27. Nina
NINA
Marta’s assistant is twenty-two years old and has not yet learned that hallway conversations carry.
I’m coming down the back stairs when I hear her on the phone, voice low, not whispering, just talking the way people talk when they think they’re alone. She says a name I don’t recognize.
Then, almost as an afterthought, that the extra men on the wall are because of the boss’s wife. That someone outside wants to use her to get to him.
She rounds the corner and sees me.
Her face goes white.
I smile at her. I tell her it’s fine. I go to the kitchen, pour a glass of water, and drink it standing at the sink. I put the glass down. I go upstairs and lie on my bed, staring at the ceiling. The threat sits on my chest like a weight. I can’t catch my breath under any of it.
An hour passes.
I get up.
I go to his room because I don’t know where else to go, because going somewhere else would be a lie, and I’ve run out of energy for lies tonight. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, jacket off, looking at his phone. He looks up when I come in and puts the phone down.
I don’t say anything.
He reaches into the top drawer of the bedside table, takes out a sachet of white powder, and holds it out.
I look at it.
Then I take it.
He takes a small amount first. I watch him, then do the same, less, just enough. I sit on the edge of the bed beside him. We wait, the room quiet, the city quiet outside the window, and after a while, the thing sitting on my chest since the back stairs starts to loosen.
Not disappear. Loosen.
The anger drains out slowly, and what’s underneath is nothing. It’s everything the anger was covering. It’s him, sitting two inches away on the edge of this bed like he has been there the whole time.
I turn and look at him.
He’s already looking at me.
I kiss him first.
The moment my lips touch his, something shifts. There’s no anger pushing us together this time. No sharp edge to hide behind. Just my mouth on his, soft at first, then deeper.
The drug is already moving through my blood, warm and slow, like honey spreading under my skin.
Everything feels a little softer around the edges.
His lips feel warmer. The taste of him is sharper.
I slide my fingers into his hair and kiss him slower, deeper, letting my tongue brush his. A low sound rumbles in his chest.
We stay on the edge of the bed, facing each other. His hands move over me like he’s learning my shape all over again. He pulls my shirt up slowly.
I lift my arms and let him take it off. Cool air touches my skin, but the warmth from the drug keeps it from feeling cold. I unbutton his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders, palms sliding over the hard lines of his chest and down his arms. Every inch of skin I touch feels electric.
He leans in and kisses my neck, open-mouthed and slow. I tilt my head to give him more. My breath catches when his tongue traces my pulse point.
The drug makes every small touch bloom bigger, hotter. I run my hands down his back, feeling the muscle shift under my palms.
He lays me back on the bed gently. The sheets feel cool against my bare back.
He kisses down my body, unhurried, like we have all the time in the world.
When he reaches my breasts, he takes one nipple into his mouth, sucking softly, then harder.
I arch into him with a quiet moan, my fingers threading through his hair.
Lower. His mouth moves over my stomach, tongue dipping into my navel. He hooks his fingers into my pants and underwear and slides them down my legs. I lift my hips to help him. When I’m completely bare, he spreads my thighs and settles between them.
The first slow lick over my pussy makes my back bow off the bed.
“Oh…” The sound slips out of me, long and breathy.
He does it again, slower this time, dragging his tongue from my entrance up to my clit. The drug turns every stroke into liquid heat. My thighs tremble.
He licks me like he’s savoring me—long, wet strokes, then soft circles around my clit, then sucking gently. Two of his fingers slide inside me, curling slowly, stroking that spot deep inside while his tongue works my clit.
Everything feels hazy and intense at the same time. The warmth in my veins pulses with every heartbeat. I look down and watch him between my legs, his dark hair between my thighs, his eyes closed like he’s lost in the taste of me.
I moan louder, hips rolling against his mouth. The pleasure builds differently tonight—not sharp and fast, but deep and rolling, like a wave that keeps growing. My fingers tighten in his hair.
“Nikolai…” I whisper.
He sucks my clit into his mouth at the same time his fingers curl again, and the wave breaks.
I come with a shaky cry, thighs clamping around his head, my whole body trembling as the orgasm rolls through me in long, warm pulses. He keeps licking me gently through it, drawing it out until I’m gasping and twitching.
Even then, he doesn’t stop right away. He presses soft kisses against my inner thighs, my stomach, my ribs, while I try to remember how to breathe.
I kissed him first.
The thought keeps circling in my head, warm and dangerous, as the drug keeps spreading through me.
I lie there for a moment, catching my breath, my body still humming from the long, rolling orgasm. The drug makes everything feel liquid and glowing. I look at him—kneeling between my spread thighs, lips shiny with me, eyes dark and fixed on my face.
I sit up slowly and push him back until he’s sitting on the edge of the bed again. He lets me. I move between his legs, kneeling on the floor in front of him, and run my hands up his thighs.
His muscles tense under my palms. I lean in and press an open-mouthed kiss to the center of his chest, then lower, dragging my lips and tongue down the hard lines of his stomach.
His breathing changes when I wrap my fingers around his cock. He’s heavy, hot, and rock-hard. I stroke him slowly from base to tip, watching a bead of precum form at the head. I lean forward and lick it off with the flat of my tongue.
He lets out a low, rough sound that goes straight between my legs.
I taste him again, swirling my tongue around the head, then taking him deeper into my mouth.
The drug makes everything more intense—the velvety heat of his skin, the salty taste, the way he throbs against my tongue. I moan around him, the vibration pulling another deep groan from his chest.
I take my time. I suck him slowly, sliding my lips up and down his thick length, one hand stroking what I can’t fit in my mouth. My other hand rests on his thigh, feeling the way the muscle jumps every time I take him deeper.
I look up at him through my lashes. His jaw is tight, eyes half-lidded, watching every movement I make.
“Fuck… Nina,” he breathes, voice hoarse.
The sound makes me wetter. I suck him harder, hollowing my cheeks, taking him as far as I can until he hits the back of my throat.
I hold him there for a second, then pull back slowly, strings of spit connecting my lips to his cock. I stroke him fast with my hand while I lick and kiss down the underside, pressing my tongue against the vein that runs along his length.
His hand slides into my hair, not pushing, just holding on. His hips twitch like he’s fighting the urge to thrust into my mouth.
I moan again, louder this time, and take him back in, sucking him with wet, filthy sounds. The drug has me feeling bold and soft at the same time. I want to feel every inch of him. I want to taste how much he needs me.
I keep going, slow and deep, then faster, then slow again, teasing him until his breathing turns ragged and his thighs start to tremble under my hands.
I pull off his cock with a wet sound and climb onto his lap. He wraps his arms around me as I straddle him.
I reach between us, line him up, and sink down onto his thick cock slowly, inch by inch, until he’s buried completely inside me. We both moan at the same time, long and low.
The drug makes the stretch feel incredible, like warm honey spreading through my body.
I wrap my arms around his neck and start moving, rolling my hips in slow, deep circles.
Every time I take him all the way in, I feel him throb against my walls.
His hands grip my ass, guiding me gently as we move together.
We stay face-to-face the entire time. Foreheads pressed together. Eyes open. I kiss him while I ride him, slow and deep, our tongues sliding lazily together. The pleasure builds in thick, rolling waves. My breasts brush against his chest with every movement. Sweat begins to slick our skin.
After a while, he grips my hips tighter and thrusts up into me harder. I moan into his mouth, the sound vibrating between us. The drug turns every sensation into something richer, deeper. I can feel every vein, every pulse of his cock inside me.
He suddenly shifts us, flipping me onto my back without pulling out. I gasp as he settles between my thighs and starts fucking me with long, slow, powerful strokes. The new angle lets him go even deeper. I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him closer.
“God… you feel so deep,” I whisper, my voice breathy.
He groans and kisses me again, never breaking rhythm. His body covers mine completely. Skin against skin. Heat against heat. Every thrust drags against that perfect spot inside me until I’m trembling underneath him.
He pulls out suddenly and turns me onto my side. He lies behind me, lifts my top leg, and slides back inside me from behind. This position feels even more intimate.
His chest presses against my back, his mouth on my neck, one hand reaching around to rub my clit in slow circles while he fucks me with deep, steady strokes.
I moan loudly, pushing back against him. The drug makes everything feel endless. Time stretches. Every touch, every thrust, every kiss on my shoulder sends sparks through my body.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he murmurs against my neck, voice rough and low. “Not like this.”
His words and the slow grind of his cock push me over the edge again. I come hard, crying out as my pussy clenches around him in long, pulsing waves. My whole body shakes. He keeps fucking me through it, slow and deep, drawing the orgasm out until I’m whimpering.
Only then does he let himself go.
He flips me onto my back again, pushes my legs wide open, and drives into me harder. His eyes stay locked on mine. Our foreheads press together once more. His thrusts become deeper, more urgent. I wrap my arms and legs around him, holding him as close as possible.
“Come inside me,” I whisper against his lips.
He groans my name and buries himself deep. His cock pulses hard as he comes, thick and hot, filling me while he trembles against me. We stay locked together, breathing hard, bodies pressed tight, riding the last waves of pleasure.
We stay like that for a long time, still joined, skin slick with sweat. The drug keeps everything soft and glowing. He kisses my shoulder, my neck, the corner of my mouth. I run my fingers slowly through his hair.
Eventually, he gently pulls out and lies beside me, pulling me against his chest. I rest my head on his shoulder and listen to his heartbeat slowly calm down. Warm cum leaks slowly between my thighs, but neither of us moves to clean up.
The room is warm and quiet. I’m lying there, the ceiling the same as it always is, him beside me, the drug still soft in my system, a warmth under my skin that makes everything slightly more honest than usual.
The question surfaces without armor.
Which side am I on?
Not the journalism question, not the Reeves question. Those have been answered whether I admitted it or not. The real question. The one underneath all the others. The one that has been building since a dark road outside the city, a voice speaking Russian, a decision I told myself was professional.
I don’t have a clean answer.
I’ve been lying here long enough to know that not having a clean answer is itself an answer. I’m not ready to say it out loud yet, not even to myself, not tonight.
But I know.