Page 107 of Kept in the Dark
It’s some sort of witchcraft, the way he’s able to maintain his pace to thoroughly fuck me and strum his fingers against my clit. The combination of sensations is almost too much, so this time the build of the orgasm is not gentle or nice. It’s a whirlwind of aggressive intensity that leaves me gasping for air.
“Dimitri!”
When I come, he’s right there, mashing his lips down on mine and giving me a much-needed outlet for the feeling. My whole body convulses against his, and a second later, he joins me. He grunts once, twice, then his hips slow and stop altogether.
The silence between us as we both try to catch our breath isn’t content or comfortable. There’s an air of expectation that I can’t shake.
But then he pulls back, and his eyes are smiling at me as he rests his forehead against mine, and I’m boneless, brainless, and I can’t think of a single thing to say.
33
Nicole
Hitman Witness Protection
Last night changed something. I’m not sure I even realized there were still walls up between us until they were torn down.
After we cleaned up, we went to bed. Just as I was almost asleep, he slid his cock between my legs and took me from behind while we lay on our sides. With relentlessness and urgency, he stroked me to another mind-numbing orgasm. He was still inside me as I fell asleep.
And I loved it.
Sex with him is so… uncomplicated—I want him, he wants me; we act on it. It’s never easier for us to communicate than when we do it with our bodies. And because it’s easier, I’ve been completely focused on the temporary gratification, avoiding what happensnext.So, I’m totally unprepared for its inevitability. Something is going to happen. Somethingdidhappen. Dimitri was gone by the time I woke, and he’s been holed up with James and Wesley in that office all morning.
Initially, I assumed there was no decision to be made—that we were oil and water; there was no way for us to mix except temporarily—and all roads ended with me leaving. I assumed it was what we both thought was for the best. I assumed it was what we both wanted. But after last night, I don’t think it’s what either of us wants.
Say the word, and I will be your monster.
The memory of those words makes me shiver and brings a faint smile to my lips, even now. So, I think I owe it to myself to find a way to stay. And to do that, I need to gather information.
I find Eleanor covered in flour and engrossed in a project. The kitchen smells like fresh bread and tomato sauce today, and my mouth waters the second I open the sliding door.
“Hey,” I greet her.
She straightens in the act of shutting the oven, a mitt on each hand, and flour streaked across her face. “Hey, Nicole! Want some pizza? I’m experimenting.”
I glance over where she gestures with her elbow and burst out laughing. Half of the enormous island is covered in flatbreads of various shapes, sizes, and colors on cooling racks and cutting boards, and the other half is a mess of bowls and floured surfaces and dirty pizza paddles. “Love some,” I say, taking a seat at the island.
“Excellent. Okay, so you’re not going to want the prosciutto or the sausage ones, but…” she mutters to herself, looking over the various pies with her hands on her hips. Selecting a few meatless options, she cuts me some slices, places them on a plate, and hands it to me.
She watches me take my first bite with a keyed-up expression. “It’s great,” I say around a mouthful of hot cheese.
“Oh, yay! Okay…” she trails off, searching the notes she made on a legal pad covered in flour and red sauce, “that one had the sourdough crust and an overnight proof. I thought the sourness would play off the umami of the mushrooms and the hint of sweet caramelized onions and goat cheese.”
I nod, eagerly taking another bite. “I’ll eat pizza in most forms, but I’d ask for this one specifically.”
She beams, and her enthusiasm to please people with her food is as endearing as it is fortunate for me, the recipient. “Really? How’s the ratio of toppings to crust? Good? Okay, yay. I can add that one to thelist as a vegetarian option. Lactose-free, too,” she adds, sounding proud of herself.
“So, Eleanor,” I begin slowly, hoping by the time I finish her name, I’ll know how to start this conversation with her. “Do you like living here?”
“Love it,” she replies, distracted as she writes something down.
“Do you miss anything from your lifebefore?”
She taps the end of the pencil against the paper. “Hmm… I guess I miss the freedom of, like, leaving my apartment and getting to go anywhere I want. Not so much the apartment itself, but the concept of just getting up and leaving, of doing whatever I want to do, whenever I want to do it.”
“You can’t do that? You can’t just get up and leave if you want to go shopping or something?” I ask. I feel like I’ve seen her come and go way more than anyone else, but it’s not like I’ve quizzed her on where she was and what she was doing.
“Not really. I mean, it’s not like I’m stuck here; I can leave. Mac prefers I don’t, but I’d go crazy stuck here all the time, and he knows that. There are just some stipulations.”
