Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Sergei
A woman.
A naked woman, curled up in my storage cabinet.
I stared at her for three full seconds—the first time in my life I'd been stuck on anything for more than two.
Her hair was auburn, wet and plastered against her cheeks like rain-soaked copper. Her eyes were blue-green, wide and staring at me now, water droplets still clinging to her lashes. She clutched a bundle of clothes to her chest, folded into herself like origami.
The picture of helplessness. Enough to make every man in New York open his wallet.
Sorry. Not me.
Twenty years in this business, I'd seen this play too many times—beauty, break-in, "accident." Viktor's last one was blonde. Karlov preferred brunettes. A redhead this time—at least they were trying something new.
I grabbed her slender neck and dragged her out of the cabinet, spun her around, and pinned her against the wall. She cried out, hands instinctively grabbing my wrist, nails digging into my skin, pressure light as a kitten.
"Don't move."
My voice was soft. That made it more dangerous.
She froze, body pressed against a cold wall, breathing hard. I scanned her body, checking for weapons, bugs, anything that could put me in the ground.
Nothing.
Just a naked, trembling woman staring at me with wet eyes.
What the hell?
Viktor's new trick?
My jaw tightened.
"Viktor sent you?"
She blinked, eyes widening. "What?"
"Karlov, then." My thumb pressed lightly on the artery in her neck. I felt her pulse jumping like a startled rabbit.
"I don't know what you're talking about—"
"Cut the act." I leaned in, letting her feel my weight and my calm. "You people always think I'll drop my guard for a pretty face."
Her lips trembled. Her eyes began to redden.
"I'm a cleaner, the agency sent me, I have the order—it's on my phone! I'm sorry, I just wanted to use the pool. I was so tired today, I swear I didn't mean to—"
Tears spilled straight down her face, smearing everywhere, even her nose turning red. A mess with no beauty left in it.
Tears were the best weapon. Also the cheapest. Every woman Viktor or Karlov trained knew how to use tears to soften a man.
But this woman...
I released her neck, stepped back half a pace.
She immediately made herself smaller, shoulders tight, arms crossed over her chest, like an animal trying to make itself invisible.
My gaze returned to her.
Moonlight refracted off the pool water, painting shifting light and shadow across her skin. Auburn hair wet against her cheeks and neck and shoulders. Eyes a blue-green mix, like the Baltic in winter. Lips bitten white. Tear tracks still on her cheekbones.
Collarbones. Breasts. Waist.
My eyes moved lower, stopped at her inner thighs.
Fuck.
She was turned on. Even in fear, she was turned on. That wet patch on her inner thigh was nearly obvious in the moonlight.
The realization sent blood rushing down. My softening cock stood up again.
She fit my taste too damn well. I decided to play with her.
"So," I walked to the lounge chair and sat, refastening my pants but deliberately leaving them loose, "you really are just a cleaner."
She nodded. Fast.
"Unauthorized use of someone else's property. Voyeurism." I deliberately cooled my voice. "I could call the cops."
Her face went white.
Adorable.
"Or," I paused, letting the silence stretch, letting her fear ferment fully, "you could stay. Work off the debt."
She swallowed. "...What?"
I didn't answer. Just leaned back in the chair, legs spread.
"Come here."
She didn't move, hands still folded over her chest. But that position only pushed her breasts together. Jesus, her cleavage could drown a man.
"I don't want to say it a third time."
Her lashes fluttered. Finally, she shuffled forward.
Water droplets ran down her collarbones, pooling in the valley between her breasts into a thin trail, sliding down her belly to the edge of her curls, hanging there, trembling, then falling.
Scattered drops still clung to her skin, glittering like crushed diamonds in the moonlight, swaying gently with her breathing.
My breathing grew rough.
I wanted to fuck her. Pin her to the floor. Slam into her tight little cunt—
I was hard.
She stopped in front of me, knees nearly touching my shin, body strung tight as a wire about to snap.
"Look at me."
She slowly raised her eyes. Those blue-green pupils still held traces of tears, rims swollen, but fear was ebbing. Something else was rising—uncertainty, wariness, and some kind of heat she was trying hard to suppress.
My gaze dropped to her inner thighs. That wetness gleamed faintly in the moonlight.
Yes. Just like that. My good girl. This was going to be fun.
"You're soaked."
Her face instantly burned red, from neck to ears. She instinctively clamped her thighs together, hands moving from her chest, trying to cover that shameful gleam.
I wasn't letting that happen.
"No. Unless you want to explain yourself at the precinct."
Her hands froze mid-air. Then slowly lowered. Her hands hung at her sides, nails digging into her palms. Her breathing turned rapid and shallow, nipples hard in the night air. Standing straight like a prisoner awaiting sentence, but also like some kind of willing sacrifice.
I couldn't help getting more excited.
"Паинька (good girl)." I laughed softly, reached out, brushed her messy hair from her face, fingers grazing her cheek. I felt the heat of her skin.
She closed her eyes, lashes shaking violently.
"Don't be shy. You're beautiful." I stood, a head taller than her. She opened her eyes, looked up at me, throat bobbing. I extended my hand, fingertip landing in the hollow of her collarbone, sliding slowly down along the line of her sternum.
Her body tensed immediately. But she didn't retreat.
"When you were watching me jerk off in that cabinet," my fingertip stopped between her breasts, feeling her heartbeat pound against my finger through her skin, "what were you doing?"
She didn't answer. Lips trembling.
"Answer."
"I was..." her voice barely audible, "touching myself too."
"Where?"
Her face burned redder, gaze darting away. I lifted her chin, forced her to look at me.
"Good girl. Where?"
"My... my pussy."
"Did you come?"
Her gaze moistened. She bit her lip and nodded.
"Tell me. Use your mouth."
"Yes, sir." Her voice squeezed through clenched teeth, shame and desire tearing at each other in the same syllable.
"Show me."
"What?" Her eyes widened.
"Let me see how wet you got."
She froze. Several seconds of silence. Only breathing and distant Manhattan traffic. Then she slowly lifted her hands from her sides, fingertips sliding down from her belly, past the auburn curls, stopping between her thighs.
Her fingers slipped into that wetness. A soft, wet sound. Then her whole body shuddered, lashes trembling hard.
"Pull them out."
She hesitated a second. Then withdrew her fingers. In the moonlight, her fingertips drew out a transparent silver thread, gleaming in the darkness.
I grabbed her wrist and brought her fingers to my lips. Took them in.
Salt. Sweet. Her taste.
Her breathing went completely ragged, eyes wide, pupils dilating in the moonlight.
"Thank you for the hospitality, miss." I kissed her fingertips like a gentleman.
She trembled all over. The gleam between her thighs grew brighter.
My fingers started at her fingertips, sliding slowly down the joints, grazing the dampness and trembling of her palm, finally gripping her wrist.
Her pulse hammered under my palm.
I held that wrist, gave it a gentle tug. She lost balance, naked body colliding with my chest. Water droplets transferred from her to my shirt, cold skin against warm fabric. She gasped, hands instinctively bracing on my shoulders, fingertips sinking into my collarbones.
Her face was close to mine. Tears still hung on her lashes, nose tip red, lips slightly parted, hot breath hitting my chin.
My left hand locked firmly around her slender waist. I lowered my head, lips grazing her ear.
"May I?"
Her hand slowly climbed up my shoulder, fingertips gripping the fabric of my shirt.
"...Please."
I kissed her.
I kissed her deeply, my tongue sliding into her mouth, claiming the sweet heat of her as she melted against me.
My right hand moved without hesitation, cupping one full breast, fingers finding her stiff nipple and rolling it firmly between thumb and forefinger.
I pinched and tugged, feeling it pebble harder under my touch while my left hand stayed locked at her waist, holding her close.
She whimpered into my mouth, her body arching instinctively. I broke the kiss just enough to growl against her lips, "Look at you, dripping like a faucet. You're flowing more water than that entire pool down there. You've completely soaked the front of my pants already, you filthy little thing."
Her face burned crimson. Shame flooded her eyes, and she tried to pull back, her thighs clenching as she attempted to lift her soaked pussy off my leg.
I didn't let her. My hand shot down, gripping her ass hard and yanking her back down.
Her slick, swollen folds slammed against my thigh with a wet smack.
A sharp, broken moan tore from her throat.
"Shhh, easy, baby," I murmured, voice low and soothing even as I started rubbing her pussy against my leg in slow, deliberate circles.
My fingers pressed between her thighs from behind, parting her lips and stroking through the obscene amount of slick coating her.
"Is this how you touched yourself in that cabinet?
Grinding your needy little cunt like a desperate slut while you watched me stroke my cock? "
She shook her head frantically at first, but my fingers kept rubbing, circling her swollen clit, then dragging back to tease her dripping entrance. Her hips twitched helplessly. The wet sounds grew louder, obscene in the quiet night air.
"Answer me properly," I said, pressing two fingers harder against her clit and rubbing faster.