40
I turn my attention to her as she moves on my chest. I spent the rest of the hours waiting for news from Denis while I finished the series, although in reality I was paying more attention to how she slept and the memories that the big screen brought to mind.
It was nighttime, and Lena had offered to watch a movie before going to sleep. She wasn’t one of those people who fell asleep easily at night unless she was very tired.
We went to the living room where there was a movie screen in front of a long sofa and a rug, apart from other furniture around it.
We put some of the cushions on the rug and sat down among them.
Lena was in my arms with her head right on my chest and her hands on mine.
The only thing I noticed on the screen was the title of the movie. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.
“I love this movie,” she said, lifting her head to look at me. “And you?”
“I’ve never seen it,” I forced myself to pay more attention to the movie after that little revelation, reluctantly brushing her hair away.
Then I began to move my thumb over the back of her hand. One of the characters appeared on the screen hanging from a meat hook. Lena bit her lower lip as she did every time she was unsettled by not knowing something or something bothered her.
“You said next time we’d do it together. That you’d teach me things.” I smiled and brushed my lips against hers for a moment as I remembered what had happened a couple of days earlier. She hadn’t stopped reminding me of that since then, becoming more and more insistent.
“I know.”
“And when will that be?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. When I didn’t answer, she snorted. “I want you to teach me. Please.” She pursed her lips in a pout, deliberately widening her eyes.
“I will.”
“Tomorrow?”
“I don’t know. We don’t have anyone.”
“Well, let’s find someone then. We can go to the mall or to some club,” she continued, her eyes sparkling as her brain considered the possible scenarios.
When I didn’t say anything, a small wrinkle appeared on the tip of her nose, reflecting her annoyance.
“Please, Alek,” she added in a velvety voice.
Hearing that word next to my name had done something to me.
From her satisfied smile, I knew it wouldn’t be the first time she’d used that phrase, but I wanted her to repeat it so I could agree to anything she asked of me. I would do anything for her.
My head clears as I feel her hair tickle me as she moves. My lips touch her nose before even registering the action.
“I have to go back to the house,” she says, still half asleep.
“It hasn’t even been a day,” I retort. She sighs, looking at me with pleading eyes, knowing I wouldn’t be able to resist. “Fine.”
I pull out my phone and put it in my ear, watching her leave to the kitchen as the call connects and the voice of Denis distracts me from her for a while.
“We’re in more trouble than we thought. Did you see the messages I sent you?”
“No,” I say. My attention coming back to how she moves around the kitchen.
“I can guess why,” he mutters sarcastically. “Call me when you see them.”
As soon as the call ends my feet moves automatically toward her, forgetting about the messages. She’s sipping her coffee when she almost drops it as she feels my hands squeezing her ass. I grab her hips when she tries to turn around, wanting to press them into her skin.
“I made coffee.”
“Bet it tastes amazing.” She nods, holding the cup with trembling fingers. “Can I have a taste?” I ask, my voice hoarse with lust.
“Sure,” she murmurs, handing me the cup.
I kneel down slowly, rubbing my nose against the line that separates her buttocks, and spread them apart, giving me perfect access to the fluids that slide out of her folds.
The ceramic shatters against the floor as a strangled moan escapes her, my tongue already sliding from her entrance to her wet lips.
“I-I’m sorry,” she stutters between gasps, her fingers gripping the countertop.
Her trembling legs make me harder than a fucking stone and my heart beating faster inside my ribcage.
I run my tongue over her a couple more times before getting up and grabbing a handful of her hair.
Then I carry her to the kitchen island and tilt her body, forcing her legs wider apart with my foot.
Now I have a better view of her swollen, wet pussy.
I can still taste her on my tongue when I pick up one of the pieces of porcelain left on the floor. My breathing becomes more erratic at the thought of tasting her blood again.
“Don’t move,” I warn, brushing her skin with the piece of broken porcelain as I slowly put two of my fingers into her and move them around.
My tongue also comes out, trapping her little bud between my teeth before licking and sucking her juices.
The taste of her and her blood together makes my eyes roll back in my head with pleasure.
I take her moans as a sign to dig the piece even deeper into the skin of her right inner thigh, tracing lines as I let her milk my fingers as if they were my cock.
I pull away, hating the idea. I still need a little more depth to make the scar more visible.
“Please,” she whispers in a breathless voice with a pleading look that could have had me at her feet.
“I’ll be right back. If you move, I’ll tie you up.”
Of course she didn’t listen. When I come back to the kitchen she already has a piece of the broken porcelain in hand, the other one close to her pussy, about to touch herself. I grab her hand and pulled it away from there.
“I told you not to move.”
She takes a few steps back as she watches me take off my belt. She keeps moving away from me until she reaches the door, forgetting for a moment about the cut on her leg.
“Come here, Lena.”
She doesn’t move. Her smile testing my patience while her hand starts to slowly caress her stomach, stopping at her pierced belly button.
As soon as I take another step, she sprints to the stairs.
It takes me only a few seconds to catch her by grabbing her.
She screams and thrashes in my arms when I lift her into the air.
Then I tie her wrists to the railing with my belt under her watchful gaze.
“What are you going to do?”
“Whatever comes into that beautiful head of yours, lyubov’.” My words are barely a whisper, though not far from the truth.
Her skin bristles and her legs tremble when I slide the razor across her thighs with a simple stroke. I listen to her soft moans and gasps in the background as I continue to trace those lines. It is truly the best melody I have ever heard.
She opens her legs wider, giving me better access to her inner thighs.
She had been really eager to have my razor on her skin, although I knew that long before she did.
Ever since I heard her involuntary moan when she accidentally cut her finger slicing a piece of apple and then pressed the wound, probably wishing to experience that pain again, as I did when I was younger than her.
I still remember the look on her face when I discovered her.
I had waited too long to satisfy my little demon.
I press my lips together as I move my right leg. It hurts more than the other cuts by far, I guess it had been much deeper and I don’t know why. The bathroom door opens. I smile when I see him with a first aid kit.
“Let me see,” he whispers softly, pointing to my leg.
I hiss as I move it slightly, revealing the swollen, bloodied skin, and for the first time I’m afraid that one of his cuts might become infected. My mouth falls open when I see the needle he takes out of the first- aid kit.
“What’s that?” I hesitate, still looking at him. He kisses my lips. He swallows my pained scream with a kiss as I feel the needle pierce my wound, injecting something that burns like liquid fire. But soon, the burning fades, and I am surprised to feel my leg go numb... Has he anesthetized me?
He looks at me with dilated pupils and a warm smile.
“It’ll be fine,” he says, referring to my leg.
His hand gently caresses my thigh. My leg goes numb as his kisses travel across my face. By the time I react, he has already begun to carefully stitch up the cuts in my wound.
I feel nothing, but my heart beats strongly as I stare at the small thread passing through my skin. I can barely make it out among all the blood. When he finishes, he cuts the excess thread with his teeth, disinfects it, and bandages the cuts.
I unbuckle my seatbelt and wait for him to get out of the car to open the door for me. He says something to his men before taking me in his arms again and walking me to the door. The mere thought of someone seeing us like this makes me panic.
“I think I can manage on my own,” I say on the verge of a heart attack when I see him ring the doorbell.
“It’s always better to be safe than sorry.” I look at him annoyed, making his smile fade. Telling him to get off would be useless.
I try not to laugh when he starts biting the curve of my neck, tickling me. However, moments later, my heart nearly stops when I hear the door open. I regain the colour that drained from my face when I see Jason on the other side, his expression changing from confused to amused in seconds.
“He ended up leaving you in a wheelchair, I see.” His comment is the last straw. I can’t even nag at him because I’m too busy remembering how to breathe without dying of embarrassment. He, on the other hand, doesn’t seem bothered. He even gives a hint of a smile.
He’s climbing the stairs with me in the same position, my cheeks still red, when his laughter snaps me out of my reverie.
“What’s so funny?” I ask, frowning.
He shakes his head and smiles. I stare at his mouth in awe as he arranges some cushions behind my back. I’d never get tired of saying how beautiful his smile is. It softens his features to the point of making him look like someone who doesn’t have a hint of violence in him, despite all the tattoos.