7. Hello Barbi #3
No further instruction needed.
Yes, his thigh still bothered him, but not at the moment. Only pleasure. He’d pay for this, but it would be worth it. Planking over her, he stared into her eyes.
“You intrigue me,” he murmured.
The dimly lit table lamp offered him just enough light to catch the smile that danced in her eyes.
“No talking.”
She reached between them, fisted his shaft and positioned it at her opening. “Rock me.”
In he went, but this time, he slowed their pace. They moved as one, their mouths connecting, their tongues tangling. He slowed the kiss to suck her nipple, fondle her breast.
“I like that.”
He stopped but didn’t pull off her nib. “I like it too.”
She arched up, thrusting him in deeper. In and out, faster and faster while her sexy sounds filled his ears with the rawness of fucking.
Two strangers—both with secrets—stealing away in the dead of night to get lost in each other.
The orgasm started deep inside him, a tsunami in a sea of ecstasy. He thrust faster and harder as he released inside her.
“I’m coming,” she ground out as she bucked beneath him.
Euphoria.
All the bad floated away, leaving only the purest of pleasures.
Sated, he lay on her, breathing hard.
“Apology accepted,” she murmured before adding, “I’m not the enemy.”
Still rooted inside her, he peered into her eyes. “Who are you, really?”
“I need to go,” she said, her Russian accent back with a vengeance.
“Can I take you to dinner?”
She nudged him off her. “I’m not hungry.”
He didn’t want to separate… not that quickly. “How do I find you?”
“No more,” she said before she sashayed into the bathroom.
Seconds later, he joined her and together they cleaned up. No words spoken. No idle chit chat. No promise of another hookup.
For the first time in a long time, Gabriel had questions for the woman by his side. Most times, he’d date casually. Dinner, sex. An outing on his yacht, more sex. His relationships were more transactional than meaningful, but that was by design.
He’d learned life at the knee of his mafioso father. Love no one. Trust no one. Everyone was replaceable. Life was a series of meaningless transactions all in the name of power.
Even though Gabriel was a player, he hadn’t found anyone who’d snagged and held his attention for more than a few months.
Barbi had his attention, but would it stick?
Knock-knock.
“It’s the staff,” said a woman on the other side of the door. “Ten minutes to closing.”
They dressed in silence, left the suite. As they made their way down the hallway, he glanced over at her. She peered back.
Most women asked for his number, suggested they get together, offered to make him dinner.
She said nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Back on the first floor, Gabriel paused to say goodbye to Hawk while Barbi continued toward the exit. He caught up to her outside where the cold winter wind had her wrapping her arms around herself.
“Where’s your coat?” he asked.
“Where’s yours?” she quipped.
“I’ll walk you to your car,” Gabriel said.
“I’m good,” she replied as the stranger from earlier—the hotheaded idiot—strode toward them. “Looks like the douche waited for me.”
Gabriel wrapped his hand around his pistol.
Rather than stand there, she hastened her stride. “I’m parked over there.”
They took off in a full-on run toward her SUV as the man yelled out, “Hey, you got me kicked out of the club!”
She jumped in, Gabriel got into the passenger seat as the guy continued charging toward them. She started the engine, out she sped and onto the road.
He started laughing. “It’s like I’m with Bonnie.”
“Bonnie who?”
“Bonnie and Clyde.”
“We didn’t rob a bank.”
“You know American history. I’m impressed.”
“I know all American outlaws.” She waggled her eyebrows. “They’re my heroes.” At the red light, she buckled her belt. “I need to circle back to your car.”
“I got dropped off, so I was gonna call a rideshare.” He clicked the seatbelt into place.
“Where are you headed?” she asked as she drove through the intersection.
“Home.” He gave her the address.
“I don’t have my phone, so you have to tell me where to turn.”
“Are we gonna run into each other again?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“Dinner sometime?” he pressed her.
“Hell, no.”
A few short minutes later, she stopped in front of his home on 16th Street in DC. “This is nice.”
An older, large, two-story home that sat on the top of a small, grassy hill. A flight of cement steps had been built into the front lawn, and another short flight led to the front door. The home stood dark as did the ones on either side.
“Come in for a drink,” he said.
She stared straight ahead as if contemplating the world’s problems. Then, she shifted toward him. “One drink.”
He couldn’t miss the mischief dancing in her eyes. Barbianna Bogdanova was a lot of fun.
As they made their way up the stairs built into the center of the hilly yard, she pulled him to a stop. “Do you always leave your front window open?”
“No,” he replied. “Never.”
“You got company,” she murmured.
He flicked his gaze to the front window.
He sure as hell did.