Page 22 of Brutal Secrets

She pushes my shoulder and I roll onto my back, taking her with me and looking up at her. A red crescent marks her shoulder where I’ve bitten her. I don’t speak, just trace the edge with my thick fingers, a question in my eyes as I scan her irises. I’m close enough to see the marks of bronze and gold that break up the green. Even her eyes are golden tonight.

She’s like a woman transformed as she crawls over me, pushing her tits against my mouth, nudging my lips with the berry of her nipple, willing me to swallow her down again. I wrap my mouth around her and suckle, drawing more mewling noises from her.

“I want to come again. You make me crazy,” she says, rubbing against me and purring like a cat.

I suck her nipples until the skin has gone a deeper shade, devouring her tits until she’s writhing against me. This time, I can go slower, so I lift her until all of her melting softness lies against my cock.

Her hands rest on my shoulders as she rises and lowers herself onto me with a soft sigh. Pushing her down slowly, I grasp her hips and stop her movement as I look up at the goddess impaled on my cock. Her hair surrounds her like a golden cloud, but she’s covered in red marks where my mouth and fingers have bitten into that unmarked skin.

“Zolotaya, use me to make yourself feel good. I don’t want to hurt you.” I pull her down on me, bottoming out against her cervix as my finger traces a bite mark underneath her breast.

She grasps my hand and draws it up to her mouth, sucking my finger to the back of her throat before she lets it slide out.

“I. Will. Not. Use. You.” She leans down to punctuate each word with a kiss before sliding up and down on my hard length. “I want to show you how I feel about you. I want to give you everything you gave me. All the pleasure.”

I look up as she rides me with her head thrown back and her hips moving to the rhythm of a song only she can hear. I pour myself into her. All my worries and fears dissolve into her tight heat as she collapses on top of my chest and I pull her closer.

I’m not sure when we fall asleep or when we wake up. I only know the night is a symphony of lips and hands, finding every corner of each other’s bodies, twisting each other into every shape we can to get closer than we’ve ever been to anyone. I drift into darkness amid a haze of pleasure, more content than I’ve been in years...

Then the sound of a banging door tears me from sleep, and I jackknife awake.

Chapter Fifteen

“W

ake up, asshole.” Sasha’s voice echoes from the porch, and the screen door rattles as his heavy footsteps thud past the bedroom and into the living room.

A heavy sigh seeps from my lungs as I pull a t-shirt over my head and look longingly at the warm, sleeping body under the covers next to me. A bronze leg tipped with pink toenails pokes from the nest of blankets.

I circle her toe idly with my thumb, but she doesn’t stir. I press a kiss to her cheek, breathing in the scent of flowers and looking at the way her eyelashes cast shadows on her sharp cheekbones.

I pull on some boxers and stride into the living room, where Sasha sprawls on the sofa, a pile of takeout boxes from our favorite Georgian restaurant stacked on the table next to him. The delicious scent of cheese and toasted bread wafts from one of the boxes.

“Khachapuri?” I ask, pointing to the pizza box.

“Probably cold by now. I had a long drive in from the city.” Sasha glares up at me, his face thunderous.

“Why the cavalry?” Cupping the back of my neck, I rub my eyes blearily. “What time is it?’

“It’s midday, asshole.” He shoves the box toward me with his foot, and I collapse onto the old chair opposite him, a spring coil digging into my leg from under the stack of Uzbek blankets we piled onto the threadbare furniture.

I open a box and shovel a slice of the cooling Georgian pizza into my mouth, watching Sasha quizzically. He doesn’t usually turn up unannounced when I’m here, but then again, we’re usually alone here together, grilling shashlik, playing cards, shooting the shit.

“Where’s the fire?” I ask. “I thought I had the rest of the day. I’ve got to get her to the airport at about five thirty, right?” I want more time. I need more time with her. This can’t be over yet, I think as I scan the dark ridge of his brows over the takeout boxes. Sasha is spoiling for a fight, which is never fun for those around him. “What happened? Do we need to pack up and leave now? Is something going down in Moscow?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing you didn’t already know about. I think Antonov and the Night Governor hashed things out, so the China-Russia trade route should be open by next month.” He reaches down for more khachapuri and jams the slowly congealing cheese bread into his mouth. He continues, talking around a mouthful of food. “The Night Governor hasn’t decided what he wants to do with us foot soldiers yet. I’ll probably be in the ass end of nowhere, but maybe you’ll get New York and Dima will get London.”

“Well, as long as we all get out of here, it’s all good,” I say, leaning back in the chair and watching him. “So what are you doing here?”

“Why? Haven’t you finished playing happy families?”

“Who’s playing happy families? She’s asleep. We fucked. I spent the night with her. What’s the big deal?” I wave my second slice of khachapuri at him, hoping I’ll feel more coherent with some food inside me. Sasha is my best friend and I’d die for him, as I’ve proved on more than one occasion, but sometimes he gets on my last nerve. “Since when are you so interested in my love life?”

He snorts. “Love life? You’ve never had one. You fuck girls like Oksana and it’s nothing for me to concern myself with, but this...?” His eyes stray to the bedroom door, which remains shut. “That guy your little songbird came out with is a grade A asshole. Since you decided to play white knight, he followed me around the whole night, talking about which stars on his roster I can hire. As if I’m interested in American pop stars. I’d half a mind to pistol-whip him to shut him up, but I don’t need the drama.” Sasha stares out of the window, mulling something over. He gestures toward the bedroom door. “You don’t need the drama either.”

“What drama, Sasha? I’ve been here less than twenty-four hours. I’m having some fun.”

I bend down to sift through the takeout boxes. Rolls of eggplant, pomegranates, and walnut paste. He’s brought all the good stuff, and it makes me wish I could just picnic alone with Kesera instead of deal with him.

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