Page 7 of Kristoff

“Well, nobody showed up.” He sniffs.

“I think he saw we aren’t exactly a thriving metropolis and moved on.” I wave an arm to cover the small seating area. When we first opened, some days we made more from selling ice than anything else, since we’re one of the few with enough solar panels to maintain a small freezer. Over the years, we’ve built up to have regular customers for both food and drink. Some, like Gerald and Mingo, are from the village. Others come from the checkpoints, tired of fish, which is widely offered in the area, thanks to the rivers crisscrossing the country. “It’s not like he came here looking for me.” At least I don’t think he did. “He was passing through.”

“Fine,” he grudgingly agrees. “But I’ll be watching you.”

“You always do,” I add, walking him to the door.

Sending me a sour look, he adjusts his belt before walking out.

Normally I’m relieved once Gerald leaves, but tonight, he may be the least of my problems. I reach into the kitchen, pulling a knife from the knife block on the counter. I turn off the light, do the same for the bar then work my way to the office.

One step, two, three. I’m able to move quietly in bare feet. My shoulders tighten as I reach the doorframe. The key to the cabinet where we keep the shotguns is taped under my desk. Harlan keeps his key with him. Maybe I should call for him. A pang of fear shoots through me. No. If this guy is dangerous, I’m better off trying to get him silently, or else I’ll have Gerald on me again.

My breathing echoes in my head. Four, five, six, seven steps. People are going to leave their dominant hand available. Most are right-handed, so he’s probably facing left.

I go around, hoping it’s harder for him to reach up over his head if he’s holding some sort of weapon. I set my feet and push back on the chair, knife ready. The wheels squeak then a woman shrieks, as she pushes both arms up to capture my forearm.

“What the hell?” We struggle, sending my arm in one direction then another. She’s got a slight frame, but she’s stronger than I would have expected. Standing to one side gives me the advantage, but she isn’t giving an inch. She grunts, pushing ahead to try to knock me back. Damn, if she had a little more weight on her, she may have managed to do so.

I step closer, bringing her face to mine. Even in darkness, I can see the wild look in her eye. She’s fierce, her jaw squared as she puts all her strength into holding me off. At this point, I’m not sure what’s happening or why.

She locks her elbow and pulls one hand to go for my face. Leaning away, I shift my weight, throwing her off-balance in the process. The chair slams against the wall. She automatically reaches out to steady herself. I grab her wrist, pushing the desk away. She whimpers, her anger switching to fear as she loses her footing. Gaining ground, I push against her left arm, laying her out on the flat surface.

The knife clatters away, and I make a quick decision to let it go. I flip my hand back to catch her other wrist and bring both arms out to her sides. She bucks but only manages to press herself closer. The furrowed brow smooths as fear turns to awareness. Her lips part, her breath coming in a rush as she cradles my hardening cock.

Fuck. She’s not a local. I’ve never seen her come in here. I’d damn well remember her if she did. So who the hell is she? And what is she on to make her struggle so hard with the effects? Her legs are somewhere between circling my waist and trying to push herself away. Even that friction is giving her hell. Her thighs clamp around my hips, and suddenly she’s rubbing herself against me. She gasps, body bowing, pressing her breasts to my chest in an erotic display that’ll be burned into my memory for years to come. “Holy fuck.”

She’s writhing beneath me, running her jaw against my chin. The day’s growth of stubble is enough to have her coming back for more. I should move away, get her up and…I’m not sure what. After years of having to make do with my right hand, she’s frying my damn brain with the way she’s using that body of hers. If she fucks with half as much enthusiasm, she’d likely kill me before the sun comes up.

I swallow hard, trying to focus. “What are you on?” The rust on my voice is at a dangerous level.

She opens her eyes, gaze running across my face as her tongue comes to wet her bottom lip.

Jesus. “Is it the shit Faust’s people use?” I’ve never heard of a woman working in the group. And she’s nowhere near the thugs coming through.

Her brows meet. “I…” She moans, distracted by her own movements.

I grind my molars, setting my forehead against her chin. “Okay.” Um…shower. I should see if a few minutes of cold water will clear away some of the cobwebs. Not that the water’s especially cold in Guyana. If it doesn’t work, a pot of strong black coffee should help. I think. I’ve never had to deal with anything past a bad hangover.

“I’m going to take you upstairs, to get you to the shower,” I add, preparing her. “Just hold on to me.” I cradle her shoulder and hip as I bring her up off the desk. She puts her arms around me, clutching at my undershirt while her legs tighten their hold, making each step difficult. She’s writhing. I barely manage a half dozen stairs with her in my arms. She’s bearing down against my cock. My blood’s racing, and my mind’s flipping through images of her laid out on the worn steps. Right now, fucking on the stairs sounds like something I should be doing.

“Stop.” I’m not sure if the word is supposed to be an order or a plea. I reposition my hand under her ass, shifting her up so I can take the last few steps without struggling. I do my best to ignore her mew of protest.

Striding past the open door to my bedroom, I finally get a good look at her face. She’s a beauty. Soft features, full lips, flushed cheeks, and her big…sky-blue eyes are stormy as she studies me in return.

I go to the end of the hall, straight into the small bathroom, and walk into the stall. Tightening my hold, I turn the handle, standing under the water, clothes and all.

“Ummm.” She brings her hands to my shoulders, wincing as the spray hits her skin. Within seconds she’s drenched, the material molding to her curves, showing every detail. Arching her back, she shows off the dark peaks of her breasts. There isn’t a single place on her where I can set my gaze and not feel like I’m taking things too far.

She’s demanding more while I can barely hold her in place. And having her trying to mount me while she’s fully dressed isn’t helping. Her calves are shifting at my lower back, pushing my worn jeans lower on my hips. If my cock wasn’t so damn hard, I’d probably be half naked by now.

I can’t do this. My breathing is harsh, and I can’t pull her away without having her land on her ass. Her fingers clutch the back of my head. My first instinct is to stiffen, half expecting an attack after struggling with her downstairs. But her lips meet mine, and she goes still. In a second or two, I’m kissing her back. Mouth-to-mouth, lips parted, tongues dancing together. Her nails drag across the side of my head and I’m gone. She’s pulling my shirt up, baring my back. I’m dragging her top down wet skin to stare at those breasts, like she’s on the first triple-X site I ever found on the Internet. Considering how old I was, that says a lot.

I’m not sure how it happened, but my jeans are down and she has my cock in her hand. She’s stroking, staring in wonder, tipping to demanding within a heartbeat. Her touch, the only one I’ve enjoyed other than my own, has an intoxicating effect. Any chance of putting the brakes on this has just gone out the door. She folds an arm behind her, pulling on a zipper that has her clothes sagging.

The dress is on the floor. Her underwear follows. Then I have her up against the wall. My mouth is covering her skin. Her legs are coming up around me, and I’m sinking into her heat.

Meanwhile, this bold woman is practically melting in my arms, an expression of utter satisfaction on her beautiful face.

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