Page 35 of One Love

Pulling back the rest of the sausage from my mouth, he lifts it to his own lips then hums.

“It’s missing something…” he says absently as he leans in and licks a path from my collar bone, up the column of my neck, and stops at my jaw. “Let’s see if I’ve figured it out.”

His hand between my legs, he slides the sausage up my slit before circling my clit. I stiffen, my mind going to a million different scenarios of good hygiene and possible yeast infections. If he tries to fuck me with it, I will shove the entire country of Germany up his sausage-loving asshole.

“Relax.” Easy for him to say. But when his hand comes up to his mouth, I realize he was using my cum as a condiment. I do relax then. No one is getting fucked with food today and thank fuck for that. Except, when Dmitry moans in my ear, murmuring how delicious I am, I have to control my desire to fuck his face with my cunt.

Actually, no I don’t.

“Screw it.” Jumping off the stool, I push him back, then back some more, until he lets himself land backwards on the bed, grinand all. Straddling him, I press my palms against his chest and kneel my way up to his face, my pussy hovering just above his delectable mouth. Green eyes sparking from below, he licks his lips and winks right before I lower my cunt and get what I need from him.

“Be a good boy and finish your meal.”

With one of his hands on each of my ass cheeks, he tongue-fucks my pussy like a starved man, his tongue licking everywhere, his teeth nipping at my clit and my lips just as his finger pushes inside and curls.

Leaning over him, my hands pressed against the wall, I move my hips as if I were fucking his cock and, to be honest, this is just as enjoyable. Hell, more than that…it’s fucking fantastic—even though I’d never tellhimthat. The man’s ego is inflated enough as it is, no need to do more damage.

My thighs widen when his finger travels from my pussy to my ass, circling the tight rim before pushing inside, slowly. In and out, little by little, until my ring of muscle lets him in completely. Goddamn, that feels good. So. Fucking. Good.

Below me, Dmitry moans his own pleasure into my pussy, the vibrations making my head spin and my body sing. Fuck, yes.

“Don’t fucking stop!” I’m not sure who I’m talking to, him or me because, to be honest, I’m the one in control here, the one fucking him, even though he’d like to think he’s topping from the bottom.

Hell, maybe he is. Do I really care? Not even a little. The only thing that matters is this, right here. This feeling growing inside me, taking over my muscles and nerve endings. This power that’s making my eyes blur and my ears pound with my very heart beat.

This.

This…

“Oh, fuck!” I convulse, my pussy practically suffocating him as I take my pleasure from his mouth. Dmitry’s torso rises from the bed like he can’t get his mouth deep enough, needing to bury his entire face inside me.

The idea of him so desperate takes me to the point of no return.

I fall. No…I fucking crash. My mouth drops open but no sound comes out as I let the orgasm take over my body, my mind…my fucking sanity.

By the time I regain my senses, I’m lying on my back, my eyes closed and my lungs begging to take in more air.

“Fuck, Little Demon. I think I know why breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

After that insane orgasm, Dmitry hauled me to the shower, carrying me like a fucking sack of potatoes, where he fucked me from behind against the tiles as the shower pummeled our slapping skin and muffled the cries of our sudden religious tendencies.

For the first time in years, I forgot about everything. I forgot about the Italians, the Irish, and the fucking Greeks. I forgot that outside these walls a world was there to remind me of the injustices I’ve been dealt.

A world where Murphy no longer exists.

So, when the phone blares the theme song toWorld War Z, I roll my eyes and accept Zavier’s call. Mr. Wright is back at the casino, so I don’t hesitate to throw Dmitry’s clothes at him—apparently he’s a walk-around-naked kind of guy—and tell him to get his shit and let’s go. By the time I get to the casino, I’min work mode and ready to get some fucking answers. I’m tired of using kids’ gloves on this guy and from the vibes I’m getting from Z, he’s done with him, too.

Heading straight for the roulette table, I sit my ass down and stare straight at Mr. Wright, who is sweating like a fucking pig at a barbecue.

“Funny meeting you here,” I say, accepting a bottle of mineral water from the eager waitress and checking the cap is sealed before thanking her.

“I was thinking more along the lines of annoying, but whatever.” He’s been drinking, his eyes are a little unfocused as he pushes his chips forward onto red before slamming back what I’m guessing is whisky in his glass.

Roulette is all about probabilities. There are thirty-eight slots, eighteen of which are red. The payout isn’t as fulfilling as betting it all on a single number but it might even him out. Unless, of course, he’s been losing all fucking night and this is just one more push into debt.

An employee brings me two thousand worth of chips, courtesy of Zavier, I’m sure. I’m okay with that. I don’t mind betting other people’s money. As I place three hundred on number eight, black, I sit back and watch the man we can’t seem to figure out. The table is almost full, only two seats are empty. Luckily, one is between Wright and myself so I don’t beat around the bush anymore.

“Tell me, Wright. What is your deal? Why can’t we find anything on you?” Sometimes, you just need to go straight for the carotid.

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