Page 40 of Night So Silent
Sergei mutters a curse under his breath and raises up on his knees, seizing the undersides of my thighs. He pins them to my chest, folding me in half. I clench my abs, my whimpers like a metronome as he drives into me and hits me so deep that my toes curl. I just want him to fuck me hard, give me this feeling that no one else can, and leave me a drenched mess 10 times over. Soon, my breaths become staccatos and my mouth falls open in desperation.
“Are you glad I brought you home with me?” his heavenly voice rumbles above me. “To claim you as mine?”
I can only nod haphazardly because he’s hitting me at the perfect angle with his perfect cock.
“You’re not going to leave, are you?” he asks through clenched teeth, his thighs hitting my ass with each thrust.
“No!” It tumbles out of my mouth in a half-crazed voice.
“No?” he asks with an edge, his chest heaving with anticipation.
“No!”
My pussy clenches, the orgasm coming fast and hard. No matter how hard my thighs push against his hands, they stay hopelessly pinned at my shoulders while an enraptured cry erupts from my throat. A moment later, he lets out a groan and presses his fingers so hard into my flesh that they’ll probably leave bruises. And I’ll cherish every single one. I’ve never come from penetration alone, but whatever he’s doing is rewriting everything up to this point.
Sergei reaches over my head and I can’t see what he does, but suddenly my hands are free with a pop. They fall from the headboard and fly to his shoulders, clinging to him desperately as he sinks down on top of me. His breathing slows and his movements feel like waves on a beach.
“Sergei…Sergei…” His name rolls off my breath to the same cadence.
He brushes his lips along my forehead. “Yes,Printsessa?”
“I’m awake now.” Then a tranquil smile tugs at my mouth as I stroke the coarse hair on his cheek. “And breakfast sounds really good.”
???
Sergei looks different now—but in a good way.
He sets down a mug of coffee next to my plate and takes the seat adjacent. And, this time, when he looks at me over the table, it doesn’t feel like he’s examining me under a bell jar. He even smiles.
“Do you have to go to work?” I ask, unable to completely hide my impending disappointment.
“No. I’ll stay with you today.”
The excitement hits me like a rogue wave and, without a second thought, I rise on my knee and lean over the table, wearing only one of his thermal shirts. He gently cups the side of my face and draws me to him for a kiss. I like kissing Sergei; not just in the passionate way that turns me to a puddle beneath him, but in the casual way that still seems so intimate.
Anyway, I should’ve known as soon as Sergei sat down that he wasn’t going into work. When he does, his hair is pulled back into a slick, tight bun. He looks sleek and sharp, dressed all in black--quite literally a lethal weapon. But when he doesn’t, his glossy blonde hair is either hanging loose or pulled back into the French braids he had when I saw him at the airport for the first time. After a few days, I’ve started to pick up on his mannerisms and routines.
“What exactly do you do, anyway?” I ask, settling back into my seat.
“Consulting. Private security, private investigation, and OPSEC audits, for example.”
“What are OPSEC audits?” I ask, taking a bite of a cheese pancake topped with sour cream and blueberry jam.
He can’t always cook like this, can he? Is his Russian mother hidden in the closet with a knife, secretly cooking at the crack of dawn and ready to stabmeif I dare slight her delicacies?
Get a grip, Halsey.
“People invite us to their properties,” Sergei explains. “We evaluate their security measures, and then produce a report thattells them whether or not we would be able to gain access and kill them.”
He senses my surprise as I stop mid-chew.
“It’s very popular in the mountains,” he adds.
I swallow hard. “Sounds like you’ve tapped into a pretty niche industry.” Then I gesture around the room. “So, what about this place? If you’re the expert, can anyone—” or anything…“get in here without you knowing?”
“Nothing.” He says it without hesitation and without any apparent concern.
“Then what’s outside?” I demand over my plate of cakes smeared with creamy blueberry goodness. “There’s something. I saw it. And it’s the same thing that left the prints in the snow and the same thing that tried to open the door before you got home.”
