Chapter Twenty-Eight
In which losing a race can be so much better than winning it.
Nikandr…
I used to run like this.
When we were based primarily in St. Petersburg, Father would send us after some stupid, unfortunate bastard who tried to escape punishment. Sometimes, through the city streets and then two memorable runs through the forest by our hunting lodge.
This is so much better. Instead of running down a crying, begging traitor, I get to catch my luscious wife and fuck her.
I was deliberately rough tonight, I gave her a chance to slap me and push me away.
Instead, her pupils flared and there was a perfect little hitch in her breath when she gave me her safe word.
My head drops back and I watch my breath turn to vapor in the rapidly cooling air. Five minutes.
Looking down at the wet spot on the leg of my pants, I groan. There's nothing like the sweet slipperiness of Caroline when she's turned on, moaning, begging to come. Ten minutes.
"Better run, Plokhoy kot."
I'm off, that dark venom flowing through me again like the old days, the joy of the chase and fuck…
the stakes have never been hotter. I race down two streets and cut through the center of the block on the third.
There's an office building there that's foolish enough to keep their loading bay doors unlocked at night.
Caroline will take it. I know she's run through these streets before.
Stopping outside the door, the only thing I can hear is the even thudding of my heartbeat.
There she is… I hear the faint metallic clang of her footsteps taking the fire escape down from the rooftop of the next building over.
Good girl. She's moving faster than I thought.
I take the office building stairs two at a time, six stories.
Out on the rooftop, I breathe deep, there's the smell of dirty puddles of water from the last rainstorm.
The slight bite of salt from the ocean, carried in by the wind and because it's blowing in just the right direction, the rich berry scent of my wife, tinged with adrenaline.
My dick is rock fucking hard as I take the leap between the buildings and my race down the fire escape is not as quiet as my wife's. A window opens, the florid, angry face of a man ready to scream at me. He sees my grin and shuts his window again.
A seven-foot concrete wall looms in front of me.
I can jump it, but the barbed wire at the top requires some finesse.
As I balance on the top, swinging my leg over the wire, I see a scrap of black cotton caught in a barb.
Caroline's sweatshirt. Damnit! This way was too risky, she could have gotten hurt.
Leaping down, I head for the waterway. Not using the foot bridge means wading the waist deep water and freezing your ass off for the rest of the run or using the iron bars underneath it to go hand over hand above the water.
I don't see any wet footprints when I cross. She must have done the same thing.
I'm off again, running faster to close the distance between us. The memory of her grace when I'd caught her running across that roof at the farmer's market, her long legs, her determination and the sheer bliss I saw on her face is so vivid.
There she is, my Plokhoy kot. Hair flying behind her as she sprints across a pedestrian walkway over the train tracks.
A growl erupts from my throat and I rip off my sweaty t-shirt and close the distance, racing across the train tracks below the walkway so she doesn't spot me.
She pauses at the bottom of the steps, bent over, hands on her knees and catching her breath.
A rock hits the ground by her foot and she yelps, shooting up and turning in a dizzy circle, looking for me.
"Better run, little girl. You haven't crossed 17th Street yet."
Caroline gives a little shriek. She can't see me, hidden under the concrete overpass and she takes off again. Oh, she really doesn't want me to fuck her ass, her head is down, running shoes digging into the pavement.
There are only two streets left, two possible ways for my prey to go.
Both of them, though, end at the same point before it's a straight shot to 19th and safety.
Cutting through the middle of a block, I dodge an outraged stray cat grazing in a garbage can and an older woman, exhausted-looking, likely coming home from work.
Her hands go up as I tear down the alley.
"Mister, I don't have any money, I swear!"
I pull out my money clip and hand her some hundred-dollar bills. "Now you do. Hush, ma'am. Go inside." She looks down in confusion at the money, then her fist tightens on it and she unlocks the door and she's safely inside in seconds.
There's a narrow gap between the buildings and I call down it, "Run Plokhoy kot.
You're not safe yet." I know the sound carries perfectly in this spot, due to the building's HVAC system and the narrow space between the buildings, she can hear what I'm saying on the other side of the building, crystal clear.
I picture her face. Frightened. Determined. So fucking turned on.
Running to the end of the alley, I settle in an alcove and seconds later, she comes flying down the sidewalk. Three… two… one.
I reach out an arm and clothesline her around her waist, pulling her hard, off her feet and smothering her startled scream with my hand over her mouth.
Her eyes are huge, and a tremor runs through her before she hooks her foot around the back of my knee and yanks it forward, sending me staggering.
My grip loosens just enough, she's almost free.
Yanking her back by her hoodie, I pull it up halfway over her head, trapping her arms up and blindfolding her.
"No screaming now, unless you want an audience," I murmur before biting her lip and kissing her again.
She tastes like mint gum and fear, and my cock nearly tears through my pants.
I pull out my switchblade, holding it up so she can hear the little click as I open it and I savor her rush of breath.
Putting the flat of the blade against her lips, I let her feel the cold steel before sliding it down her throat and between her breasts, cutting her sports bra open.
There's a tiny, protesting moan when I pinch her nipple, but her hips buck against me.
"Have your nipples been hard this whole time?
" She presses her lips together and I slap her nipple with the flat of the blade, enjoying her gasp.
I kiss it from her mouth and slide the switchblade between her skin and the leggings, slicing them and her underwear loose, watching the spandex peel away from her skin.
"You-" she writhes, trying to pull free from the confines of the sweatshirt as I flip the blade, rubbing the end of the handle against her clit.
"I can smell you, Plokhoy kot. You're making my fingers slick." I run a finger through the heat and wet of her pussy and then push it between her lips. "Suck."
She does, pursing her lips and running her tongue over my finger and making me groan.
"So wet, my sweet, filthy slut. Were you looking for me over your shoulder, hoping I would catch you sooner?
There was a perfect bench a block back, I could have bent you over it and fucked you right there.
Anyone passing by could have seen you riding my cock. "
Shoving my switchblade back in my pocket, I stare at the mess I've made of her.
Ragged scraps of clothing, her breasts exposed and her slick pussy gleaming in the faint light.
Hauling her up with my hands on her ass, I squeeze them, pushing her back against the wall so I can free my hand long enough to get my zipper down and pull my cock out.
It's so hard it's painful, and when I notch the head in her pussy, she makes a little move with her hips, her legs wrapping around my waist.
"Do you want my cock?" I growl. "Even here, out in the open, fucking you up against the wall, your greedy cunt sucking me in?" My wife has strong thighs from running, and she tightens them enough that I'm certain I can hear my vertebrae crack.
Thrusting up into her, I pull her head and arms loose from the hoodie as a little scream escapes between her clenched teeth.
"Fuck, you're tight." I press my forehead against hers.
"Let me in." Her pussy's gripping me, I'm only halfway inside her and it's making me insane with need.
Another harsh thrust of my hips and I sink in deep.
"There's nothing like the feel of you. The way you clench down on me like a velvet fist. Look down, baby. Look how wet you're making me."
She does, a little moan escaping as she sees my cock opening her wide, slick and shiny from her. Wrapping her arms around me, she grabs a fistful of my hair and kisses me. "I hate you," she whispers. "You conceited fuck."
Laughing, I thrust harder, my grip on her ass tightening to bounce her up and down. "You're not complaining though, are you? You can always say your safe word."
The night is colder now, the sweat steaming off our heated skin, the silky feel of her breasts rubbing against my chest is too good. I can't come yet. This is fucking paradise, between my wife's legs.
"What? No safe word?" I chuckle mockingly.
I throw her hoodie over the rough brick of a low wall next to the building.
Hauling her off my cock, I bend her over the wall and shove back inside her in seconds.
Angling my hips, I hear her moan. "Ah. There it is," I say, "that's what you need.
Right. Fucking. There." I rub the head of my cock hard against that sensitive spot inside her and her legs are shaking.
"Do you want to come, Plokhoy kot?" I'm panting, heart pounding and my cock buried deep enough that I never want to leave her. "Hmm?"
Grabbing a fistful of her hair, I pull her head back, making her look at me. Her eyes are narrowed but her mouth is open, wet and panting. My cock is swelling and she has to beg for it before we can come. "Ask me, wife. Tell me you need to come."
"I- shit-" she groans at a particularly hard thrust. "Yes.
" It sounds like it's being dragged from her unwillingly and my fingers find her clit, rubbing it hard.
"I... I need to come, please, Sovietnik.
" She snaps out that 'k', "Please come in me.
I'm so wet anyway, you're going to drip down my thighs. "
Goddamnit.
With a final, vicious thrust, we detonate together. Her pussy grips me as her orgasm ripples through her and milks the come spurting from me. Gorgeous, rhythmic pulses squeezing my cock.
"So good," I manage to grunt. "So good, my very bad cat."
***
Sanity returns as our breathing slows together.
There's the sound of a far-off siren, someone in this building is watching Jimmy Kimmel with their window open, laughing heartily.
After putting my slick cock back in my pants, I kiss my wife, pulling her hoodie back over her head.
She presses her wet thighs together, blushing.
"I can't very well run back to the house like this. "
"No need." There's a bag I'd stashed earlier in a space between the low wall and the building. I run a wet wipe between her legs and help her slip on some sweat pants, her legs are shaking and it pleases me more than it should. "I'd never let anyone else see you like this. I'd have to kill them."
"It was a miracle no one walked by," she says, pressing her hands to her red cheeks.
"Not really," I give her a dark smile, kissing her. "I've had men stationed all along the route, making sure no one got near you."
"Oh, shit!" she wheezed. "Did they see us?"
"Not this," I say, kissing her again. "The car's waiting for us on the corner." We walk out of the alley, my arm around her waist. Her hand comes up and she laces her fingers with mine. Isaak is there, holding the door open and carefully looking in any direction other than us.
Caroline eyes the SUV, then me, then the street corner before she takes off, racing the last half block to the 19th Street sign before I can catch her.
She grins, laughing at me. "I win."
"That wasn't winning," I say, "that was a safe zone. I won because I caught you first."
"Too late," she taunts me, as the car pulls up to us. "You're just being a sore loser."
I don't care who sees us. Putting my hand on her ass, I pull her up against me. "Oh, I think tomorrow, you're going to be the sore one, Plokhoy kot." Her sly smile makes me want to drag her back into the alley.