24. NINEAH
NINEAH
THE WARMTH of ten men couldn’t have matched the feeling of his hand on the back of my neck. Everywhere he touched me burned with him. Every word he spoke in his dark voice reverberated inside my belly. Almost against my will, I wanted more.
More secrets.
More stories.
History.
Context.
Nuance.
I wanted to know why he’d known exactly how and where to touch me with such precision, but had been surprised I could read Russian.
Why he’d chosen the Cyrillic alphabet for the tattoo in the first place.
Why my chest ached every time I went near him like I missed him while anxiety skittered down my spine.
So many questions. So, so many blanks I wanted desperately to fill while he drip-fed me information at an agonizing pace.
But on the other hand, I couldn’t help but wonder if some boxes were better left locked and shelved.
The prospect of my memory returning was almost as terrifying as the worry that it never would.
Whether I had crossed continents of my own volition or not, something had gone horribly wrong along the way, that much I was sure of.
But at least here, I was protected. Here, I had living, breathing proof that someone would literally search the earth to bring me home, and that living, breathing proof currently had his tongue in my mouth.
My sense tossed aside like my leggings, my pussy still throbbing from what I may as well have considered my first real orgasm, I sank into his dominance and moaned against his tongue.
In that moment, I felt it.
Real, genuine regret.
For my missing memories. For lost experiences.
For every hormonal high school fantasy that’d been instantly doused by reality the second I’d arrived at my first duty station and realized love was a psyop ran by the government to ensure we kept reproducing.
One kiss made me feel so sorry for myself, I leaned deep into it.
So much so, that after a few moments, the hand on my neck pulled me back and the man who’d just been sucking on my tongue stared.
Except, he wasn’t staring, I realized. He was tracking me.
My breaths.
Pauses.
Movements.
Expressions.
I knew it was in my best interest to remember who he was and for what he’d staked his reputation, but as I watched him watch me, all I saw was a man.
The rumored killer. The stoic interrogator. The Marine who had been the military’s most beloved tool until he wasn’t—these were the honorifics men respected as if they somehow immortalized him. But I saw now how dehumanizing they were. How isolating.
Sitting up straighter, I wondered what made a man like this lose himself. Nothing, probably. But it didn’t stop my curiosity.
My hands, looking almost disproportionate against his expansive chest, braced against him as I drew in deep inhales. I let my fingers graze him over his T-shirt, going lower over his solid abdomen until I was nearly at his belt.
His hands closed around my wrists.
“Yes?” I gasped.
Abraham’s frown was comical in the way that I could tell he probably made this expression a lot because of me.
I wet my lips. “You don’t want my mouth. You don’t want me to touch you. Do you want me to leave?”
“Is that threat?” he asked, calmly.
“I just want to respect your boundaries,” I said, half teasing, but also half serious.
Abraham wasn’t impressed.
Moving me off of his lap, he turned me around, and pushed down onto my back, bending me over the desk. My ass arching into the air, my hair in my mouth, I tried to push myself up, but a hand bigger than mine folded my arm behind my back and held it there for several seconds before letting go.
I spit my hair out. “You know, you can’t just flip me around like a sack of flour whenever you fucking feel like it! This is an offense against my free will and I resent it!”
Ignoring me, he palmed my naked bottom and skimmed the curve with his fingers. His thumb parting my pussy, he toyed with my clit, drawing a moan out of me before I could trap it. I pushed against him, desperately trying to get him where I wanted, but Abraham pulled back.
I opened my mouth to protest, but just then, his hand came down hard on my ass.
Oh fuck!
I squealed, partly in shock but mostly because it actually hurt. “Um, OW!”
He responded with another spank on the other cheek, intentionally placed far from my bruised side, and the sting reverberated throughout my entire body. My breath coming quickly, I anticipated the next blow, but it never came. Instead, Abraham went back to fondling my clit.
“It’s an offense against my intelligence that you think I can be led around by your pussy.”
“My guy, no one thinks that,” I gasped. “It’s called foreplay. And you suck at it.”
He spanked me in the exact right spot between my legs and I saw stars.
“Okay, I deserved that,” I rasped.
Abraham grunted. “That wasn’t to punish you.” Two fingers ran through my slit and ghosted my asshole before sliding back toward my opening. Splitting me with his thick middle and fourth finger, he stroked my special spot twice and I came instantly.
Ohhhh Godddd.
“I know everything about this body from its polished toes to this expensive hair,” he murmured. “And regardless of what secrets you’ve been allowed to have, what makes your juice run between your legs isn’t one of them.”
Spasming on his thick fingers, my abs sore from tensing, my body wrung itself out before finally collapsing.
Abraham pulled out and squeezed my ass, then lifted me up onto the desk, on my knees.
My arms still folded behind my back, my exposed pussy dripping onto my thighs, I didn’t know what I expected to happen next, but it certainly wasn’t for him to draw his fingers along the arch of my foot.
I froze.
Oh. Oh no.
No no no.
I actually whimpered. “Wait.”
He wasn’t lying.
The thing I’d only ever told one man, who’d uncomfortably laughed before changing the subject. The thing I’d vowed to keep behind a locked box and never tell another soul as long I lived—Abraham knew it.
I really was stupid.
Or a genius.
I didn’t know which.
I didn’t know anything but the throbbing between my legs that was now a relentless pounding.
“Veux-tu disséquer la manière qu’je te drague, mon ange?” He tapped his fingers over my instep and I seized. I tried to kick him away, but he released my wrists in favor of my ankles and continued to tickle me. “Or can I play with my favorite little freak in peace?”
Squirming on top of the desk, breathless, I surrendered to the sweet, painful helplessness, embarrassed by the squeaks and squeals I couldn’t keep in.
Oh god. This was happening. And somehow, it was so much better than my imagination.
Holding me still, with lethal precision, he manipulated my most sensitive spots like he knew exactly how to make me scream. His fingers drawing up and down the length of my feet, tickling my arches, he continued this, stopping and starting up again the second I caught my breath.
I didn’t know I could love and hate something simultaneously.
My stomach muscles tightened. My airways grew tight from exertion.
I barely noticed either because a lightheaded floaty feeling washed over me and the prickly sensation on my feet turned into tingles between my legs.
Eventually, my shrieking dissolved into whimpers and my ankles were released.
Lifting me from the desk, Abraham brought me over to the bed and repositioned me on my front.
An almost suffocating heat hit my back, and through the hazy fog of my lust-riddled brain, I vaguely registered the feel of hot skin and weight. So much weight.
My cheek flat against the sheets, I stared at nothing as a man who’d made me come twice, unzipped his pants, then dragged the heavy mass of his erection between my ass cheeks.
He kissed the space where my collarbone met the base of my throat. “Deep breaths, baby.”
I automatically drew in a sharp inhale before releasing shakily.
“Again.”
I obeyed, hearing nothing but my own blood pounding in my ears. However, before I could exhale, he fed me his monstrous dick until the blunt head crowned at my cervix.
OH.
MY.
GOD.
I came before I could take a proper breath.
Barely registering the huge hand covering my mouth, or the one that lifted my weight off the bed, I saw nothing.
Knew nothing. Just a fullness that intruded my soul as I squeezed out my orgasm like I was having it extracted from me.
I writhed in his arms, suspended over the mattress, my body paralyzed by the force of it until some semblance of consciousness clicked back online, and I realized he hadn’t even moved.
Dead weight in a massive man’s arms, I begged myself to do something, anything. Push my ass back on him, look behind me, things I’d seen—okay, in a porno. But I couldn’t move if I wanted to. For one thing, he was still holding me, but also, he was too damn big.
The hand around my mouth suddenly released me, then shoved two huge, thick fingers past my lips.
I moaned, tasting myself on him, already far too impressed with this level of competence.
If he’d been fucking me like this regularly, I’d have probably agreed to rob a bank for him, let alone commit.
What was a couple of promises sealed with a ring?
Don’t fuck anyone else? Oh no. How crushing.
The thought scared me.
“Have you had enough?” he asked, removing his fingers from my mouth.
Was he serious?
The memory of the last time I had sex was buried somewhere halfway through my enlistment a decade ago. And I hadn’t even come.
I cleared my throat. “I can’t move.”
“When I want you to move, I’ll move you.”
That should not have made wetness gush between my legs, but it did. As my head floated in that weightless place again, I answered his earlier question. “I-I’m not done.”
Abraham didn’t respond. At least not with words.
Still holding me midair like a human flesh light—something I was currently filing away as an S-tier memory—he secured his hand around my throat while his arm wrapped completely around my torso.
Angling me more upright so I had leverage against his thighs, he raised me up slowly, his massive dick sliding out of me before slamming me back down.