Chapter 3
Chloe
I shriek, yanking the duvet up. “What are you doing here? How did you even get in?”
Kazimir gives me a look that says I already know the answer. “I missed you, so I came over.” His voice is low, amused, hungry. “So you were touching yourself imagining it was me.”
I’ve already been caught. Denying it would only make me look stupider, but admitting it would be too embarrassing. I say nothing, and he takes my silence as confirmation.
Satisfaction flashes across his face. He uncrosses his legs and starts toward the bed. I scramble back toward the headboard without thinking, which is a mistake. The duvet slips. My nightgown is already rucked up around my hips, and now everything from the waist down is bare to him.
I grab for the covers, but he’s quick, and yanks them away.
“Do it again.” His voice comes out as a growl this time.
“What?”
“Take the nightgown off, and touch yourself again. No toy this time, use your fingers.”
This is insane. He is a dangerous man who keeps finding his way into my locked apartment. I should be screaming, throwing something, calling the police.
Instead, I’m taking him in, noticing things that I have no business with.
He looks even better than he did that first night.
He has a white shirt on, the sleeves rolled up to reveal those corded tattooed arms. His dark hair looks a little ruffled, like he’s been pulling his fingers through it all day.
He looks so good, which should be illegal.
Against every reasonable voice in my head, I pull the nightgown off and let it fall to the bed. His gaze drags over me, slow and hungry.
“So fucking beautiful,” he growls. “Touch yourself. Go on, baby. Let me see you.”
I slide my hand between my legs. I’m embarrassingly wet.
“Spread those legs. I want to see all of you.”
I do. Wider. Enough that he can see everything. I drag my fingers through the slickness, circling, parting myself for him. His throat works like he’s holding himself back, and a reckless part of me loves that. Loves that I can put a man like him on the edge.
I push two fingers inside myself. A moan slips past my lips and my eyes start to close.
“Eyes on me.”
I force them open and keep them on his.
“That’s it. Touch your tits. Pinch your nipples. Don’t you dare look away.”
I follow every order, fingers working between my legs, other hand on my breast, breath breaking. This one builds faster and harder than the orgasm he walked in on. That was nothing compared to this. Him watching, telling me what to do, looking at me like he wants to ruin me.
“Kazimir—” My voice cracks. “I’m going to come.”
“Come for me baby.”
I throw my head back and break with a loud cry, shaking through it, gasping. When I finally open my eyes again, he’s already stripped down to black boxer briefs, and there is nothing restrained left in his face.
There’s a fresh bandage around his side.
He must have gotten someone to dress it.
Then my eyes move from his wound to the rest of his body.
He is all hard lines under the bedroom light.
Washboard abs, an eight-pack (yes, I actually counted them) cut deep enough to cast shadows, ink scrolling over his chest and down each arm.
The tattoos disappear under the bandage and pick up again along his ribs. He looks like a Greek god.
He climbs over me and brackets my thighs with his, caging me in. Then he catches the hand I just had between my legs, brings my wet fingers to his mouth, and licks them clean. A low sound leaves him.
“Fuck. You taste like heaven.”
Then his mouth comes down on mine. The kiss is better than anything I imagined. He kisses like he knows what he’s doing. He leads, I follow. I mimic the slide of his tongue, the pull of his lips, and lose time inside it. When he finally breaks away, his voice is wrecked.
“I need to taste you. Properly.”
He kisses down my throat, over my collarbone, then takes his time with my breasts, sucking, teasing, dragging his tongue over each nipple until I’m arching off the mattress. Then lower, over my stomach, and between my legs.
The first pass of his tongue over my clit makes me throw my head back. “Kazimir—”
He doesn’t rush. He eats me out like he has the whole night to do it.
He circles, flicks, then flattens his tongue and licks through me in one slow swipe before pushing inside.
I try to close my legs. He doesn’t let me.
He hooks them over his shoulders and holds me open, eating me like he’s been starving for it.
“Oh…Kazimir…”
My hands fist in his hair. I tug. I cry out. The walls in this building are thin. I know Mrs. Alvarez next door can probably hear every sound coming out of my mouth. But I do not care.
He eats me with relish, like I’m a three-course meal he has no intention of sharing. My hips buck. He pins them down and keeps going until the second orgasm slams into me harder than the first, dragging a scream out of my throat.
When he lifts his head, his eyes are dark and glazed, his mouth shining with me. I watch him drag his thumb across his lower lip, then suck it clean.
“Sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever had on my tongue,” he says.
He comes back up and kisses me. I taste myself on his mouth and chase it, our tongues sliding together. His cock presses against me through his briefs, teasing my entrance with every shift of his hips. It’s not enough. I buck up, hunting friction, and still it’s not enough.
He breaks from my mouth to kiss down my neck, then takes my breasts in his hands again. I had no idea they were this sensitive. He sucks, bites gently, pinches just enough to make me gasp, and all the while that hard length keeps dragging over where I need him most.
I become a mess. “Please,” I whimper. “Kazimir—please.”
He lifts his head. His eyes are dark and knowing. “What do you want?”
He knows. He wants to hear it anyway. “I want you inside me. Now. If you don’t, I swear I’m going to lose my mind.”
“Your wish is my command.” That smirk. The one that wrecks me. He hooks his thumbs in his briefs. I help drag them down, and then he springs free.
Whoa. He’s big. Bigger than anyone I’ve ever been with. Thick enough that my stomach flips.
“You like what you see?” he asks.
“That’s going to split me in half.”
He chuckles against my mouth. “No. It’s going to fit, and you will take it like a good girl.”
He kisses me slower now, almost careful, and slides his fingers between my legs. He teases first, then works three fingers into me. I buck at the stretch. He’s preparing me, I realize. Opening me for him.
When I’m shaking again, he pulls his fingers out, lines himself up, and holds my eyes as he pushes in inch by inch. I can see the restraint in his face. The way his jaw locks. He doesn’t want to hurt me.
“You okay, baby?”
I nod. “Keep going.”
The burn eases into something deeper, fuller. I want all of him. He gives it to me, sinking in until he bottoms out, and we both groan at the same time. We look down to where we’re joined. There is no telling where I end and he begins.
Then he starts to move. His hands pin both of mine above my head as he drags out and pushes back in, eyes locked on mine the entire time.
I cry out his name with every thrust. He puts his mouth to my ear, still kissing my neck. “Is it like you imagined?”
“Yes,” I moan. Then, because it’s the truth: “Better. Way better.”
I barely recognize the sounds coming out of me. It feels filthy and perfect and too good to be real.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he rasps. “This body was made for me. Look at you. Taking my cock so well. Such a good girl.”
The praise sinks under my skin.
“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he goes on, driving into me. “All week, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Waking up, falling asleep. You were in my head the whole damn time.”
Something in my chest loosens. It wasn’t only me. He was thinking about me too.
“You consumed me, Chloe.” He lets my wrists go and his hand slides to my throat, not squeezing, just holding, while his pace picks up. I grab his back and scratch hard enough to leave marks, moaning as he slams in deeper, more brutal now, bottoming out every time. I come again with a choked cry.
“So fucking beautiful when you come,” he says, watching me fall apart. “Look at you.”
Then he pulls out. I make a sound of protest. “Patience baby.”
He’s already dragging me up the bed, burying his face between my legs again. The shock of his mouth after his cock makes me shatter almost immediately. I cry out and come on his tongue, wet and shaking.
When he lifts his head, he looks wrecked in the best way, chin shining. Then he slams back inside me. I scream. “Fuck!”
He fucks me into the mattress like he wants us fused to it, deep and relentless, until I come again. I say his name like it’s a chant. He finally follows with a groan, burying himself to the hilt and spilling inside me.
“Fuck baby…” he groans.
He doesn’t pull out, as he rolls, taking me with him, and drags me on top of his chest, still joined, his arm locked around my back, rubbing lazy circles. We both remain like that breathless.
After a while he slowly pulls out and gets out of bed. I hear the bathroom door, then running water. When he comes back, he has a cloth in his hand. And when he cleans me so carefully with it, it almost undoes me.
No one has ever done this. I’ve read aftercare in books, and I always assumed it was something that happened only in fiction. And now this huge, tattooed stranger who broke into my apartment is wiping between my legs with so much care.
When he’s finished, he disappears into the bathroom again, and comes back to bed. He pulls me into his chest. I breathe him in, musk, wood, and something darker underneath. I rest my head over his heartbeat.
“Are you going to tell me how you got in?” I ask.
“You have a weak lock. That’s all I’m saying.”
I lift my head. “You picked my lock?”
“Tonight, yes.”
“And the first time?”
“No. You left the fire escape open. I came in that way.” His thumb traces idle circles on my shoulder. “I locked it before I left. It was still locked today. So I used the door.”
“My landlord swore that lock was safe. You need to stop doing that.”
“Then give me a key.”
“No. I just met you. I don’t even know you.”
He looks at me like I just said something funny. “Baby, I just fucked you. I had my mouth on you. My tongue inside you. My cock inside you. I came in you. And this is where you draw the line?”
The last part hits a second late. “Oh my God.” I shove at his chest. “We didn’t use protection.”
What is wrong with me? I’m a nurse, I teach patients about safe sex. And yet I let a man I know nothing about his health status I know nothing about have sex with me without protection? What is it with this man that whenever I’m around him? I lose every sense of reasoning?
“Calm down. I’m clean.”
I give him a look that says I am not taking a break-in artist at his word.
“I can send you my tests,” he says. “Clean as a whistle.”
I shake my head. “Don’t. There’s no need. But this—” I swallow. “This won’t be happening again.”
In one second he has me on my back again, and he leans over me until all I can see is those dark blue eyes.
“That’s where you’re mistaken, sweetheart. This isn’t ending anytime soon. This is only the beginning.”
Before I can respond, he starts kissing me, and yet again, every self-restraint I have goes out the window. He goes on to eat me out again, and then uses my vibrator on me until I come so many times I can’t keep my eyes open. I pass out in his arms, wrecked.
In the morning the bed is empty again. No note this time. Just the indent of his body and the same disappointment as before. Kazimir is gone.