Chapter 5 #3
I almost pull my gun out and shoot all three of them. I will, if I stand here thinking about it another second.
What the fuck is wrong with me? She’s not mine. I shouldn’t care who hears her moan or who fantasizes about her. But I’m going to kill my own men on the possibility they might if this goes on a moment more.
I clear my throat. “Go switch out with the next shift,” I tell them sharply.
“Boss—” One glances at me. “Shift change isn’t for another hour.”
My hand strays toward my gun. “I said now.”
This is stupid and reckless. Some of my men aren’t too bright, but not all three can possibly be dumb enough not to think that I have some ulterior motive for switching guards early.
Not when they can hear Liesl moaning on the other side of the door, not when they probably heard her earlier, when I was in her room.
They’re going to suspect something is going on. That I’m going to go in and fuck her. That I’m using the captive for my own pleasure, endangering the possibility of ransom, maybe even lying about her father asking for more time so that I can have more time of my own.
And right now, I don’t fucking care.
That right there should tell me that she’s dangerous enough to my control, to my good sense, that I should kill her right now. Open the door and shoot her where she’s lying, and fuck the money. Fuck her.
But not like that.
I should at the very least walk away—go back to my room and pretend I didn't hear anything.
Instead, as the guards disappear down the hall, I move closer to her door.
The sounds are clearer now. I hear small gasps and soft moans that she's trying to muffle but can't quite contain. The rustle of fabric. The creak of the bed. She's in there, touching herself.
Thinking about what? About the kiss? About me?
The thought makes my cock fully hard again, pressing insistently against my trousers. I’m aching as if I didn’t just come more than I have in recent memory. As if I didn’t just soak my fist and my abs with my release.
I press my ear closer to the door. I shouldn't. This is wrong on every level. But I can't make myself walk away. I’m throbbing now, pulsing with every soft moan from the other side. I imagine I can hear how wet she is, squelching against her fingers. I wonder if she’s dripping on the sheets, her thighs slick with it.
If her legs are tight together around her hand or spread out for better access.
I want to know how she touches herself, back and forth or small circles, one finger or two, if she has fingers inside herself right now, pretending they’re mine. That they’re me.
I hear her breathing—faster now, more ragged. I hear the small sounds she's making, desperate, wanting sounds that go straight to my cock.
Is she thinking about me? About the way I kissed her? About what would have happened if I hadn't stopped?
My hand goes to my zipper without conscious thought. I slide it down slowly, quietly, my eyes fixed on her door like I can see through it.
The security taking over for the guard change I demanded will be back at any moment. They could find me out here in the hallway, cock in hand, jerking off while I listen to my captive touching herself on the other side of the door.
If I thought that fucking her would make them question me, that would be a thousand times worse. They’d lose all respect for me, if they caught me out here touching myself instead of going in there and taking what I want.
But I can’t cross that line. Something tells me if I do, this will spiral out of control. But I can’t walk away, either.
I can picture her in there, on that bed.
Her hand between her legs. Her head thrown back.
Her lips parted on those small moans I can hear through the door.
I free my cock and wrap my hand around it.
It's already hard, already leaking. I’m already desperate for release again even though I came just a short while ago, and I can't stop.
I stroke myself slowly, matching the rhythm to the sounds she's making. When her breathing speeds up, my hand moves faster. When she moans, I have to bite my lip to keep from groaning in response. She’d hear me if I did. Someone would hear me.
Someone might catch me, and the thought only makes me harder. When the fuck did I become this reckless? I’ve never been an exhibitionist or a voyeur. I like rough sex, a little bondage, but nothing out of the ordinary. Have I been under so much pressure for so long that I’ve finally snapped?
What the fuck has this little bird done to me?
I imagine what she looks like right now.
Is she still dressed or did she strip down?
Is she under the covers or on top of them?
How wet is she? God, she must be wet. I can hear it in the sounds she's making—that desperate, needy sound that comes from being aroused and empty and wanting to be filled.
My hand moves faster on my cock. I'm leaking steadily now, using it to ease the friction, imagining it's her hand instead of mine. Her mouth. Her pussy. I hear her gasp, louder this time, less controlled, and I know she's getting close.
The knowledge that she's about to come, that I'm going to hear her fall apart, makes my own orgasm teeter on the brink of explosion.
I press my forehead against the door and stroke faster.
Harder. My breathing is harsh in the quiet hallway but I can't control it.
I feel like I can't control anything when I can hear her like this. The barest shred of it is keeping me from going in and pinning her to that bed, shoving my hard cock into her soaked pussy and giving her the cum I’m about to spurt everywhere.
She moans again. It's muffled—probably into her pillow—but I hear it clearly enough.
I can hear the desperation in it. The need.
Is she thinking about the way my hand felt on her throat?
Or is she imagining more? Imagining what would have happened if I'd kept going?
If I'd stripped her bare and touched her everywhere, if I'd made her come on my fingers before sliding inside her?
The thought of being inside her—of feeling her tight and hot and wet around my cock—makes me grip myself harder.
I'm close. So fucking close. But I'm waiting to hear her come. I need it… I need her orgasm. I need to imagine she’s clenching around my cock when I spurt.
I hear footsteps on the stairs below. The guards are coming up. Fuck. I should stop, finish in my room, but I can’t. I need to hear her come. I need it like I need to fucking breathe.
Her breathing gets faster, more erratic. I can hear the bed creaking slightly as her hips move. Can hear the small, desperate sounds she's making as she chases her release. Then she gasps, sharp and sudden, and I hear it… the sound of her coming.
It's muffled but unmistakable. A moan that starts low and builds, her breathing stuttering, the bed creaking as her body tenses and releases. The sound of her pleasure destroys me.
My orgasm hits like a freight train. I barely manage to catch myself against the wall with my free hand, my other hand still working my cock as I come hard, my jaw clenched tight to keep from making noise.
I shove my erection down into my boxer briefs, twisting the fabric around the head as I spurt to avoid making a mess on the floor and the door in front of me.
My hips jerk as if I’m fucking my cum into her, my other hand clenched in a fist.
It goes on forever, longer than before, more intense than before. I can still hear her on the other side of that door, her breathing as she comes down from her orgasm, and the knowledge that we just did this, separately but together, is almost too much.
My heart is pounding and my breathing is harsh, my hand covered in my own release. The footsteps are louder now. She's quiet on the other side of the door. Probably lying there in the dark, her body still trembling, her mind probably as fucked up as mine.
The security will be up here in a minute. I need to get the fuck out of here. I pivot, yanking my pants closed with my half-hard cock still twisted up in my soaked boxer briefs as I head quickly down the hall before anyone sees me, entirely too aware of what’s happening here.
That I, Andrei Petrov, pakhan of the Petrov Bratva, am running from my own men so that they don’t figure out that I just jerked off in the open while listening to my captive moan. So I don’t get caught.
This is fucking insanity.
I make it back to my room and lock the door behind me. Then I stand there in the dark, and try to figure out what the fuck I'm going to do about Liesl Baumann.