Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
He understood. He felt the same need as me. All the months of fighting had been leading up to this, like we’d both been straining on the two ends of an elastic rope, building up more and more energy, and now we’d been catapulted together. It wasn’t a want, it was a need.
He stood, swinging his leg over the bike. I started to stand up, too, but he didn’t give me the chance: he grabbed me around the waist and lifted me up and off the bike. He pulled me against his chest, and I threw my arms around his neck and hung on, my legs wrapping around his waist. He cradled my ass and walked us to the wall of the alley, every step stroking my groin against his washboard abs.
My back pressed against the brick wall, and he kissed me again, long and deep. Then he started unbuttoning my jeans. How the hell is he going to get them off? I wondered: the jeans were tight and the fabric was sopping wet, and I was in an awkward position, and anyway I had boots on…
Answer: with sheer brute force. Gennadiy peeled my jeans over my hips and down my thighs, and my heart gave a little jump when I realized he’d hooked his fingers into my panties and those were going, too. As he slowly stripped me, I started running my hands over the hard swells of his shoulder muscles and then down over his chest. His shirt today was deep blue, and the rain had turned it translucent, a blue-tinted fog cloaking the dark swirls of his tattoos and the rich caramel of his skin. I started unbuttoning his shirt, exposing a tantalizing vertical slice of him and then, as I tugged the shirt free of his pants and spread it wide, the full, rugged majesty of him, a hard body painted with the story of his life. I’d seen him topless before, when I watched him at the docks with Yakov. I’d even guiltily doodled some of his tattoos on a notepad, telling myself it was to help me research his background. But now I could see every detail: crosses, numbers and stars that I knew charted his time in the borstal and the rise of the Aristovs, but other designs, too: serpents that coiled around his biceps and disappeared around his back; figures that looked like angels but with dark, bat-like wings. He’d painted hell across his body: to intimidate his enemies, or scare his underlings? I smoothed my hands across the dark ink, feeling each breath under my palms.
By now, he’d hauled my jeans and panties down to my shins. He pulled off my ankle boots, and they clattered to the ground, and then the whole mass of fabric was over my ankles and smacking wetly to the concrete. My legs kicked free, one smooth and one ruined, and I felt my stomach go tight, even though he’d already seen them once.
But then he set me gently down on my feet, knelt, and laid a kiss first on the scarred thigh and then on the normal one. He started alternating, crisscrossing his way down my legs, all the way to the toes and then all the way up again, pink ribbons of pleasure twisting together with silvery, heady joy. I blinked and blinked, but it was fine because so much rain was racing down my cheeks, you couldn’t even tell I was crying.
He reached the crease at the top of my thighs and kissed along it, then ducked his head and flicked his tongue along my pussy lips. I gasped and threw my arms out either side of me, dragging my fingertips against smooth, wet brick and rough lines of cement as the tip of his tongue tasted me, traced my shape and then nudged me open. He was shockingly gentle, and I felt my legs weakening as the heat inside me turned to slickness. He was running his hands up and down my hips and ass, now, his tongue spearing up into me and his upper lip rubbing at my clit. I grabbed at his shoulders, digging my fingers into his muscles and rising up on my tiptoes as the pleasure rocketed higher. “I—” I broke off, not wanting to say it. Then his tongue circled my clit, and I groaned and had to say it. “I need you,” I panted.
He drew back just enough that he could look up at me. Dark hair soaked with rain, pale gray eyes hooded with lust, the denizens of hell dancing across his chest. A man has never looked so unapologetically wicked. “Tell me,” he said.
I stared down at him. I was standing virtually naked in a dark alley in the middle of the city. On some level, I knew I was supposed to feel unsafe, or at least nervous. But I didn’t, not even a little bit. Being next to Gennadiy was like bathing in the protective light of a campfire. If anyone braved the rain and wandered along this alley, one growl from Gennadiy would send them fleeing. “I just told you,” I said, my voice tight with need.