Nikolai

 

Being yelled at by a woman who was the sister of the man I was hired to kill should not have made me hard. But it did. Her face was flushed with anger, her freckles little pinpricks of burning heat. Her eyes were so bright they almost glowed blue in the dim lighting of the shitty little apartment she called home. Her long hair fell across her shoulders and tickled at her breasts in soft waves that called to me, begged for me to grab them and jerk them back to expose the long column of her smooth neck.

 

I thought I was getting better with this strange, lingering desire for Madeline, but I was beginning to think I was wrong. My cock ached in my pants, shuddering at being so close to her, with the need to be inside of her.

 

And she wasn’t helping matters at all. She was yelling at me, telling me she never wanted to see me anymore, but her breasts were trying to escape the simple button-down shirt she wore, and her legs were long beneath the shorts she was wearing. Even her delicate hands, pointing at the door to emphasize her words, were sending my mind spiraling towards dirty, dirty things. I imagined the way those tiny fingers would look wrapped around my shaft. I imagined the way they might grip my hips, my shoulders, my back as she writhed in ecstasy beneath me.

 

I wanted her. More than I should have, but I couldn’t help it.

 

Dragging her into this mess with her brother was a bad idea, but he was being reckless. He was reckless the moment he took a job offer from Mickey, but that would have smoothed over easily enough if he’d simply done what he’d been hired to do. Mickey was a shrewd man, but he paid you what you were worth. Do a good job, and he’d make it worth your while. All Logan had to do was not screw Mickey.

 

Which was the one goddamned thing he did do. And now Madeline was caught in the middle of this. If I could find her, someone else could. Someone who maybe didn’t appreciate that, though related, she didn’t have anything to do with her brother’s stupidity. And what if Mickey decided she was a liability?

 

He wouldn’t go after her…unless her dumb brother decided to show up and ask for help. And I had the distinct impression that he wouldn’t be completely forthcoming with her about the details.

 

The urge to protect her was almost as strong as the urge to strip her and plunge inside of her. An urge I didn’t seem able to resist. Ignoring her request, I closed the space between us and grabbed her, pulling her flush against my body. Her breath caught and her eyes went wide, but I didn’t give her any time to think. I kissed her hard, like I’d wanted to since that night. Like I’d wished I’d done every night since then.

 

She resisted at first, her small hands balling into fists and trying to pound my chest, but she couldn’t make me budge. Her punches were like love taps, and I wouldn’t let her go for anything. Nothing in the damn world.

 

I slid my tongue against her lips and I felt her shake, trembling not with anger, but desire to match my own. She was beginning to give in, her fists unclenching and her arms rising until her hands could slip around my neck and pull me closer. When my tongue passed over her full lips again, her mouth opened, and when I slipped my tongue inside to taste her, she moaned into me.

 

My hands slid down from her upper arms to wrap around her little waist. I wished she were still wearing that little summer dress so I could yank it up, pull it high enough to expose those luscious thighs and maybe just rip off her panties then and there in the middle of the living room, take her on the floor.

 

Instead, my hands slid lower until they hit the waistband of her short little denim cut-offs. Still kissing her passionately, holding her against me, I let my hands dip between the denim and her body so I could feel her firm, full ass in my hands. When I had one cheek in each hand, I ground her against me so she could feel my hard length against her thighs.

 

I wanted her to know how much I wanted her.

 

When she broke the kiss and gasped, I knew I had her. I kissed a trail of fire down her neck until I hit the collar of her t-shirt. Growling in frustration, I pushed her away from me—I was pleased when she made a sound of protest—just far enough so I could jerk that damn t-shirt up over her head. I tossed it to the side, pleased to find she was wearing a black lacy bra too small for her full breasts. They were practically half out of the cups, her cleavage spilling noticeably as her breathing caused her chest to heave.

 

I went to her shorts next, undoing the button and the zipper. Her hands went to my shirt at the same time, undoing the buttons quickly and then tracing over the expanse of my chest. I groaned at the contact, my body aching for more.

 

When her shorts were off, I yanked my shirt the rest of the way off and undid my belt. She watched me hungrily as I undid my slacks and pulled them off, revealing my large, aching erection.

 

I needed her. Now.

 

I pulled her to me and thrust my hand into her panties, searching out her wet folds and sliding a finger into her hot core. She cried out and I was surprised to find she was still just as tight as that first time. A thrill ran through me. She’s only been with me. I began to pump into her opening over and over again, her body arching and her hands gripping at me desperately. I added another finger, beginning to stretch her so she could more easily accommodate my girth.

 

When I added a third finger, she begged me, “Please.”

 

Losing myself, I laid her down on the floor, dragged down her panties, and aligned myself with her wet pussy. She was already panting, flushed and whimpering, needing me.

 

I let myself have a moment where I slid myself along her opening, collecting the moisture there, then I put my head against her entrance. Meeting her eyes and holding them, I gently slid inside her, slowly, inch by inch.

 

She winced, but urged me forward still. I knew to be gentler with her this time, though there had been no complaints with my aggression last time.

 

When I was finally fully sheathed inside her, we truly began. My rhythm started out slow, my pumps deep and hard, but the slow pull as I took almost my entire length out of her was sweet agony for the both of us.

 

That didn’t last long. I needed to pound into her, hard and fast, and I wasn’t one to enjoy waiting. Pinning her hands above her head, I thrust into her as deeply as I could, my speed building. I watched as her breasts, still encased in that tiny bra, bounced and collided with each other, as erotic as anything else I was doing.

 

Madeline moaned and arched her back and begged me, whispering again and again, “Please, oh, god, please, Nikolai!”

 

Hearing my name fall from her full, bruised lips was enough. I lost myself in her, jerking and thrusting erratically as I spilled myself inside of her. I collapsed there on the floor next to her, pulling her tightly into my arms where I could keep ahold of her a little longer before I had to really think about what I’d just done and what it really meant.