5. Tamara
TAMARA
What am I doing?
I don’t trust him. I don’t trust anyone outside of the Ivanov organization; Leonid taught us this when he first welcomed me and Ivana into his home, and it’s a lesson that I have never forgotten.
But my body has overruled my head on this one, and I can no more walk away from him without knowing all that he has to give than I could ever stop searching for my sister.
I don’t trust him, but I want him.
My legs are trembling so violently that I can barely walk as I follow him along the alleyway and into the back of a taxi. I can still feel his fingers inside me. Can still taste my own juices that I licked from his fingers. And it isn’t enough.
The only thing I am certain of is that he doesn’t know where Ivana is.
I don’t think about my sister as I follow him back out of the taxi when it stops and into an apartment building in the West Loop area of the city. I can’t think about her or what she would say if she could see me right now.
I’m doing this for me, and it hits me like a bolt of lightning, that this is the first time I’ve ever put myself first. In anything.
He holds my hand as we enter the elevator, his hand warm and solid and strong, and I realize a second thing: Ivana is the only other person who has ever held my hand.
We don’t speak as we ride up to his apartment.
It isn’t awkward. We’re simply trapped in our own bubbles of want, waiting for the moment when they burst at the same time.
He doesn’t release my hand when the elevator door opens.
We cross the hallway and step into his apartment together, and I take in the wall painted to resemble a forest on the far side of the living room, the squashy sofas with plump cushions, the ferns in huge terracotta pots leaning towards the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the shelves filled with books.
The room is neat but lived in, and I can immediately imagine him tossing his shoes and jacket aside at the end of a long day and flopping onto the couch with a takeout pizza and an old classic movie on the TV.
He folds me into his arms and kisses the top of my head. “Shamrock, remember.”
“Shamrock.” I repeat the word, knowing that it will be the only time I say it out loud.
His heart is thudding against my shoulder, and I tug his sweater and tank up,then press my lips to his chest. He pulls away far enough to drag them over his head and reveal the tattoo covering most of his chest: a Celtic cross decorated with such an intricately woven pattern that I could study it for hours.
I follow the outline with my fingertip up to his right nipple which is level with my mouth. He doesn’t move. Not until I go closer and suck his nipple, nibbling it between my front teeth and flicking it with the tip of my tongue.
Then he pulls me back to him and his mouth crushes mine and his hands are everywhere.
I barely acknowledge my leather jacket being tugged over my shoulders and tossed aside.
Or my T-shirt being dragged over my head.
His mouth leaves mine, and I miss it for a fraction of a moment before his lips close around my pierced nipple, his tongue flicking the tiny silver post and sending flames rippling down my spine.
“I fucking love this.” He peers up at me with a small smile.
Then he crushes my breast, his tongue flicking my nipple, while one hand slides around my waist and unzips my skirt. It pools on the floor at my feet, leaving me standing in front of him wearing only black panties and my Docs.
More Celtic tattoos decorate his back and shoulders, and I slide my hands down over them, committing them to memory as if I’m reading Braille. His dark hair curls around his ears and the nape of his neck, and he has a tiny strawberry birthmark on his left shoulder.
He straightens and cups my face in both hands, his pupils blown wide.
“Your name,” he repeats from earlier.
“Do I get an option this time?”
I’m aware of my own nakedness, of my hard nipples, and the wet patch between my legs. I’m not self-conscious or embarrassed to be undressed in his presence when I hardly know him. I’m simply marveling at the way my body reacts to his.
He grins, giving life to his dimples again, and I reach up and poke one with my fingertip.
“Your name or I fuck you with my tongue.”
My pussy throbs in response. “Your tongue.”
“Nope.” He stands back, folds his arms across his chest, and shakes his head. “If I’m not getting your name, you’ll have to do better than that.”
“I want you to fuck me with your tongue.”
“Better.”
I know what effect it has on him because I can see his erection straining to get out of his pants. “Now.” I open my legs wider, and the wet patch between my legs spreads.
He looks at me and swallows hard. “Show me. Show me where you want my tongue.”
I hook my thumbs inside my panties and slide them down over my hips, stepping out of them and my skirt when they reach my ankles. I’m about to untie my bootlaces and take them off when he grips my arm and tugs me upright.
“Keep them on.” His voice is husky. “They’re sexy as fuck.”
I chew my bottom lip and watch him closely while I reach down with one hand and rub my clit. “I want you to make me come. Right here.”
He drops to his knees in front of me, our eyes still locked as though he’s saving looking at my pussy until the last moment. “The pleasure is all fucking mine.” He grips my thighs and parts my legs further.
“I think the pleasure is going to be mine.”
A low chuckle rumbles through him. “On second thoughts, you can hold your name to ransom until we’ve exhausted all our other options.”
Without warning, he drags his tongue flat across my clit, and the result is instantaneous. A groan of pleasure escapes my lips before I can stop it, and an orgasm rushes to the surface as if it was hovering nearby, just waiting for him to touch me.
“Buckle up,” he says, sitting back on his haunches and peering up at me from between my legs. “I haven’t gotten started yet.”
His hands travel up my thighs and grip so tightly I can feel the bruises already forming.
But it’s nothing compared to the sensation of his tongue sliding inside me.
I spread my legs as wide as they can go, needing to feel as much of him as I can, and tip my head backwards as he pushes it all the way in.
And back out again. “I want to see you,” he growls. “I want to see you come.”
“Don’t stop.” My voice is whiny, pleading, but I do as he says and meet his eyes.
His eyes crinkle at the corners as he flicks the tip of his tongue across my clit, back and forth, teasing, licking, sucking between his lips. Stars explode behind my eyes, and I pant through the pleasure cresting low in my belly.
“Want me to keep going?” he teases, sitting back, but still gripping my thighs, my throbbing clit exposed to his mouth.
“Yes.” My breathing is short and shallow, the lack of oxygen reaching my brain making me dizzy.
“Say it.”
“I want you to keep going.”
“No, sweetheart. Tell me what you want.”
“I want…” I don’t even know what the fuck I want.
I’ve made myself come in the privacy of my bedroom using my wet fingers, but no one else has ever touched me down there, and his tongue feels nothing like my fingers. The ache inside my belly, and the tingling between my legs, feels nothing like the orgasms I’ve given myself either.
“I want you to suck my clit until I come.”
I slide my hands down my body and open myself up for him.
“Jesus fuck,” he murmurs in a low voice. “You’re going to fucking kill me.”
“In a good way?”
“In the sexiest fucking way imaginable.” He blows gently on my clit sending a shiver traveling down my spine. “You can’t come until I say you can.”
“Why?” I’m not sure how long I can hold my orgasm back. With my pussy open wide, my clit is already spasming.
“Because I said so.”
“It wasn’t part of the deal.”
He releases my thighs and goes to stand up, leaving me standing there with my fingers holding myself open for him, and my pussy clenching.
“Fine, deal,” I blurt out.
“Good girl.”
He gets back into position and drags his tongue flat across my tingling clit then licks it almost reverently, his gaze holding mine. The instant he starts to suck, the deal evaporates. I’m breathless, every nerve ending in my body glowing with the pleasure threatening to rip through me.
“Hold it,” he murmurs.
I’m so used to following orders that I don’t question it.
I clench my jaw and focus on the tattoos crawling down his shoulders and back, the crosses within crosses, the intricate patterns, the tiny, hypnotic three-pronged swirls.
I can still feel my clit throbbing between his lips, but I’ve compartmentalized it, separated it from the orgasm hovering like a tidal wave inside my belly.
Because he told me to.
But there’s another part of me that want … needs … to push further. To test him the way he’s testing me. He promised to fuck me with his tongue, and that’s what he’s going to do.
Clenching my jaw to hold back the orgasm waiting to explode, I raise my left leg and rest my foot on his shoulder, holding onto his other shoulder to keep my balance.
He falters, and my clit slides from between his lips. His eyes widen, the pupils swallowing the remainder of the green.
“You’ve stopped fucking me with your tongue.”
He swallows hard. “I…” He licks his lips. “You know when I said I’ve never met anyone like you before?”
I nod, trying to focus on the conversation rather than the spasms racking my clit. I want him to make me come with his tongue, not because it was part of a deal to keep my name secret, but because I’ve never experienced it before.
“Multiply that by a hundred. By a fucking million.” He presses his lips to the mound of my pussy. “Come, baby. Come all over my face and let me drink you up.”
He licks my folds first, gently, paying attention to every part of my sex, before returning to my clit. This time, he doesn’t suck. He licks it flat, flicks it with the tip of his tongue, blows on it and then licks some more as he slides a finger inside me. Two fingers. Three maybe.