Chapter 16
LIESL
My heart is racing, and I can't think.
Andrei just made me come so fucking hard. I can feel the throb of it between my legs still, my muscles limp and my body boneless from the force of the orgasm. I'm embarrassingly drenched between my legs, and I think I might have bruises on my thighs tomorrow from how hard he was gripping me.
And I want more.
This shouldn't be happening. I shouldn't want this—shouldn't want him—with this desperate, aching intensity that makes it hard to breathe. He kidnapped me. He's killed people. He's keeping me prisoner in a war I never asked to be part of.
But when he looks at me like he is right now, I can't remember why any of that should matter.
Andrei rises up on his knees, shedding his pants the rest of the way and leaning over me. I can still feel his cum on my skin, sticky and cooling, but it's not gross the way I've thought it was with anyone else. It feels… right. Like I should have him on me. In me. Everywhere.
He leans down, his hot cock pressing against my belly as his mouth finds mine again, and I tilt my chin up, kissing him back willingly.
I don't know how we got here. All I know is that I can't stop touching him, wanting him.
Can't imagine being anywhere else but here, in his arms, in whatever this is between us.
The weight of his body presses me into the mattress, and I feel safe.
Confined in a place where all that matters is him and I and how good this all feels—the wetness between my thighs that's all for him, the hot, throbbing ridge of his cock on my cum-slicked belly, the press of my mouth against his, the cool of his piercings against my skin.
"Liesl," he murmurs against my mouth. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and he makes a sound low in his throat that vibrates through both of us. His hand slides down my side, over my hip, my thigh, and then he's lifting my leg, hooking it over his hip, opening me to him.
He reaches down with his other hand, moving his cock so that it's angled against me. I feel the piercing through the tip of his cock rub against my senstiive, swollen clit, and I let out a mewling gasp of pleasure that makes Andrei's eyes darken.
"You like that, ptitsa?" He angles it again, brushing the tip against my clit once more. When my hips jerk, his lips curl in a slow, sensual smile, and this time he does it purposefully. "Come for me again, then."
I stare up at him, wide-eyed, as he starts to fuck my clit with the tip of his cock.
He rubs it back and forth in a steady rhythm, the heat of his swollen tip and my aroused flesh contrasting with the cool of the metal in a way that feels like it could drive me insane.
He rubs me for a moment more, then grabs my legs, hooking them around his hips on either side and then pushing two fingers of his left hand into my pussy.
He buries them in me while he holds his cock with his right hand, pushing that pierced flesh over mine again and again as he drives me closer and closer to the edge for the second time.
And then, the second orgasm hits.
The pleasure starts at the crux of my thighs and radiates outward, through bones and muscle, sending spasms of sensation through my body that are stronger than anything I've ever felt.
Every orgasm he gives me is like nothing I've experienced before.
It's intense and passionate and makes me want to burst into tears, but I'm so overloaded I can't even do that.
My back arches and I grab at his arm, scratching, and I think I hear him groan.
My pussy clenches around his fingers, and then he pulls them out, and I whimper.
I feel the blunt head of his thick, pierced cock push against my entrance, and then he starts to slide in, so excruciatingly slowly that I swear I can feel every ridge, every vein on his shaft as I clasp around him, still fluttering from the orgasm.
A low, deep sound pulls from his chest, and he leans forward, his chest and belly pressed to mine. His body is so hard, thick with muscle, and he wraps his fingers around my wrists, pulling them over my head as he kisses me again.
His cum is on both of us now, as his body moves against mine, mingling with our sweat.
The tip of his cock is inside of me, then the first piercing below it, the thickness of his shaft stretching me despite two orgasms and how fucking wet I am.
My pussy flutters around him again, and I feel his hips jerk as a rasping gasp comes from him.
His ice blue eyes lock onto mine, and I feel my heart pounding. There's a well of emotion in his face like what I saw that first night when this happened, when I helped patch him up in the bathroom. Like there's something between us that neither of us wants to admit is real, but is.
Another inch, another piercing. Every time he's in me, I'm so full it almost hurts, but I don't want him to stop.
I clutch at his hands wrapped around my wrists, my hips arching. "More," I whisper, and his eyes darken.
"You want more of my cock, ptitsa? Then ask sweetly." His hips tilt, giving me another inch, and I whimper helplessly.
"Please. More, Andrei, please…" I feel like I can't breathe.
He gives me more, inch by slow inch, the piercings rubbing spots inside of me that I never knew could be touched.
His pelvis brushes my clit as he rocks deeper, more of his cock sinking into me, and I feel like I'm going to sob. I'm going to come. I might do both.
That last inch slides into me, his hips meeting mine, and I shatter.
I feel my entire body tense and clench around him, rippling as I squeeze his cock, writhing beneath him.
There's pressure against my clit from where his hips are resting, but it's not just that…
it's the feeling of him inside of me, stimulating me everywhere, and I feel like I'm going to come forever.
It comes in waves, pleasure pulsing through me, and then he starts to move.
A sob tears from my lips. "Oh God, Andrei, Andrei… oh God, oh God…"
"Fuck, ptitsa, yes," he groans, his cock moving in and out of me in long, slow thrusts.
Each time his hips meet mine, his taut flesh rubbing against my swollen clit, I let out another gasping sob.
"Fuck, I don't want to come yet." He lets go of my wrists, gripping my thighs again to part them wide so he can see himself sliding in and out of me.
"Don't." I clutch at his arms, arching against him. "I don't want it to stop. Oh God. Please don't stop."
"I don't want it to, either." The words rasp from his chest, his jaw clenched, his eyes wild with lust. "Fuck, I'll hold it as long as I can… fuck, your pussy is so fucking perfect…"
He rocks into me again, his muscles flexing with the effort of holding back. It's so good. I feel tears rolling down my cheeks from the intensity of it, my heart beating so hard I feel like it might burst out of my chest. How am I ever going to leave, knowing it can be like this?
I don't know what to do with the way it makes me feel—like I'm coming apart and being put back together at the same time, like every slow thrust is rewriting something inside me.
I touch his face, trace the sharp line of his cheekbone, the scar that cuts through his eyebrow. His eyes are closed now, his jaw working with the effort of fucking me without losing control.
"Andrei," I breathe, and his eyes open, locking onto mine. The intensity in his gaze steals my breath. He's looking at me like I'm the only thing in the world that matters, like everything else—the war, his men, the danger—has fallen away and there's only this. Only us.
He leans forward and kisses me again, deep and slow, his tongue sliding against mine in the same rhythm as his hips.
I'm drowning in sensation—the slide of his body inside mine, the weight of him pressing me down, the taste of him, the sound of his breathing harsh and uneven in my ear.
My hands slide into his hair, and I hold on as the pleasure builds, different from before.
It spreads through my entire body, all warmth and pressure, and he rocks into me again.
"Look at me," he murmurs, and I realize my eyes have drifted closed.
I force them open, and the connection when our gazes meet is almost too much. But I don't look away. His hand slides between us, finding where we're joined, and his thumb circles my clit with perfect pressure. The added sensation makes me gasp, makes my hips arch up to meet his, and he groans.
"That's it, ptitsa," he murmurs. "Let me feel you."
The pleasure builds and builds. It's gradual, rolling, like waves getting higher and higher until I'm not sure where one ends and the next begins. Sounds spill from my lips, soft whimpers and gasps, his name, over and over. His movements stay controlled, even as I can see the strain in his face.
And then I come again.
The waves roll through me, and I feel him break.
He surges into me, the piercings intensifying my pleasure, and I feel him stiffen and throb, feel the hard crush of his mouth against mine, devouring me for the first time tonight as the gentleness breaks apart and he takes me.
His tongue thrusts into my mouth, his cock thrusts into my body, and spurt after spurt of hot cum starts to fill me, as I tighten around him, milking him in spasms. I cry out, clutching at him, and he buries his face in my neck, his hips stuttering as he follows me over the edge.
Tears are rolling down my temples. I'm still coming, and so is he, a flood of heat inside of me as I arch and twitch against him.
He groans, gasping, and it finally starts to subside.
He collapses against me, careful not to crush me with his full weight, and we lie there tangled together, both of us breathing hard and trembling.
I don't want him to move. I'm not ready to turn this back into what it was before—captor and captive, criminal and victim. This is terrifying and confusing and I don't understand how I got here, how I went from being kidnapped to lying in his bed, holding him like I never want to let go.
He shifts slightly, and I tighten my arms around him instinctively. He makes a soft sound—almost a laugh, but not quite—and presses a kiss to my shoulder. "I'm not going anywhere," he murmurs.
The words should be a threat. A reminder that I'm trapped here, that I don't have a choice. Instead, they feel like a promise.
He finally pulls out of me, and I feel the loss immediately. But he doesn't go far. He rolls onto his side and pulls me with him, tucking me against his chest, one arm wrapped around my waist and the other sliding under my head.
I should feel trapped. Confined. But instead, I feel safe. That realization should terrify me more than anything else that's happened. It should send me scrambling away from him, putting distance between us, rebuilding the walls I've let crumble.
But I don't move. I just press closer, resting my head on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath my ear.
His hand strokes slowly up and down my spine, and the gentleness of the touch makes my eyes sting again. I lie there, breathing him in, feeling the rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his skin against mine.
"What are we doing?" I whisper into the darkness.
His hand pauses for a moment, then continues its slow path up and down my back. "I don't know."
The honesty in his voice—the admission that he's just as lost as I am—should be frightening. Should make me feel more uncertain, more vulnerable. Instead, it makes me feel less alone.
"I should hate you," I say quietly.
"Yes."
"I should want to leave."
"Yes."
"I should be terrified of you."
His hand tightens slightly on my hip. "Are you?"
I think about it for a moment. Am I afraid of him? Of what he's capable of? Of the violence I know he's committed, the blood I've seen on his hands?
"Sometimes," I admit. "But not right now."
He's quiet for a long moment. "You should be. Even now. Especially now."
"Why especially now?"
"Because this—" He stops, and I feel the tension in his body as he struggles to find words for something he doesn't understand either. "This is more dangerous than anything else."
"I know," I whisper.
His arms tighten around me, and I feel him press a kiss to the top of my head. The gesture is so tender, so at odds with everything I know about him, that it makes my chest ache.
I don't know how long we lie there. Time feels suspended, as if nothing can happen while he's holding me in his arms. There's just the warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the gentle stroke of his hand on my skin.
Eventually, I feel myself starting to drift, exhaustion pulling me under.
I fight it for a moment, not wanting to let go of this, not wanting to wake up and find it was a dream or that he's gone or that everything has changed back to what it was before.
"Sleep, ptitsa," he murmurs. I let my eyes close, let myself sink into the warmth and safety of his arms, and for the first time since I was taken, I fall asleep without fear.