Chapter Five
Lucas
I wake up to the unfamiliar feel of a slender body in my arms and the faint smell of peaches in my nostrils. Opening my eyes, I see tangled blond hair spread across the pillow in front of me and a slim, pale shoulder peeking out from under the blanket.
For a moment, the sight startles me, but then I remember.
I’m with Yulia Tzakova, the interpreter the Russians hired for yesterday’s meeting.
Memories of last night rush into my brain, making my blood surge.
Fuck, it had been hot. More than hot. Scorching.
Everything about her had been perfect, the sex so intense that just thinking of it makes me hard. I don’t know what I had been expecting when I showed up on her doorstep, but what happened last night wasn’t it.
I had watched her all through the meeting, enjoying the way she translated so effortlessly, her voice smooth and unaccented. It wasn’t a surprise that she caught my attention. I’ve always liked tall, leggy blondes, and Yulia Tzakova is as beautiful as they come, with her clear blue eyes and fine bone structure. She didn’t really eat during the meal, just nibbled on a couple of the appetizers, but she drank tea, and I found myself staring at her pink, glossy lips touching the rim of her porcelain cup… at the smooth white column of her throat moving as she swallowed. I wanted to feel those lips closing around the base of my cock and see her throat move as she swallowed my cum. I wanted to strip off her elegant clothes and bend her over the table, to fist that long, silky hair as I drove into her, fucking her until she screamed and came.
I wanted her—and she seemed to have eyes only for Esguerra.
Even now, the knowledge that she came on to my boss leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. It shouldn’t matter. Esguerra’s always been a chick magnet, and I’ve never minded that. It amuses me, in fact, the way women throw themselves at him, even when they suspect what he’s really like. Even his new wife—a pretty, petite American girl he kidnapped almost two years ago—seems to have fallen for him. It’s only logical that Yulia would try for him—or at least that’s what I told myself as I watched her eye Esguerra all through the meeting.
If she wanted him, she was welcome to him.
Except he didn’t want her. It surprised me, that last part, even though over the past two years I haven’t actually seen him hook up with any woman. He would just go to his private island all the time. It wasn’t until a few months ago that I learned he kept his American girl there, the one he ended up marrying. The girl—Nora—must’ve been taking care of his needs all along. Must still be taking care of them exceptionally well, given that Esguerra didn’t spare Yulia so much as a glance.
I was tempted to forget the interpreter as well—except he asked me to frisk her. She stood there shivering in her elegant coat, and I got a chance to feel her, to run my hands over her body in search of weapons. There were none, but her breathing changed as I touched her. She didn’t look at me, didn’t move, but I could feel a slight hitch in her breathing and see her pale cheeks brighten with a hint of color. Up until then, I didn’t think she was aware of me as a man at all, but that moment made me realize that she was—and that she was fighting the attraction for some reason. So when Esguerra turned down her invitation, I made the impulsive decision to take her for myself.
Just for one night, just to appease the craving.
It wasn’t difficult to get her address—all it took was one call to Buschekov—and then I showed up on her doorstep, expecting to see the same put-together, confident young woman who flirted with my boss.
Except that wasn’t who greeted me.
It was a girl who looked barely out of her teens, her beautiful face devoid of any makeup and her tall, slender body swathed in a decidedly inelegant robe. She let me into her apartment after I explicitly told her what I wanted, but the look in her wide blue eyes was that of a hunted rabbit. For a minute, I doubted whether she wanted me there at all; she seemed as nervous as said rabbit confronting a fox. Her anxiety was so palpable, I wondered if I’d made a mistake coming to her, if I’d somehow misread either the extent of her experience or the level of her interest in me.
Just one touch, I told myself as she took my coat. Just one touch, and if she didn’t want me, I’d leave. I’d never forced a woman in my life, and I didn’t intend to start with this girl—a girl who seemed oddly innocent despite her corrupt Kremlin connections.
A girl I wanted more with every second.
I told myself I’d stop with that one touch, but as soon as I touched her, I knew I’d lied. Her creamy skin had been baby soft, the bones of her jaw so delicate they were almost fragile. My hand looked brown and rough against her pale perfection, my palm so big I could’ve crushed her face with one hard squeeze of my fingers.
She froze at my touch, and I could see the pulse beating at the side of her neck. When I’d patted her down earlier, she smelled expensive, like some fancy perfume, but that was no longer the case. Standing there in front of me, her cheeks colored pink, she smelled like peaches and innocence. Logically, I knew it had to be some soap from her bath, but my mouth still watered with the urge to lick her, to taste that clean, fruit-scented flesh.
To see what was hidden under her big, unsexy robe.
She said something about a drink, or maybe it was coffee, but I barely heard her words, all my attention on the strip of pale skin visible at the top of her robe. “No,” I said on autopilot, “no coffee,” and then I reached for the tie of her robe, my hands acting seemingly of their own accord.
The garment fell apart at a light tug, revealing a body straight out of my wet dreams. High, full breasts tipped by hard pink nipples, a waist small enough to span with my hands, gently curving hips, and long, long legs. And between those legs, not even a hint of hair, just the smooth, bare mound of her pussy.
My dick got so hard it hurt.
She pinkened even more, a flush appearing on her face and chest, and whatever self-control I still had evaporated. I touched her breast, flicked my thumb over her nipple, and watched her pupils expand, turning her blue eyes darker.
She was responding to me. Still scared, perhaps, but responding.
It wasn’t much, but it was enough. I couldn’t have walked away at that point if a bomb had gone off next to us.
“You’re very direct, aren’t you?” she whispered, staring up at me, and I told her I didn’t have time for games. It was true—if only because the lust I felt was more intense, more violent than anything I’d known before. At that moment, I would’ve done anything to have her, crossed any line… committed any crime.
“And if I say no?” she asked, her voice shaking slightly, and it took everything I had to ask if she was, in fact, saying no. I managed to keep my tone calm, gently circling her nipple with my thumb as I slid my hand into her hair, but she didn’t give me a straight answer. Instead, she asked me what I’d do in that case, whether I would leave.
“What do you think?” I asked, stalling as I tried to figure out the answer, but she didn’t reply. She must’ve sensed the violent hunger brewing within me and decided to stop teasing me. I could see the acceptance in her eyes, feel the way she swayed toward me, as if granting me permission.
And so I touched her, felt the soft, warm heat between her legs.
Penetrated her tight pussy with my finger and felt the wetness there.
She did want me—unless that wetness wasn’t for me.
Unless she was thinking of Esguerra at that moment.
The thought filled me with black rage. “Do you always get so wet for men you don’t want?” I asked, unable to conceal my irrational jealousy, and she said she did want me. She’d wanted Esguerra before, and now she wanted me.
“Does that bother you?” she asked, and for the first time since my arrival at her apartment, she seemed like the experienced, confident woman from the restaurant instead of the scared girl who greeted me at the door.
The dichotomy both fascinated and aroused me, even as rage continued to burn in my veins. “No,” I said, pushing another finger into her slick channel and finding her clit with my thumb. “Not at all.”
Her eyes went soft, unfocused, and I could feel her pussy squeezing my fingers, getting even wetter at my touch. Her hands grabbed my arm as though she wanted to stop me, but her body welcomed my touch. I watched her carefully, observing every flicker of expression on her face, listening to every gasp and moan as I worked my fingers inside and around her pussy. She was responsive, so fucking responsive that it took me no time at all to learn what she liked, what made her cream around my fingers. I could feel her body beginning to tighten, see her breathing coming faster, and my cock got so hard it felt like it would burst.
“Yes, that’s it.” I pressed hard on her clit. “Come for me, beautiful, just like that.”
And she did. Her gaze turned distant, unseeing, and her pussy rippled around my fingers. I held her until her contractions stopped, my hand still grasping her silky hair, and then I said with satisfaction, “There you go. That was nice, wasn’t it?”
She didn’t answer me at first, and for a moment, I wondered again if I’d misread her, if I was somehow forcing her into this. But then she reached out and boldly cupped my balls through my jeans. “It was nice,” she whispered, looking up at me. “And now it’s your turn.”
It was all the invitation I needed. I felt like a beast unleashed, but somehow I managed to kiss her in a semi-civilized manner, tasting her lips instead of devouring them, as everything inside me clamored to do. Her mouth was delicious, like warm tea and honey, and for a minute, I was able to maintain some semblance of control, to pretend I wasn’t a lust-filled savage.
Except I was—and when her robe fell off her shoulders, I snapped, pushing her against the wall. It was only by the habit of two decades that I remembered to put on a condom, and then I was lifting her and telling her to wrap her legs around me as I thrust into her, unable to wait even a second longer.
She was tight around me, so unbelievably tight and hot that I almost came right then and there, especially when her pussy clenched around me, her body tensing at my entry. Worried that I’d hurt her, I stopped for a moment, waiting until her legs came up to clasp my hips, and then I began fucking her in earnest, driven by a hunger more powerful than anything I’d experienced before. I wanted to be so deep inside I’d never come out, to take her so hard I’d leave my imprint on her flesh.
I watched her as I fucked her, and I knew the exact moment she reached her peak. Her eyes widened, as though in surprise, and then I felt her pussy undulating, spasming around my cock. The sensation was so intense I couldn’t hold back my own orgasm. It washed over me uncontrollably, rocketing out from my balls, and I ground my pelvis into her, needing to be as deep as humanly possible, to meld with her in this explosive, mind-bending pleasure.
It was the best climax of my life. I felt high, consumed with her taste, her feel, and for a few moments, I thought it was the same for her—but then she pushed at me. “Please, let me down,” she said, looking distressed, and it was like a bucket of ice water thrown over my head.
I gave her two orgasms, and she was looking at me like I raped her.
Like I fucking assaulted her in a back alley.
Something inside me twisted and hardened. Curving my lips in a sardonic smile, I said, “It’s too late for regrets, beautiful.” Lowering her to her feet, I forced my hands away from her firm, shapely ass. My cock slipped out of her as I stepped back, and the condom, filled with my seed, began to feel loose.
I pulled it off, dropping it on the floor. Her eyes followed the movement, and I saw a flush creep across her face again. She was embarrassed by what happened, I realized, and my anger intensified.
She invited me in, said she wanted me—her body fucking told me she wanted me—and now she was acting like it was all some big mistake.
Like she couldn’t get away from me fast enough.
Well, fuck that, I decided, my blood boiling with a mixture of fury and renewed lust. If she thought I’d let her get away with that shit, she was very much mistaken.
And for the rest of the night, I dedicated myself to showing her just how mistaken she was. I licked her pussy and fucked her until she begged me to stop, until her voice was hoarse from screaming my name and my dick was raw from pounding into her tight flesh. I made her come half a dozen times before I allowed myself my second release, and then I had to restrain myself from taking her for the third time when she woke up to use the restroom.
I had to restrain myself because somehow, impossibly, I wanted more.
I still want more.
Son of a bitch. I told Yulia I might return one day, but if this insane hunger doesn’t go away, I’ll have to come back to Moscow sooner than planned—maybe as soon as we’re done in Tajikistan.
Yes, that’s it, I decide as I get up and start getting dressed.
I’ll do my job, and then, if the Russian girl is still on my mind, I’ll come back for her.