Chapter 10 #2
My back hits the doorframe of the bedroom and he pins me there, one hand flat on the wall beside my head, the other unhooking my bra with a twist of his fingers.
He peels the straps down my arms and tosses it and his mouth drops to my collarbone, my chest, the curve of my breast. His tongue drags across my nipple and my knees almost give out. It's so incredible.
Then I shove him backward and he lands on the edge of the bed, sitting up, his gray eyes nearly black in the dim light. His chest rises and falls fast and the tattoos move with every breath. He looks up at me standing over him in nothing but my underwear and his lips part but nothing comes out.
"Fuck, you're sexy," he growls as I step between his knees and run my hands down his chest, over the ink and scars, feeling the muscle jump under my palms. I drag my nails down his stomach and his abs contract as a sound rumbles up out of his throat.
I drop to my knees between his legs.
"Zora—"
"Shut up." He lifts his hips when I wrap my hand around his dick and take him into my mouth.
He's salty and musky, and his hand flies to the back of my head, fingers twisting into my hair.
His hips push forward and I take him deeper, hollowing my cheeks, working the base with my fist in rhythm with my mouth.
"Fuck, Zora," he mumbles, hips jerking upward into me as I suck him. I'm lost in this now, forgetting any part of my mission to just let myself be a woman taking what she wants from a really fucking hot man.
I pull back and swirl my tongue around his head, then take him deep again, and his grip in my hair tightens until my scalp burns.
His breathing is ragged, his stomach muscles clenching, and I can feel him getting close—the way his cock throbs against my tongue, the way his hips start to lose their rhythm.
But I need him hard and inside of me. He can't come yet.
I pull off and stand up and his face shows how wrecked he is, eyes half shut, mouth open.
"God, can I ride you?" I ask as he fondles my tits, sucking one nipple then the other while I start straddling.
"You wanna be on top?" he asks, starting to move backward. I peel off my underwear and climb on top of him. Then I reach between us and position him at my entrance and sink down in one long drop that takes every inch of him at once.
"Holy shit, woman," he growls as his hands grab my hips and his fingers dig in.
I plant my palms on his chest and start to move, rolling my hips forward, grinding down, finding the angle where he hits the spot inside me.
Every drag of his length through my core is exquisite, the way it touches every nerve ending.
"You feel so fucking good," he says, reaching up to grope my tits again. He kneads them, twisting one nipple then the other as I ride him harder.
My hips slam down on every stroke and he grabs my hips to guide me, leaving my tits to bounce and his eyes to watch them. When he looks down at where we're joined his head almost arches back. He's loving this, and I'm getting close again.
"Don't stop," he says. "God, you're gonna fucking wreck me."
I brace one hand on the headboard and grind into him, and he plants his feet on the mattress and thrusts up to meet me.
We find a rhythm together and the pressure building inside me is so intense my thighs start to shake.
I reach down between us and press my fingers against my clit and rub while I ride him.
"I want to watch you come," he says, his eyes locked on mine.
"I'm close."
"Let me see it." His hands grip my hips and he drives up into me harder, faster. "Show me how good my cock makes you feel, Zora."
When he says my name, that's it. I break open with a groan as my nails dig into his chest. The orgasm rips through me from my center to my fingertips.
My walls seize around him in pulsing contractions and a grunt rumbles up out of my chest. My thighs clamp against his ribs and my spine arches as I grind down onto him through every wave, riding it out, feeling the wetness spill between us.
He follows me over. I feel his dick pulsing in long, thick surges. His hands lock onto my hips and pull me down hard and hold me there while he empties himself inside me while he groans and bruises my hips.
I collapse forward onto his chest panting for breath, and his arms cover me. His heart is pounding, though I'm the one that did all the work, and we're both slicked with sweat. It's left me feeling a bit lethargic and overly relaxed, but the sex this time was better than the last.
I roll off him and curl into his side. He kisses my forehead and covers us both with a sheet, but I'm too lost in the moment to worry about anything other than feeling every drop of afterglow. And finally, he speaks.
"You hungry?" he asks.
"A little."
"I'll get us something." He kisses my forehead and rolls out of bed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants. "Don't move."
"I couldn't if I wanted to."
He grins and disappears down the hallway, and I hear him open the refrigerator, hear the clink of glasses, hear him moving around his kitchen like this is the most normal thing in the world.
I let myself imagine for a second that we are a normal couple who are just diving into a relationship and wonder what it'd be like to really date Kazimir.
I'm sure he'd be acting the same and that it would be me who would feel different, but I can't seem to find that place in my heart to let myself experience it.
I'm afraid if I do, the guilt will consume me, or that I'll leave myself vulnerable to really falling in love with him, which I've been nervous about anyway. Luckily, his phone vibrates from wherever it is on the floor and I hear it. It forces me to remember what I’m doing here so I don't lose myself.
I'm tempted to dig it out, but right now, I don’t want to move. It feels too good just basking in the endorphins pulsing through my body. But then my phone chimes and I know if I don't check it and it's one of my brothers, they’ll freak out.
So I reach over the edge of the bed and fish the phone out of my jeans, but when the screen lights up I know it's not a message from my phone.
The clone job must've gone through and now I’m getting Kazimir's texts to my phone.
If I were a wife worrying about a cheating spouse, this would be handy, but I'm not, and this will be very annoying dealing with my notifications and his.
I swipe right to unlock and check the messages.
A thread sits at the top of the feed, one of the bettors from tonight's fights asking Kazimir which fighter to back in an upcoming bout.
I overheard him talking to the guy next to us that he was placing bets on Rostik, though I don't know the names of the other fighters well, though this guy named a few.
I glance up at the doorway and my thumbs hover over the screen.
I don't have to do this right now. I could put the phone down and deal with it in the morning and spend the rest of tonight being the woman he thinks I am.
But my brothers don't accept excuses, and I know they would expect me to respond to this. The entire point of what I’m doing here is to make Kazimir look bad.
What would make him look worse than plugging the wrong fighter to one of his trusted followers?
But guilt roils in my belly. Alisa's disappointed face flashes in my mind as I think about deceiving Kaz.
She would be so upset with me for even thinking about doing this, and why would I want to ruin a good friendship?
But I want to run my own club so badly and the only way to do that is to force my brothers to see that I am capable.
Part of that is being willing to do the unthinkable to get what I want.
I type a reply through the mirrored line and tell the bettor to put his money on the undercard fighter—the one who's gonna lose. Then I reach into his pants pocket and clear the notification from his phone so he doesn’t see the message.
When I check my phone, the message is sent as Kazimir and he’ll never know it was me.
But I'll know. And I'll probably hear about it when he gets angry that people aren't trusting him because of his bad advice.
I just hope I'm out of his life by then because I may not be able to live with myself after that.