He towers above me, his frame blocking out half the room. The moonlight catches the hard planes of his chest, each muscle defined and taut, and I want to run my hands across every inch of him. His abdomen is carved like marble, the muscles leading down to the waistband of his sweatpants sitting dangerously low on his hips. That dark trail of hair disappears beneath the fabric, and I can see the unmistakable bulge there, thick and straining against the material. My thighs clench involuntarily. His gold eyes burn down at me with raw hunger, and I feel exposed and wanted all at once. The bracelet tattoo on his left wrist catches the silver light as his hands hang at his sides, and I find myself wondering what those hands are about to do to me. My breath comes faster. God, he's beautiful. Dangerous and beautiful and mine, at least for tonight.
"You're staring," he says, echoing my earlier words.
"You're worth staring at." I sit up and reach for the hem of my tank top, pulling it over my head in one smooth motion.
His eyes darken as they lock onto my breasts, and I feel my nipples harden under his gaze. "Fuck, you're perfect."
"Your turn." I gesture to his sweatpants.
He strips them off without hesitation, and my mouth goes dry. He's big, thick, and hard and ready.
"Second thoughts?" he asks, but there's no judgment in his voice. Just patience.
"Not even close." I shimmy out of my sleep pants and panties, leaving me bare before him. "Come here."
He moves over me like a predator, all controlled power and lethal grace. His weight settles between my thighs, and I can feel the heat of him against my entrance. But he doesn't push inside. Instead, his mouth finds my neck, teeth grazing my pulse point.
"Tell me what you want," he murmurs against my skin.
"You." My hands slide down his back, feeling the flex of muscle beneath scarred skin. "I want you."
His hand slides between us, fingers finding my clit and circling with perfect pressure. I arch into his touch, a moan escaping my lips.
"So wet already," he growls with pleasure.
He positions himself at my entrance and pushes inside slowly, giving me time to adjust to his size. The stretch is intense, almost too much, but then my body relaxes, and he slides home.
We both groan at the sensation.
I wrap my legs around his waist, urging him deeper. "Move," I demand, wiggling my hips, and he chuckles, then begins moving with slow, deep thrusts that make my toes curl. His mouth finds mine, swallowing my moans as he picks up the pace. One hand slides between us, finding my clit again, and the combination of sensations makes stars burst behind my eyelids.
"That's it," he growls against my lips. "Let me feel you."
The couch creaks beneath us as he drives harder, deeper, his hips snapping against mine with increasing urgency. I dig mynails into his shoulders, holding on as pleasure builds like a wave about to crest.
"Sasha," I gasp. "I'm close."
"Come for me." His thumb circles my clit with perfect pressure. "Let go."
I do, my orgasm crashing over me with enough force to make me cry out his name. He follows seconds later, his body going rigid as he empties himself inside me with a deep growl that almost sounds animalistic, intensifying my orgasm all the more.
We stay like that for long minutes, both of us breathing hard, our bodies slick with sweat. Finally, he shifts, pulling out carefully and gathering me against his chest.
I curl into him, my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow. The moonlight paints silver patterns across the ceiling, and for the first time in three years, I feel like maybe I can stop running.
Sasha's arms tighten around me, and he whispers against my ear, "Whoever put that contract on you will have to go through me first."
18
ALEKSANDR
Iwake to Maya's warmth pressed against my side, her blonde hair splayed across my chest, one leg thrown over mine in sleep. The morning light filters through the curtains, painting her skin in shades of gold and cream. She's beautiful like this, unguarded and peaceful, and something in my chest tightens at the sight.
Then the memory hits.
I'm sitting behind a massive desk, mahogany polished to a mirror shine. The office is expensive, everything in it chosen to project power. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the city, lights twinkling like stars below. Three files are spread before me, each one containing a life I'm about to judge.
The first is a soldier who skimmed from a protection racket. Small amount, first offense, but theft is theft. I flip through the surveillance photos, the bank records, the witness statements. My finger taps the folder once. "Break his hands. Send him back to his family as a warning."