Aj
Idon’t know what time it is when the door finally opens, but the room is dark except for the cold moonlight spilling across the floor. Wolff steps inside. The hardwood creaks under his weight.
He doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t speak.
Of course he doesn’t. The man only opens his mouth to give me orders.
He moves straight to the dresser and starts laying out weapons. Metal clinks softly in the quiet. Every motion is precise, like he could do it with his eyes closed.
I watch him from the bed, arms wrapped around my knees. When he finally glances up, his eyes immediately find mine.
“Can you teach me to do that?” The words slip out before I can stop them.
His eyebrow lifts a fraction. “Teach you how to use a gun?”
I nod.
“No.”
He turns back to the dresser like the conversation is over.
“I mean it, Wolff.” I push off the bed and walk toward him. “What if something goes wrong? What if—”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“What if something happens to you? You don’t even trust the men we’re traveling with, so what if—”
His hand snaps out.
I flinch back.
But he isn’t reaching for me.
His fingers close around a gun, lift it, flip it once in his palm, then eject the magazine with a sharp click. He checks it, screws a long black can onto the muzzle, and holds the gun out to me.
“Fine.”
Reaching out, I take it. The grip is heavier and colder than I expected.
He crosses to the window and yanks it open. The old frame groans. Cold night air rushes in, carrying snow that drifts across the floorboards.
Then he steps in behind me. Really close.
“Keep the muzzle pointed away from anything you don’t want dead.”
His large hand slides over mine, rough and warm. He adjusts my grip, angles the barrel upward until I’m staring down the sights into the dark trees outside. With his chest inches from my back, I can feel the heat rolling off him.
“Finger off the trigger until you’re ready to kill.”
He releases my hand almost immediately, like touching me burns him, and grabs his own gun.
“What’s that silver part?” I ask as he screws another can onto the gun.
“Suppressor.”
Raising his weapon, he fires. The shot is a muted thud, but it still makes me jump. A tree trunk splinters in the distance, wood cracking in the quiet night.
He lowers the gun and steps behind me again.
“Line it up. Don’t overthink it.”
My arms shake as I raise the gun. I exhale, try to steady myself, and squeeze the trigger. The recoil punches into my wrists. His hand is already there, bracing mine, steadying the gun before I can drop it. The bullet hits the side of a tree, its bark exploding outward.
“Fuck,” I breathe, voice shaky. “I’ve never shot a gun before.”
His grip tightens. Lifting our joined hands, he corrects the angle until the barrel points exactly where he wants it.
“Again. Same spot.”
I fire. The kick is harder this time. I wobble. His muscular chest presses against my back. He’s so warm. So much bigger than me.
“Again.”
I keep shooting. Each shot lands closer to the last. The tree trunk splinters more with every hit, bark peeling away in chunks. Snow shakes loose from the branches above.
My wrists burn. My breaths come faster.
“What do you think about…” I hesitate, then force the question out anyway. “When you kill someone?”
His grip tightens over my hands as we fire again. The shot hits closer.
“Nothing.” His deep voice rumbles near my ear. “I don’t think.”
The gun clicks empty.
He takes it from me without another word and sets it on the dresser. I rub my wrists, trying to work out the sting.
“Really? You don’t picture their faces or people you hate or—”
He’s already reloading, sliding bullets into the magazine with that same mechanical rhythm. Cold air bites through my clothes as I lean back against the window frame. Snow drifts along the sill and melts against my skin.
He doesn’t look at me.
“What do you hate? Besides being touched. And talking. And people.” I push off the window and move to the bed, dropping onto the edge. His back stays to me.
“I hate a lot of things,” I mutter. “Spiders. That’s a big one.” A small, humorless chuckle slips out. “Being trapped in the trunk of a car. That one’s new.”
Silence.
“I guess I can’t blame everything on Akim. I hated things before him too.”
I keep talking.
I don’t even know why.
He’s not listening. He’s not even turning around. But the silence feels worse if I stop. Like it’ll close in on me if I don’t fill it.
“I hate snakes. Heights. That feeling when you wake up, and for a second, everything’s fine…and then…” My throat tightens. “Then you remember.”
He moves before I can say anything else. Crossing the room and disappearing into the bathroom, he shuts the door behind him.
Blowing out a breath, I run my fingers through my tangled hair.
Why am I even talking?
The shower turns on a second later, and I glance at the bedroom door. I could leave. Find some alcohol to drink…
Falling back onto the bed, I stare at the ceiling, at the cracks running through the plaster. But my mind won’t stay there. It drifts back to him. His hand over mine. The way he stood behind me. His deep voice in my ear.
I shouldn’t want that.
I shouldn’t want any man near me.
But it gives me something else to focus on—something that isn’t the constant, gnawing panic now living in my chest.
My gaze shifts to the bathroom door, where steam creeps into the room.
I bite my lip.
Images of him consume my mind—water sliding over his broad shoulders, down his defined back. Over the hard muscles and scars along his torso. The dark ink on his arm.
My fingers brush my inner thigh.
It’s fucked up. But I want to touch him. To feel the warmth of his body, to be close to someone.
No.
Not just someone. To be close to him.
And that might be the worst part.
Hot water hammers my shoulders. I crank the temperature higher until it scalds.
It does nothing.
I can still feel her ass pressing back against my cock. Her skin under my hands. I grind my jaw and slap soap across my chest and arms, scrubbing hard. It doesn’t reach what’s buried deeper.
I drag in a breath, my lungs burning from the steam, and shut the water off.
A few more days until I’m back in Chicago. Then I’ll put a bullet between Graves’s eyes for giving my name to Commander Weston.
I scrape the towel through my hair and let the water drip down my neck. Pulling on fresh boxers and sweatpants, I yank the bathroom door open.
And freeze.
AJ jerks upright on the bed, her hand slipping out from beneath her leggings.
My cock surges from half hard to rock hard in a single heartbeat.
Her face is flushed dark. Chest heaving. Nipples hard and visible through the thin fabric of her shirt. The sharp, sweet smell of her arousal hits me from across the room.
She breathes hard through parted lips, eyes wide like prey caught in headlights.
“I didn’t hear the shower turn off. I swear. I’m sorry, I’ll just—”
“Finish.” The word comes out rough, almost hoarse. My fists curl tight at my sides.
“What?”
I lean back against the wall, arms crossed tight over my chest. My cock strains painfully against my sweatpants. “Finish what you started.”
Her eyes drop straight to my bulge. She swallows like her throat’s suddenly dry. “Take your fucking clothes off. Now. And finish.”
I push off the wall and step closer. My hand drops, palming my cock through the fabric.
She hesitates only a second before her hands move.
Shoving her leggings and panties down her thighs in one jerky motion, her shirt follows.
Small tits bare, nipples hard as bullets.
Bruises everywhere—purple lines ringing her throat, darker ones biting into her wrists.
My fingers twitch.
She leans back on the mattress, legs slightly parted.
“Spread them. All the way.”
Her nervous eyes dart to mine.
“You can’t just—”
“Spread your fucking legs, AJ. Show me your needy little cunt.”
Her knees fall open, slow and shaky, until her pink pussy is on full display—glistening, puffy, dripping down her ass crack onto the sheets.
I step closer, towering over her. “Touch it.”
At my closeness, her breath catches, but her fingers slide down. Two fingers push inside her pussy with a wet sound that makes my cock jerk. She starts moving them, shallow at first.
Fuck. I could ram my whole fist in there.
“Wolff…”
“Shut your mouth.”
She fucks herself faster, back arching off the bed. Her small tits bouncing, hips grinding down on her own hand.
“Stop.”
Her eyes fly open. Fingers still buried knuckle deep. Grabbing the pillow, I drop it beside her.
“Use it.”
“Why—”
“Do it. Now.”
She scrambles onto her knees, grabs the pillow, and shoves it between her thighs.
“Press your thighs together.” I shove my sweatpants down, free my cock, and stroke it hard—base to tip. “Ride it like it’s my cock.”
Her face burns crimson, but she obeys. Hips start rolling. Slowly at first, then she becomes frantic. She grinds her dripping cunt down on the pillow, thighs squeezing so tightly she leaves behind a growing wet spot.
“Harder.”
She whimpers, her hips snapping forward, tits jiggling, clit dragging against the soaked cotton.
“Wolff… please…” It’s a broken, desperate noise that has pre-cum leaking down my length and onto my fingers.
She moans louder, grinding faster, thighs trembling. The pillow and her thighs are slick with her arousal. She’s right there.
“I’m gonna come,” she gasps, throwing her head back.
Her whole body locks up as she cries out, hips jerking wildly. She keeps riding through it, milking every pulse, tears trailing from the corners of her eyes.
My balls draw tight.
I step right up to the edge of the bed, fisting my cock inches from her face.
“Open that fucking mouth. Tongue out.”
She obeys instantly, her pink tongue flat and waiting like a good little Sovereign Slut.
I grunt as the orgasm rips through me. Thick, heavy ropes of cum shoot across her tongue, splash over her lips, streak her chin, and paint her tits. One drop lands on her cheek. She doesn’t close her mouth. Just takes it, breathing hard, hazel eyes locked on mine the whole time.
“Fuck…solnyshko.”
The last pulse falls onto her tongue. She stays there—mouth open, cum pooling and sliding down her chin and onto the sheets in messy strings, looking completely ruined and used.
My jaw clenches so hard that it aches.
It’s hard to take a full breath as I tuck my cock away, yanking a clean shirt over my head.
“Go to sleep.”
She blinks up at me, still panting. “You’re just gonna—”
Not looking her way, I turn for the door.
“But we just—”
“Go to sleep.” I cross the room and step out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind me.