Page 63 of Ruby Malice

I eat one of the burritos and end up so full that I decide to refrigerate the other one. I can microwave it for dinner tomorrow. Lana will hate that I ruined her efforts to give me a more refined palate, but I like what I like. Sue me.

The plush guest bed and silky sheets are calling my name, but I need to shower the day off. I feel dirty.

I was hoping you’d work for me for a bit longer before finding out how filthy I am.

Kirill’s voice follows me like a ghost. His words replay in my head again and again.

In the shower, I close my eyes and let the warm water run down my back. But I feel Kirill pressed against me. His body heat soaking through my uniform.

Without meaning to, I hold my hands up and replay the moment. His fingers tangled with mine, his chest flat against my spine.

One arch of my hips, and I could have rolled against him. Could have discovered if he was as hot for me as I was for him.

As I still am for him.

The fire in my belly is raging. Lana’s warning and my own common sense are burning to forgettable ashes in the inferno. Kirill was onto something: passion is a difficult beast to wrangle.

But I think I know how I can calm this one for the moment.

Slowly, I ease my hand down my own body. I lean my head back against the wet tile wall, imagining Kirill’s calloused fingers replacing mine.

He always teases me. This is no different. He pinches my nipple, bringing me to the edge of pain. I arch my back into the touch, moaning already.

His other hand dips between my thighs, cupping my heat. Water sprays across my back, and I remember the view from his room. The turquoise water and golden beach. The blue sky dusted with whispering clouds.

I shouldn’t give up my life for simple luxuries, but what I wouldn’t give to wake up to that sight every day. To wake up next to Kirill.

“No,” I gasp. This is a fantasy, but even fantasies have their limits.

There is no world where I wake up next to Kirill.

But we can dothis.

I slide a finger between my slick folds, circling and pressing until my hips rock in a steady rhythm. Until I’m riding my own hand, imagining it’s Kirill gripping me.

Kirill making my legs shake.

Kirill making me bite my lip and cry out.

I’m not insane; I know I’m alone in this shower. But he has to be at least partly responsible for this high. Usually, it takes me twenty minutes to take myself there. I have to work at it, force myself to ease into the fantasy. But tonight, I’m fully submerged from the start. If I leaned back right now, part of me is actually convinced I’ll feel the hard planes of his body behind me.

“Kirill,” I sigh, testing his name on my tongue.

My thighs clench.

“Kirill,” I moan again, moving faster. Harder. Driving myself to the edge of madness.

The orgasm builds and builds. It’s climbing higher than I’ve ever gone before, and I’m worried it will never end. That there will be no release.

Do you think about my hand inside of you often?he asked.

“Yes.”

Have you been thinking about it since the night I drove you home?

“Yes.”

I’ve never needed a release so bad in my life. Kirill’s lie about his den of debauchery sounds like a reprieve now.

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