Page 94 of Kept in the Dark
All at once, worry creeps back in, tainting the calm serenity and afterglow of physical and emotional intimacy, and reminding me of how complicated this situation is. I just had the best sex of my life with a man who kills people for a living. The Russian mafia may be after me. The police think I’m a missing person.
Actually,complicateddoesn’t even scratch the surface. The consequences of everything that’s happened and the choices we’ve both made loom on the horizon, growing and shifting and staying too obscure to really be seen or understood. I’m terrified of what happens when they finally catch up with us.
Dimitri stands, taking his empty container to the kitchenette and depositing it in the sink. I pick through some of the rice with my fork, sensing the emotional distance growing. And it doesn’t take a genius to understand where it’s coming from.
I’m an ass. He bared himself to me, telling me something that obviously makes him uncomfortable, and I’m so in my own head that I turned it around and made it about me.
“You’ve had a really hard life; I’m sure it’s not fun reliving those memories,” I say quietly. “And for what it’s worth, I’m glad you told me. I… want to know more about you. Anything you’re willing to share. I’m happy just to listen.”
There’s a sharp, tinny noise of cutlery hitting the base of the sink, and Dimitri’s head hangs as he clutches the sides.“Ty zhenshchina, kotoraya smogla ukrotit' monstra.”
“Dimitri?”
“Thank you, Nicole.”
I don’t know what I said to elicit this kind of response, but when he turns, his dick is pressing against the towel, thickening and straining as it grows. The look he gives me is so hungry, I forget where I am and what I’m doing for a second. My vagina clenches, aching deep inside where he slammed into me again and again. Like a machine. An animal.
Fuck. Last night was… everything.
I’m sore, but I think I could probably stand being a little more sore. Going another round is preferable to this maudlin conversation, that’s for sure.
Emboldened, I set aside the rest of my breakfast and unwrap the towel from my torso. As I reveal my nudity to him, he reaches back to steady himself against the counter in a white-knuckled grip.
The intensity of his desire for me issucha rush.
“No. Finish your meal,” he orders on a rasp. My nipples prickle under the sharp heat of his gaze.
“I’m done.”
I part my legs and let my hips shift forward. My breath stutters as his eyes rake down. The towel starts to tent around his groin, but he shakes his head.
“You are not done. You will need your strength today,” he promises, reaching down to adjust himself and letting his hand linger to rub his cock through the terrycloth. “But stay just like that until you finish. I wish to watch your body ready itself for me. Drink your water, too.”
A thrill zings through my stomach, and I grab for the Tupperware to do as he says, even as my body sends the rush of moisture exactly where he’s watching for it.
29
Dimitri
It’s not a last resort; it’s a first-round draft pick.
I turn the lock on the door, expecting the sound to echo and reveal my intentions, but it is lost among the squeaking of rubber mats against sneakers as Nicole makes her way across the gym.
This was not my original plan—the plan was to work out. We have been fucking several times every day at this point for over a week, and though it is excellent for cardio and one’s core, I must not neglect my strength training program. But Nicole saw me tie on my sneakers and wanted to come with me. And then she came out in those damn tiny shorts and… well, the plan changed. And when I offered to train her, and her eyes flashed with a different kind of interest, it cemented the derailment.
My heart is pounding, and it has nothing to do with the lingering effects of our warm-up. I gesture over to the bench where I normally complete my chest presses. The pleather creaks as she settles onto the seat, and my eyes are glued to the shifting of muscles under golden skin—thighs, abs, shoulders. My cock stirs against my leg.
I remove most of the weight from the bar, setting it on the ground, leaning against the frame to be easily reachable. “This one is simple. Lay back with your head here, place your hands here and here, and push the weight up from your chest.”
She does exactly as I instruct. “Like this?”
“Yes, good. Can you hold it up like that for a moment?”
“Yeah,” she says, her voice strained.
I adjust the brackets down. “Okay, you may release the bar.”
When she eases it down, the bar settles with a clank on the much lower braces. She tilts her chin up as the metal kisses her skin and shoots me a puzzled look.
