Chapter 8 #2
Now I know his name. His men have stood between Peggy and a gun, and I've watched him carry dinner into our ruined shop. I want to see how he looks at me when nobody needs rescuing or paying.
“I was going to come up before Peggy saw the post,” I tell him.
“You can come up whenever you want.”
It's easy to picture myself here again. That surprises me more than the room or the way Klim left when Bogdan gave the order.
I could finish a fitting, climb these stairs and find him waiting.
I want another evening at our crooked table too, with his jacket over the chair and his food getting cold because he's listening to me.
I move closer, bringing our joined hands into my lap.
“I wanted to see you.”
“I've been waiting for you to finish downstairs.” He lifts my hand and kisses the inside of my wrist.
For a moment I forget the people below us. His mouth is warm against my skin, and when he looks up, I'm already leaning toward him. I kiss him before I can make a joke to soften what I've said.
He gets to his feet with my hand still in his, leading me toward the adjoining sitting room. Through its open door I see tall mirror panels along one wall, lamplight falling across the rug. He closes the door behind us.
The closed door softens the music. Tall mirrors throw our reflections back at us in strips of gold lamplight.
My black velvet cat dress suddenly feels like a costume I’m still half inside of, cute and ridiculous after the day I’ve had, and I want him to take it off me before I can think about the photograph again.
“Come here,” Bogdan says.
I go to him. He kisses me deeper than he did on the seat, one hand at the back of my neck, the other finding the zipper along my spine.
The velvet loosens. He peels it down my arms slowly, watching my face in the glass behind me as my tits spill free.
Cool air finds my nipples. He squeezes them, thumbs circling, then pinches until I gasp into his mouth.
“Sensitive,” he murmurs.
“Don’t stop.”
He doesn’t. He works the dress over my hips and lets it drop around my ankles. I’m bare underneath except for the little headband still sitting crooked in my hair. His smile turns wicked when he sees that. “Keep the ears on.”
I laugh, soft and shaky, and reach for his shirt.
Buttons give under my fingers. I push the fabric off his shoulders, run my palms over the hard plane of his chest, then get his belt and fly open while he watches me like he’s been waiting for this all afternoon.
His cock springs into my hand, thick and already hard.
I stroke him once, firm, and he makes a low sound that goes straight through me.
He turns me toward the mirrors. “Look.”
I do. I’m naked except for velvet ears, with him behind me, larger and still half-dressed. His hands look dark against my pale skin. He cups my tits and pinches my aching nipples while I watch, and the sight of it makes my pussy clench empty and desperate.
“On your knees.”
I drop to the rug. He guides my hands to the edge of a low table beside the mirror for balance, then kneels behind me, spreading me open with both thumbs.
His mouth finds my pussy from behind, hot and greedy, tongue pushing into me before dragging up over my ass.
I moan into the quiet room. He eats me like that for a long time, moving from my pussy to my ass and back again, until I’m dripping down my thighs and rocking back onto his face.
He spanks me once, sharp enough to make me jump. Heat blooms across my cheek. I moan for more, and he gives it, open-handed cracks that make my pussy throb while his tongue returns between them. He’s filthy and thorough, giving me exactly what I ask for.
“Bogdan.”
“Say it.”
“Fuck me.”
He rises onto his knees behind me, gathers my hair in his fist and pulls my head up so I have to look at us in the mirror. His cock slides along my wet pussy, teasing, then he drives in deep in one hard thrust. The stretch steals my breath. I cry out with a half laugh and shove back onto him.
He rides me hard, pulling my hair taut as his hips slam against me.
One hand stays in my hair while the other reaches around to squeeze my tits and pinch my nipples in time with every stroke.
In the glass I watch myself take him, my mouth open and the ears bouncing, my pussy stretched around his cock.
Something wild and shameless wakes all the way up.
“That’s it,” he growls against my shoulder. “Take it. Look at you. My pretty little slut who came upstairs to get fucked.”
The word lights me up. I push back harder, greedy for every rough inch. He bites my shoulder, teeth sharp, and I come around his cock with a broken sound, shaking, pussy fluttering as he fucks me through it without slowing.
He lasts longer than I do. When he comes the first time, he buries himself deep and empties into me with a rough groan, his cock pulsing hard. I feel every hot, thick pulse of it.
We stay locked for a breath. Then he pulls out, still hard enough, and the wet slide of him leaving makes me whimper.
“Lie down,” he says. He pushes me down onto the rug.
My cheek finds the soft pile, warm from our bodies, and he pins me prone with a hand between my shoulder blades.
His cock finds my pussy again, slick with his cum, and he sinks back in to the hilt.
From this angle he’s relentless, his deep, grinding strokes pumping his first load deeper as he fucks me again.
I turn my face enough to see us in the nearest mirror. His weight presses along my back while my ass lifts beneath him, his cock disappearing into my pussy again and again. The sight makes me moan into the rug.
“Again,” I whisper. “Please.”
He gives it to me with my hair in his fist. Another spank makes me clench around him. He bites the top of my shoulder and comes a second time buried deep, pinning me flat while his cock jerks and fills me again.
For a few long seconds neither of us moves. Music throbs faintly through the wall. My cheek stays pressed to the rug. I can smell his cologne and sex and the orange peel still clinging to him from his drink. I laugh softly, stunned and glowing, filthy in the best way.
He eases out carefully. Cum threatens to spill as he gathers me up against his chest, kissing the place he bit, then the corner of my mouth. When he finally reaches up and lifts the headband free, his fingers are gentle on the bent ear. “We’ll put these back,” he says. “In a minute.”
I nod against his throat, still smiling, and let him hold me while my legs remember how to work.
Once we're dressed, he carries the headband back into the box.
Back beside the velvet seat, Bogdan holds my headband while I find the clip for the tail. It's caught on the side of the chair where I left it. When I straighten, he puts the ears back on my head, taking such care with the bent one that I start laughing.
“Better?” I ask.
He looks at me for a moment. “Very.”
I take his hand on the way out. At the stairs, he moves beside me and keeps it, even when Matvei steps forward to tell us Peggy's ready downstairs. I hadn't realized how much I'd want that until he does it.
Peggy waits by the fitting-room door with Ethan. He's carrying her coat over his laptop bag. At the sight of me she smiles, then looks at our joined hands.
“There you are.” She takes Ethan's arm. “We're going to dinner. And before you make me explain this three times, he's my boyfriend.”
“Since when?” I ask.
“Since he asked me properly.”
Her happiness makes me smile. Beside her, Ethan looks pleased with himself as she turns to introduce him to Bogdan.
“Ethan Jennings. He photographed the launch.”
Ethan shakes his hand. “Peggy told me about the room. Thank you for letting them work here. She was worried about missing the fittings.”
“They can stay as long as they need,” Bogdan says, keeping me beside him.
Ethan's attention returns to Peggy when she starts searching her bag for her phone.
He has it in his coat pocket. She must've given it to him while they were packing. When he hands it over, she kisses his cheek without interrupting what she's saying about dinner.
I think of her sitting beside me in the car after the shooting, turning her hands over because she couldn't believe there was no blood. Tonight she's deciding where to eat. I want her to have a whole evening when that's the hardest decision she makes.
While the men wait beside Matvei, Peggy leans close, her hair brushing my cheek.
“Keep him,” she whispers. “I'm keeping mine.”