’s lying about what happened, especially about how he got those injuries.
The tickets and fines they’ve been hitting him with make no sense now that I know him.
When I followed him to work, I watched him pick up trash on his way and throw it away properly.
Who does that in New York where the streets are covered in garbage?
Kelly does, which means he’s not the kind of person who racks up violations.
This is driving me fucking insane.