Chapter 6
KATIE
Artur’s mouth stays still under mine for one startled second, then his free hand closes around my waist.
The pistol remains angled toward the floor beside the bed while his grip holds me without claiming more, its deliberation irritating rather than reassuring me. I press my mouth harder against his to catch his lower lip between my teeth.
Artur draws back half an inch. “Are you trying to kiss me or punish me?”
“I’m capable of doing two things at once.”
His thigh presses higher between my legs, and friction against my wet underwear sends a hard pulse through me that tightens every muscle below my stomach. I taste mint on his mouth with the faint bitterness of whatever he drank as I unpacked.
“Put the gun down,” I whisper.
Without taking his eyes from me, he reaches toward the nightstand until metal touches wood with a soft knock. The security screen still shows the raccoon abandoning the drain cover, but Artur shuts it off to leave only yellow light beneath the bathroom door.
I curl my fingers into the short hair at the back of his head and kiss him again. His lips part this time, allowing his tongue to meet mine slowly, as if he still thinks restraint belongs in this bed; I have no use for it now.
I roll Artur onto his back before climbing over him, watching his eyes adjust as I settle across his hips. The long T-shirt gathers above my thighs until only the thin panties separate us, his erection pushing against the lounge pants with the thickness I recognize from the shower.
Artur’s hands rest beside his head, though defiance is plain in his stare.
“You enjoyed choosing this place,” I say.
“I chose it because the doors are reinforced and the road is private. The small footprint is easier to defend.” His gaze moves down my body. “I noticed the bed.”
I rock my hips once, stopping his breath when the damp lace drags over him. On the second pass, I move slower to let friction spread through my pelvis as his cock strains harder beneath me. Artur’s fingers close on the sheet, but he keeps his hands away from me.
His restraint gives me room to choose, yet I want to find the exact point where it fails.
“Did you pick a house with one bed because you wanted me in it?” I ask.
I lift my hips until the pressure disappears, and his mouth tightens at the loss.
Artur looks up my bare legs, stopping where the shirt covers me. “The danger is real. So is the fact that I wanted you in my bed. I saw no reason to reject a house that solved both problems.”
My chest tightens at the admission because he doesn’t soften it with a joke or pretend the danger was invented. Someone tried to kill us, then someone attacked my apartment, yet Artur still arranged the night around wanting me close.
I’ve spent years recognizing desire the instant it appears in a room. Men usually inspect first, already deciding what a woman might tolerate. Artur looks at me as if my consent is the single piece of information capable of stopping him.
I lower myself onto him again. “That answer earns continued consciousness.”
“Marriage has exceeded my expectations.”
I bend over him, letting the loose collar of the shirt fall open until one nipple slips into view. Artur’s attention drops to my breasts, and his nostrils flare on a slow breath.
I kiss the corner of his mouth, then his lower lip, pulling back each time he tries to deepen it. His breathing roughens under me, the sound raising small bumps along my arms despite the heat under the shirt.
“Katie, either kiss me properly or let me take over.”
I brush my lips over his without giving him the kiss. “Then take over.”
I sit upright.
Artur catches my hips, his restraint breaking so quickly that I gasp. One moment I’m above him, then my back hits the mattress beneath the weight of his body.
He searches my face before moving again, and my heart pounds from the sudden turn as his weight pins my legs, one hand holding both my wrists above my head with his cock pushing hard against my inner thigh.
I lift my head and bite his lower lip again. “Make me want to.”
Artur kisses me with all the patience he withheld before; his tongue pushes between my lips, demanding space. I give it to him because I want his weight and the rough scrape of his evening stubble against my chin.
He releases my wrists to drag the shirt upward, exposing my stomach to cool air before his palm follows over my waist toward my ribs.
“Lift your arms,” he says.
I obey, pushing my breasts toward him as the shirt rises.
Artur pulls the shirt over my head to drop it beside the bed. His gaze travels without hurry, following the weight of my breasts against the mattress before tracing my narrowed waist to the straps cutting into my hips; my nipples tighten further beneath his attention.
He cups one breast, filling his palm with its weight as his fingers press into the soft underside. When his thumb passes over my nipple, the peak hardens against his skin.
“The costume you wore at the club was so small,” he mutters. “I intended to buy it off you before someone else saw you wearing it again.”
Artur bends to take the nipple into his mouth, enclosing it in heat before his tongue presses the tip. When he sucks, a sharp ache pulls through my breast to lift my back from the mattress.
The possessiveness irritates me, but the ache between my legs is stronger.
Artur moves to my other breast and sucks harder, watching my face as his fingers roll the nipple he left behind. Each pull reaches between my legs until my thighs open around him, drawing his attention to the damp fabric between them.
His mouth travels down my stomach to kiss the small hollow beside my hip before his teeth catch the thong.
“Take it off with your hands,” I tell him.
“You gave me that lap dance on your first night without admitting you were new. You watched the mirrors before using my lap as if you’d planned it. You found every reaction I tried to hide.”
Artur hooks his fingers under both straps.
He pulls the thong down my legs, its fabric sticking briefly between my thighs before peeling away. Air reaches my wet skin with enough chill to make me clench.
Artur settles on his stomach between my knees, and yellow bathroom light reaches the side of his face. His shoulders nearly fill the space between my spread legs, with the tattoo over his left shoulder disappearing into shadow as the muscles across his back shift under the skin.
He looks directly at my open body, a scrutiny more exposing than being half naked beneath the bright club lights.
Artur can see the brown hair trimmed close above my sex, with my inner folds swollen beneath his stare.
His thumb parts the slick skin for cool air, followed by the warmth of his breath.
“You’re very wet,” he says. “Whatever your mind thinks of me, your body has settled the argument.”
“Use your mouth before my standards recover.”
His tongue moves through me in one slow stroke.
My fingers seize the sheet as the first broad stroke passes over me, almost gentle until he closes his mouth over my clitoris, and the suction jerks my hips from the mattress.
Artur grips both thighs to hold me open as his tongue circles the swollen point, changing pressure each time my breath catches. I taste dry metal where I’ve bitten my lip. Clean sheets surround us, though faint smoke lingers in my hair under the scent of his skin.
“Harder,” I say, pulling his hair.
Artur answers by sliding one finger inside me without warning. My muscles close around it, tightening again when he adds a second before curling both toward the place that contracts my stomach.
His mouth returns to my clitoris with harder pressure this time. Moving with it, his fingers fill me before drawing back through the slick heat. My heels dig into the mattress; low in my pelvis, a tight pulse builds, then spreads until every muscle in my legs strains around him.
I pull his hair again. “Don’t stop.”
Artur obeys.
The orgasm begins with a contraction that locks my knees against his shoulders. My hips lift into his mouth while hard pulses move through my pelvis, each one stripping another broken sound from my throat. Artur keeps his fingers inside me until the last contraction weakens.
When he rises, his lips are wet and his eyes have gone dark, but my lungs still refuse a full breath.
Artur stands beside the bed and pushes his lounge pants down, freeing an erection that rises heavily against his stomach.
Up close, he is broader than he appeared through the shower glass, his chest shadowing mine as the yellow light moves over muscle, dark hair, and the pale scars along his side.
A thick vein runs the length of his shaft toward a dark, swollen head already shining at the opening; black hair surrounds the base before narrowing toward his stomach.
Nothing about him looks restrained now except the hands he keeps at his sides while I stare.
My mouth waters despite the dryness left by my orgasm.
He reaches for the nightstand.
“You keep condoms in the emergency house?” I ask.
Artur opens the drawer and removes a black foil packet. “I plan for likely hazards. You spent long enough studying my cock through the shower glass to understand the classification.”
He brings the packet toward his mouth, but I catch his wrist before his teeth reach the foil creasing between his fingers.
I’m not on birth control, so pregnancy would turn a one-year arrangement into a permanent tie neither of us negotiated.
The risk is real, but beside his naked body between my legs it feels remote, something couples chase for months without success.
One reckless night will probably amount to nothing.
I want to know how he feels without anything between us.
“Don’t use it,” I say.
Artur goes still, the curve leaving his mouth as he studies mine. “You’re asking me to fuck you bare. Are you on anything?”
Hearing him say it sends another rush of wetness through me. “I’m not. I know what that means.”