I’m just fighting with the weapon I know how to use best–my body.
That said, sexing up Adrian Turgenev is no hardship. He’s hot and rough but also considerate in bed. Generous, even.
“Come on.” I hook one of my fingers in his belt loop and pull him toward the bed. When we get there, I actually manage to work his button free with my thumbs before he takes over and unzips his pants for me. I drop to my knees to show him what I want.
He strokes my hair back from my face and sinks to sit on the edge of the bed, freeing his erection from his boxer briefs.
I go to town on his dick. Like my life depends on this blowjob–which is possible.
More likely, though, Adrian’s life depends on it.
I mean, the more I think about this situation, the more I realize how likely it is to end with Adrian or my father dead.
But most likely Adrian.
He’s one guy. My father has hundreds of men who work for him and millions of dollars to pay for more. Plus, my dad is ruthless. I’ve seen him kill a man with his bare hands. I know there’s no chance my dad will show up to some meeting to get me alone. He’s going to be ready to kill Adrian and anyone with him.
So even if I trusted Adrian completely and believed he wouldn’t harm me–which I’m eighty percent sure I do–I have to escape. I have to divert his plan. Or talk him out of it. Something. I have to stop this train wreck from happening.
So I glue my eyes to the harsh lines of his beautiful face and take him as deep into my throat as I can, a little farther every time. I work on relaxing my gag reflex to get him deeper.
At first, his expression remains veiled. Stony, even. But as he starts to lose control, I see the real Adrian come out. He strokes my cheek with his thumb, cups my face.
“That’s nice, malyshka,” he murmurs. “So good.”
I wrap my lips over my teeth and bob up and down over the head of his cock for a while then make him shudder but change the rhythm and take him deeply again. With my bound hands, I use the heels of my thumbs to massage his balls then work even further back, where the prostate gland supposedly lies.
“Good girl. So good.”
There are those words again. The ones that get me wet and excited. Not that I wasn’t already incredibly turned on by giving him pleasure. My nipples poke against his soft Henley, and I squirm my hips around, trying to get relief.
He plunges one hand into the open neck of the Henley and toys with my nipple. His touch is coaxing at first. A soft caress that turns rougher the closer he gets to coming. He cups the back of my head and pulls me on and off, forcing my head down and up.
I love it. If I didn’t trust him, it would frighten me. The loss of control. Choking on his cock when he goes too deep. But there’s something hot about it. Me on my knees with my hands bound. Him, forcing me into this.
I know he’s not really forcing me, but we’re walking an edge here.
“Kat…I’m going to come,” he warns. He lets go of my head, I guess giving me the choice to come off.
I don’t stop. I suck hard, even though my jaw aches from being open this long.
He shouts something in Russian and comes down my throat, and I swallow his salty essence down. It burns a little, but I love the taste. Love knowing I made him come. Love the way he touched me while I did.
“Blyad’, Kat.”
I suck him clean, and he strokes my face.
“Good girl.”
I sit back on my heels and look at him. “Do you always say that after a blowjob?”
“What?”
“Do you call them good girl?”
He shakes his head. “Nyet. Never. Only you.”
“Because you know I like it?”
He shrugs.
I wait for more, but that’s all he offers.
“Come here.” He stands and tugs me up off my knees.
“Come where?”
Instead of answering, he leads me toward the kitchen area, where he grabs the conditioner he bought.
“Aw, do I get to shower?”
“I’ll wash you,” he says gruffly.
My pussy clenches and nipples tingle. Did he say…he’ll wash me?
That’s so…hot. And sweet. And definitely hot.
I let him lead me to the bathroom where he cuts the zip tie on my wrists and pulls his shirt off me.
“Go on.” He lifts his chin toward the shower.
I turn on the water and wait until it heats as he takes off his clothes. He steps into the water, and I reach for him, eager to touch. Happy to have my wrists free. I stroke my palms over his muscled chest, making an approving hum as I touch.
He catches my wrists and examines them, stroking his thumbs over my pulse, bringing one to his lips to kiss away the bruises. “Mne zhal’.”
It’s close enough to the Ukranian meni shkoda that I recognize his apology.
“Let me go,” I murmur to him, my fingers tracing the tattoo on his biceps.
His expression shutters, not that it was open to begin with. “Mne zhal’,” he repeats.
“My father will kill you,” I whisper. “How do you think your sister will feel then?”
His expression goes downright stony–and if I had to name the stone, it would be obsidian. Black obsidian. “He may kill me,” he admits. “But I will take him with me.”
Hot tears burn in my eyes. “Adrian, wouldn’t it be better if you both just lived?” I raise my voice in frustration.
“Nyet. Not for all the girls–” He breaks off.
“What?” I whisper, knowing I won’t want to hear what he’s hiding from me. Is he protecting me? Or himself? “What girls?”
He shakes his head and takes my shoulders, pushing me back into the spray of water. “Tip your head back.”