I fist her silky blonde hair and tug her head gently back. “Relax, Valkiriya. Open to me. Breathe.”
Her back softens.
I work slowly in and out of her, giving her time to stretch and grow accustomed to my size.
She moans and mewls every time I move, whimpering.
“That’s it.” The pleasure starts to overtake me. I forget about being gentle as my own need grows.
I pump into her, bracing my weight on one hand, still fisting her hair in the other.
“This is where you take it when you’ve been a bad girl.”
“Yes, okay.” She gasps her agreement.
Flames of heat lick through me. My breath rasps in and out like I’ve run up every flight of stairs in the Kremlin.
“Maykl? Oh…it’s…I need…”
“What do you need, moya malen'kaya Valkiriya?”
She reaches her hand beneath her to touch between her legs.
Knowing she’s turned on, that she’s seeking her own release clitorally, drives me wild. I have to remember not to be too rough as I thrust in and out, pounding down the home stretch.
“Maykl….Maykl.”
Blyad’. I absolutely love hearing her choke out my name in that hoarse, desperate voice.
My balls draw up tight, and then it’s right on top of me. Like a tidal wave is pushing me forward, I’m launched into climax. I come inside her, pressing deep and delivering a series of short thrusts until I’m finished.
Only then do I remember to help my Valkyrie. I slip my hand under her hips and tangle my fingers over hers, rubbing her clit. She directs them down, pressing them inside her to feel her orgasm, the muscles squeezing and releasing.
“Yes.”
She said it, but I could say the same.
Best orgasm of my life.
I nuzzle against her, kissing the back of her neck, and nibbling her ear.
Her slender back still heaves with her slowing pants. A layer of sweat slicks the surface between us.
I ease out. “Come.” I scoop her into my arms. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
She loops her arms around my neck. “I can’t move,” she complains.
“I’ll hold you up.”
In the bathroom, I set her on her feet while I turn on the water, then hold her trembling hand as she steps in, and I step in after her.
To my surprise and pleasure, she turns to face me, letting me gather her up in my arms and hold her close under the spray of water.
We stay like that for a long time. Until her heartbeat has slowed, and she draws a deep breath and sighs.
I pick up a bar of soap and take my time, sudsing her with long, slow strokes, turning washing into a sensuous exploration of her every curve. Every cranny.
Her hands coast over my body, too. She traces my tattoos. Brushes her lips over my hairy chest. Uses her teeth on my pectoral muscle. “I’ve never been with a man like you,” she says.
I don’t know whether it’s still the drug making her talk or if this truth has been won honestly from her.
I don’t care.
“What kind of man?” I use the shampoo to suds her hair.
“I don’t know. You are just…different. Everything I thought I’d hate but found out I love.”
I know she’s not saying she loves me. That would be absurd to believe I’ve already won her heart.
But the beginnings of the feeling must be there, or she wouldn’t have said it. She’s capable of loving me, perhaps. The ingredients for love are present.
Or maybe she’s just talking about sex.
Which, for now, is enough.
And that’s when I finally remember there’s one thing that could doom this whole thing. Bring everything crashing down around my ears.
Kira doesn’t know what I’ve done.
She doesn’t know that I’m the man who killed her father.
And when she finds that out, no amount of sex will save me.
Or her.
Chapter Eleven
Kira
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It must still be the effects of the drug in my system. I should be engaged in hand-to-hand combat with Maykl right now. Fighting for my life. Trying to escape this prison.
Instead, I’m sitting across from Maykl at the tiny two-person kitchen table that sits in front of the picture window. My muscles are still loose. My body sated.
Soon, my stomach will be, as well. “Roasted salmon with caramelized cauliflower and broccolini or braised short ribs with wilted arugula?” Maykl pauses in dishing the gourmet dinner from the to-go containers they came in onto plates to look at me. “Or a little of both?”
“Salmon, please,” I say.
This feels more like a date than captivity, despite the fact that I’m sitting here naked with handcuffs on my wrists.
And I suppose that’s the main reason I’m not fighting.
Some part of me doesn’t want to run away. No matter how hard my brain keeps trying to convince me that I’m a dead woman, that I may never see beyond the confines of this apartment again.
I want to be with Maykl. To explore this dangerous, unconventional relationship we have.