Chapter Sixteen
In which we all deserve a wakeup call like this one.
Vadim…
I've never slept well, even as a child. My mother would tell stories of checking on me in my bed and I'd be awake.
"You'd be lying there," she said, "watching the patterns of shadows on the ceiling, tracing your little fingers across the seams of your blankets.
I don't know how anyone survives on such little sleep. "
I do fine. I work until I'm tired. I sleep until I wake again. There's no deep meaning attached to it. However, I tend to be awake when everyone around me is deep in slumber.
Oksana looks beautiful in my bed, her virginal little white slip standing out from my dark sheets.
I've spent hours watching her sleep. First in her bed, now in mine.
Scanning the feed from the cameras I'd placed in her room, I'd look for nightmares, hoping there wouldn't be any.
Once I'd swapped out a gentler sleep medication for the garbage her father was forcing her to take, I was concerned that the new meds would allow the nightmares to slip through.
Instead, there were dreams, clearly erotic, since her fingers were buried in her panties when she woke up, orgasming wildly and clearly shocked by it.
Bozhe moy, the sight of her when she comes, her breasts and her face blushing a glorious shade of pink. The way her back arches, and that pretty mouth opens. Her lips move, but it's always silent. Once I could have sworn that I heard her say my name.
She found one of my cameras, the day before the wedding when she'd been packing. I went back in and took them all out that night before I was forced to attend my "bachelor party" with the Morozov cousins.
Rising and stretching with a silent groan, I take my phone outside on the terrace, still watching my wife in bed. I Facetime Ivan, and he answers instantly.
"Hello, boss."
"Ivan," I say. He looks tired, but this is his usual state. "Report."
"Gemma, the head design engineer is very pleased. She said the modifications on the 3D printers are going to work perfectly. They engineered a material that can maintain the flexible hold with the handgrip and the rigidity of the muzzle at the same time."
"Good."
He's used to one-word answers, so he continues. "No interest in our activity from the locals, though you did make a generous donation to the Chicago Police Benevolent Fund last week."
"Anything on the federal side?"
"None," Ivan says proudly. "This is the tightest outfit we've put together and since everything you've ever handled is always buttoned up tighter than a nun's ass, that's saying something."
"Highly visual," I say dryly, watching Oksana let out a long sigh and clutch her pillow tighter to her chest. "Anything else of concern?"
"Not exactly," he says.
"What?" The question comes out sharp and he hears my change in tone.
"Nothing on our side, of course," he assures me quickly.
"You asked me to keep an eye on Miss Oksana's house, and there's been activity.
My understanding is the household goes relatively quiet when she's out of the country.
But there's been unusual traffic around the house.
A supposed handyman who claimed he's been contracted by Miss Oksana.
The housekeeper was having none of it and wouldn't let him in.
That's not as important, though, as the activity in the woods. "
"What activity?" My hand is gripping the iron railing of the terrace tight enough to cut my finger on a rough patch on the metal.
"Someone's put up trail cameras to face the back of the house." Ivan says.
"Did you find the man who put them up?"
"No, I've assigned three men to patrol the grounds and extend into the woods with instructions to take anyone who comes back for the cameras. I know you'd want to question them."
"You are correct," I say. "Trace the trail cameras to the manufacturer."
"And that could lead us to whoever bought them," he finishes. "Of course. I am sorry to have missed your wedding." There's sincere regret in his voice.
"As am I." I'm surprised to hear the regret clear in my tone, as well. “Masha and the baby?"
"Both doing well," he says with pride. Ivan was married two years ago to a lovely girl he met in a coffee shop in Kiev. They have a baby, Lina, who always reaches her arms out to me to hold her whenever Masha brings her by.
Proving the child has terrible judgement.
"Anything else to report?" I ask.
"I'll keep an eye on the activity around your wife's former residence. As for the business, it is smooth sailing. Which, given our dour, Russian roots, we know this means something terrible is bound to strike at any moment," he says cheerfully.
I am not superstitious. But I know the odds. Everything has to run too smoothly.
"Good night," I say.
"Goodnight, Boss."
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Oksana's movement as she turns over from her usual curled-up position to lying flat on her back.
One arm is over her head, the other resting on her stomach.
She's kicked off most of the bedding. One long leg is bare, her knee slightly bent and that useless little slip sliding down her thigh to show a pair of sheer white panties.
I come back inside, absently wiping the blood from the cut on my finger on my tux trousers.
Oksana draws in a long, slow breath and lets it out with a little sigh at the end. Her hands move to her stomach, fingers twitching a bit. Her thighs squeeze together and there's another sigh.
"Yes," she whispers, just a breath of sound. "Like that."
My cock is immediately and painfully hard. Who is she dreaming of? If it's someone else, I'm going to fucking decapitate them. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I freeze as her eyelids flutter, then she relaxes again.
"So much better," she moans. Her fingers move under the little silk slip and rest on the hem of her panties before they twitch, sliding under and I see the first wet spot on the light silk and I have to grip my cock and squeeze.
My bedroom is always kept cool, but there's a light film of perspiration on her cheeks and the smooth slope of her breasts.
I use my tongue, the lightest nudge, pushing the silk away from her nipple and take one in my mouth, circling the stiffened little bud with my tongue.
Ah, now her hips are moving, circling restlessly and her fingers, clumsy in sleep, try to find her clit.
When they rise a bit, I help her by pulling her undies down and off so her hand can push between her wet lips.
The sight is delicious and unbearable at the same time, watching her thighs tighten, trying to find the right friction and the first glint of her slick fingers, stroking along the slim furrow between her legs. My self-control snaps.
Lowering my mouth over her pussy, I puff a breath of hot air over it and grin as she sucks in a breath so fast, she coughs.
Her fingers pause and my tongue slides lazily over them, tasting her, groaning silently.
It's something I'll never get tired of. I flatten my tongue, stroking up from her opening to her clitoris and circling it before putting it carefully between my lips.
There's a startled little cry, and I pause until her breathing evens out and her hips lift again, pushing herself against my tongue. I circle her clit and stop as her breathing speeds up, then circle it again, tortuously slow before I carefully suck the swollen bud between my lips.
Oksana's hand mindlessly slaps my back as I pull her clit gently. She's wet enough now that her thighs are slick, so are my lips and nose. When I brush my stubbled chin against her pussy, her thighs snap together, holding me there.
"So demanding, moy svet, my light," I barely whisper, my lips saying the words against her painfully sensitive cunt.
I give her silky folds one last, long lick before I move up the bed, leaning on my elbow to watch my other hand move to her center, my thumb brushing her softly as I slide one finger inside her.
Fuck, it's killing me to be this close and not inside her.
My cock's rubbing painfully against the zipper of my tuxedo pants, but this is for my wife tonight.
Just one finger and her eyelids flutter and I stop, only to the first knuckle, but now her back arches, pushing down and she slides my finger all the way inside her.
"Like that," I whisper in her ear. "Push against my hand. Be greedy."
She's so close now, one hand twisting the sheets and the other lands on my wrist, pushing on it and when I slide a second finger inside her and curl them against that tender little spot, my Oksana freezes first, and then dissolves luxuriously, moaning, trembling and I grin as her nails dig into my wrist.
Her eyes fly open, fully aware now, but she's coming so hard that she can't stop, one wave crashing over her, and then the next as her cunt tightens down on my fingers.
I couldn't pull them from her, even if I wanted to.
When I press my thumb down on her clit, she detonates.
Not sweet and melting like the first orgasm, this one slams into her, making her legs shake and she stares at me through it all, mouth open in a perfect little 'o,' shocked, but not angry.
Now, she speaks and it's one sentence.
"It was you."