Chapter 24 Kazimir #2
I follow, unable to stop myself. Unable to let her walk away from me again. She stops just inside the doorway, and I nearly run into her. And then, as I look into the room, I see something on the bed that catches my attention.
Her camera is on the bed, the back panel lit up to reveal the most recently taken photo.
It’s a photo of me.
I've seen her with the camera before in the apartment, out of the corner of my eye as I’ve done other things. I assumed she was photographing the space, trying to keep herself occupied. I didn't realize she'd been photographing me.
I move past her, picking up the camera carefully. The photo in the back shows me sitting on the couch, my head tilted back, eyes closed. I look exhausted. Vulnerable in a way I never allow myself to be around anyone else.
"There are more," Svetlana says quietly behind me.
I look at her, then back at the camera. My hands are shaking slightly as I advance it forward, looking at the next photo.
Me in the kitchen, making coffee. Then another.
Me standing at the window, looking out at the city.
Another. Me asleep on the couch, one arm thrown over my face.
Another of me in the doorway of my bedroom, my back to her, shirtless.
There are at least a dozen photos. All of me, taken when I didn't know she was watching.
"Why?" I ask, my voice rough as I glance back at her.
"You're a good subject," she says, trying to sound casual, but her cheeks flush pink as she says it.
"A good subject." I set the camera down carefully, turning to face her fully. "Is that all?"
"What else would it be?"
"You tell me." I reach out, catching a strand of her pale blonde hair between my fingers. She doesn't pull away. "You've been taking pictures of me for days, Svetlana. Watching me when you thought I wasn't looking. That doesn't sound like someone who hates me as much as you claim to."
She bites her lower lip, and I watch the movement with an intensity that borders on painful. I want to bite that lip myself. Want to taste her again, feel her come apart in my arms the way she has before.
"You're..." She trails off, then tries again. "You're handsome. I've always thought so. Even when I hated you. Even when I wanted to hate you."
"Handsome."
"Don't let it go to your head," she says, but there's no bite in her words. "It doesn't change anything."
"Doesn't it?" I'm close enough now that I can feel the heat of her body, can see the rapid flutter of her pulse in her throat. "Because it seems to me like it changes something, at least."
"Kazimir—"
I lean in and kiss her.
I mean to be gentle, to give her time to pull away if she wants. But the moment my lips touch hers, something inside me snaps. All the restraint I've been holding onto, all the careful control, shatters like glass.
She makes a small sound against my mouth, and for a heartbeat, I think she's going to push me away. Then her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer, and she's kissing me back with a desperation that matches my own.
I back her toward the bed, my hands sliding under the shirt she's wearing to find the warm silk of her skin. She gasps as my palms skim up her sides, over her ribs, higher. She’s not wearing a bra under the loose T-shirt. There’s just soft skin and the rapid beat of her heart under my touch.
"We shouldn't," she breathes against my mouth, even as her hands work at the buttons of my shirt. "This is a mistake."
"Probably." I lift her, and she wraps her legs around my waist instinctively. "Do you want me to stop?"
"No." The word comes out broken, desperate. "No, I—”
I lay her down on the bed, following her down, covering her body with mine.
This time feels different from the frantic coupling in the safe house, and different from what I did to her in this bed before.
This time, I take my time, mapping every inch of her skin with my hands and mouth, learning what makes her gasp and what makes her moan.
And this time, I intend to have my pleasure, too.
She's so fucking beautiful it hurts to look at her, with her pale hair spread across the sheets, blue eyes hazy with desire, lips swollen from my kisses. And that small swell of her belly, barely visible but there. Proof of what we've done, of what we could be.
I kiss my way down her body, pausing at her stomach to press my lips against the slight curve. She tenses beneath me, her hands coming up to tangle in my hair.
"Kazimir—"
"Mine," I say against her skin. "Both of you. Mine."
Tears spill from the corners of her eyes, sliding down into her hair. "You can't just decide that."
"Watch me."
I kiss her again, swallowing whatever protest she might have made.
My hands find the waistband of the sleep shorts she's wearing, and I strip them off along with her underwear, leaving her bare beneath me.
She tugs at my clothes impatiently, and I help her, shedding my shirt and pants until there's nothing between us but skin and heat and the desperate need that's consuming us both. When I’m finally naked, I press my body against hers, my cock throbbing as I notch myself against her. There’s no need to worry about protection now, no need to feel bad about coming inside of her, but I ask anyway.
“Is this alright?” My voice comes out as a hoarse groan. “I want to be inside of you like this again, dorogoy. I want to fill you with my cum.” I nudge my cockhead against her, opening her for me as I push inside the barest bit. “Say yes. Say you want it too.”
“Fuck,” she breathes, and the curse on her tongue makes me throb. “Yes, Kazimir. I want you like this.” She reaches down, wrapping her hand around the base of my bare shaft, and pulls me closer.
I could lose it right then, feeling her pull me inside of her.
Instead, I thrust in hard, feeling her hand between us before she pulls it away, and I sink inside of her to the hilt.
I feel her arch beneath me, feel her body stretching to accommodate mine, and I can’t stop, can’t go slowly.
I need to feel her, need to fuck her, to remind her that I can’t ever let her go again.
And yet, this isn't the angry, desperate fucking from before. This is something else. Something that feels dangerously close to making love.
I thrust into her again and again, taking her the way I’ve always dreamed of—not quickly against a wall but in a bed, her body beneath mine and her legs twined around mine, her lips pressed against my mouth as she moans against it.
She’s close. I can feel it in the way she clenches around me, her back arching, her hand moving between us to rub her clit as I thrust into her hard. And I am, too. I can hear myself praying in the back of my head that we’ll do this again, when it can last longer, but for now…
She comes apart beneath me with my name on her lips, her nails digging into my shoulders hard enough to leave marks.
I follow her over the edge moments later, burying my face in her neck as pleasure crashes through me in waves that leave me shaking, filling her with spurt after spurt of hot cum as she cries out with pleasure.
For a long time afterward, we just lie there, tangled together, her head on my chest and my hand stroking through her hair. I can feel her breathing gradually slow, and the tension drain from her body.
"I'm scared," she says quietly. "I'm so scared, Kazimir."
"I know." I press a kiss to the top of her head. "But I've got you. I promise I've got you."
My phone rings, shattering the moment. I want to ignore it, to throw the damn thing across the room and stay here with Svetlana in my arms. But the ringtone tells me it's Ilya, and I can't ignore Ilya.
"I have to take this," I say reluctantly.
She nods, pulling away from me. I immediately miss her warmth.
I grab my phone from where I dropped it with my pants, answering as I walk into the living room. "Yeah?"
"I need you." Ilya's voice is clipped, urgent. "Now."
"What's going on?"
"I'll explain when you get here. How fast can you be at the warehouse?"
I glance back toward the bedroom, where I can see Svetlana pulling her shirt back on. "Twenty minutes."
"Make it fifteen."
He hangs up before I can respond. I stand there for a moment, staring at the phone, dread pooling in my gut. Ilya doesn't sound panicked—he never does—but there's an edge to his voice that I recognize. This isn’t going to be a fun evening, and I’m not going to get home anytime soon, probably.
I go back into the bedroom, already reaching for the rest of my clothes. Svetlana watches me dress, her expression unreadable. "You have to go."
"Yeah." I buckle my belt, then sit on the edge of the bed to pull on my boots. "Ilya needs me."
"Of course he does." There's no bitterness in her voice, just resignation. "When will you be back?"
"I don't know. A few hours, maybe." I stand, then hesitate. "I'm going to call Artem. Have him come stay with you while I'm gone."
"I don't need a babysitter. I won’t run. I’ve accepted that it’s too dangerous out there for me to be on my own." There’s a hint of sarcasm in her voice, but I can also tell that she’s telling the truth.
"Humor me." I cup her face in my hands, forcing her to look at me. "Please. Just until I get back."
She searches my face for a long moment, then nods. "Okay."
I kiss her, hard and fast, then pull away before I can change my mind about leaving. "Stay put. I'll be back as soon as I can."
"Kazimir?" She catches my hand as I turn to go. "Be careful."
"Always am."
I call Artem on my way down to my car, giving him quick instructions to get to my apartment and stay with Svetlana until I return. He doesn't ask questions, just agrees.
The drive to the warehouse takes exactly fifteen minutes.
I spend the entire time trying to figure out what could have Ilya so on edge, running through possibilities in my mind.
A rival making a move? A shipment gone wrong?
One of our own turning traitor? The dealer from earlier must have been more important than I picked up on, which isn’t going to please Ilya.
I’m getting out of the car and walking to the warehouse when my phone buzzes. I pause, reaching for it, hoping that something hasn’t happened to hold Artem up. Then I see his name on the screen.
Three missed calls. And below those, a text message from a number I don't recognize.
I open the message, and the world tilts sideways.
It's a photo of Svetlana, bound and gagged, terror in her eyes. And beneath it, a message:
Your friend is dead. You'll never see her or your bastard child again.
The phone slips from my numb fingers, clattering to the ground.
I stare at the warehouse ahead of me, where Ilya is waiting, and I feel my world start to spin.
I see Ilya step outside, confusion in his face as he sees me standing there motionless, and then I reach down and grab the phone, leaping back into my car as I start the engine and back up, gravel flying as I hear Ilya shout something after me.
Svetlana is gone.
And I'm going to kill every single person responsible.