Page 106 of Kept in the Dark
“Sometimes the nose piece is still wet,” I chuckle.
He huffs a breath through his nose. “I have seen you clean them on your shirt. You will scratch the lenses.”
I bite down on the smile that forms because he’s kind of making my point. “Do youwantme to think of you as a monster?”
“I do not want to lie to you about what I am, but… no,” he admits, like I’m pulling it out of him through his teeth. “I do not want you to think of me in that way. I would not care if everyone in the world feared me… as long as you did not.”
“Good. I don’t,” I assure him. “And I don’t want you to think of yourself that way, either.”
To make my point, I let my hands glide up, trailing over the raised white skin of old scars, and rest them on his chest. His skin is so firm, so hard under my touch. I resist the sudden urge—intrusive thought, really—to thread my fingers through his curly chest hair and give it a sharp tug, just to hear him cry out a surprised protest.
When he inhales against my touch, his chest expands, and it draws my attention to his tally mark tattoo. I trace the lines with the tip of my finger, recalling when he explained why he continues to add to it.
“I know this is a piece of your past, and it means something to you, but I think you’re holding on to the wrong thing. You should rewrite the narrative. You should keep track of the lives that you’ve saved instead of the gunshots you’ve survived. And that,” I say, tapping on the tattoo with the tip of my finger twice, “makes two of those tally marks mine.”
He covers my hand with his much larger one, dwarfing it. We’re so close—there’s an almost palpable anticipation in the air. His lids lower as his eyes drop to my lips, which part under the weight of his stare. Can he feel my pulse racing against his fingertips? Can he see how fast my breath goes in and out, or the outline of my nipples that have gone painfully hard under my nightgown?
Need pulses across my skin, making my breasts feel heavy and zinging to my lower stomach.
“Vse, chem ya yavlyayus', prinadlezhit tebe, i ty dlya menya vse,”he says hoarsely. “I will never let harm come to you, my med. Never.”
He hops off the counter and grabs me in a movement so fluid and fast that I hardly see it coming. In an instant, I’m in his arms, and his lips are on mine.
He circles my waist with his hands, dragging me against him, and slides them around to cup my ass. I moan as he squeezes, kneading the flesh so close to where I’m dripping and pounding with need. Suddenly, I feel him lift me, and then the cold, unyielding stone countertop against my warm skin.
I jolt, making a surprised noise that he swallows as he refuses to let me break away. He steps between my legs, rubbing his bulge against my extra-sensitive flesh. I probably shouldn’t have gone for that second orgasm with the showerhead before bed, but I couldn’t help it. He’s turningmeinto a monster. An orgasm-hungry one.
His fingers replace that bulge, shoving aside panties and then tearing them apart at the delicate seam. The urgency and aggression in the ripping sound go straight to my core, just as his fingers make contact. They slide through my slick skin, and I cry out as the rough pads of his index and middle fingers make abrasive contact with my clit. It’s a sharp kind of pleasure—at once too much and not enough.
“Fuck! I need you inside me, Dimitri.”
A desperate, pleased noise sounds from his throat, and I let go of his shoulders to lean back onto my arms to tilt my hips. Height-wise, we’re well-aligned on the counter, but my abs simply aren’t strong enough to keep my legs lifted around him if I’m not leaning back.
His pants drop, sliding off his dick and leaving a shiny trail of precum that stuck to his skin instead of the cloth.
Eyes locked on my pussy, he spits, and I gasp. The harsh noise, the sudden wet impact on my lower lips, the cheek-burning, squirmy feeling of the slightly degrading act... Heat explodes under my skin, turning the burn of desire into an inferno. It’s worse, too, when he slides two thick fingers through it—our combined fluids—and pushes it inside of me. My head falls back as a throaty moan reverberates off the tile and glass.
“Nicole,” he snaps, withdrawing his fingers and getting into place.
My head comes up so fast, I barely have time to breathe.
“Eyes on me. I want”—I gasp as he interrupts his own order with a powerful thrust that fills me in one smooth motion and curls my toes—“to watch you”—another hard, controlled, deep push of his body into mine—“come apart for me.”
I do as he asks, and there’s an exponential jump in the intimacy of the moment. Tears prickle behind my eyes. I cry out as he grits his teeth and homes his hips against me.
“Holy fuck, you’re so deep. Fuck, Dimitri.”
He grunts, and it might have even been a laugh, but it cuts short as he rears back and slams forward again.
Full. I’m so full. The stretch is a delicate pain, a rasp of pleasure. My pelvis is tilted at the perfect angle for me to see as he seats himself fully inside, and it’s driving me out of my mind.
I adjust my grip on the sink, wishing I could hold on to him, and wiggle my hips slightly to encourage him to move faster. As he picks up speed, I can sense that this is the rhythm he likes by how his expression changes and his breath drags through his teeth. We move together, and a chorus of heavy breathing, moans, and skin slapping fills the air.
I’m mindless to anything but the pleasure. He fills my senses, completely surrounding me, making it impossible not to focus on here, now, what he’s doing to me. Each inward stroke is a pinch, followed by a wave of bliss to soothe it. His pelvic area rubs my clit, the abrasion of his hair a maddening brush on such a sensitive area.
He thrusts harder, beginning to chase his own release now that I’ve opened up for him. In an instant, I know that he’s going to finish before I can, unless I do something about it for myself. I barely care. It feels so good, even if I don’t come.
I shift my weight to one side, trying to lift my hand and get my fingers where I need them, but he pauses and grabs my wrist. “I take care of what is mine,” he reminds me emphatically.
