When he turned to face my direction, I opened my big mouth and lied, “I hate you.”
Apparently I had no control over my mouth either. Why was I tormenting him? The words were right, because Ishouldhate him, but they weren’t congruent with my actual feelings. I felt anything but hate for this man.
Rejecting the bait, Chad sucked in his cheeks and stared back at me, his gaze doing a sweep down my body and back up. “I really,reallywish the feeling was mutual, Blood. It would make it so much easier to bury a bullet in your head and get it over with.”
A strange feeling crept from my toes upward, and I scraped my fingernails at my thighs to keep myself restrained as I watched Chad watch me, the elevator doors closing in.
The feeling won out, restraint broken, and I bolted forward, pushing my hands between the doors to stop them from closing, then launched myself at Chad.
He caught me, our bodies crashing violently into contact, our lips attacking each other’s, our tongues embroiling in a deadly war.
Chad’s hand reached out and flipped the switch to stop the elevator in the same time he shifted and slammed me up against the wall, hiking up one of my legs around his hip.
Body on fire, I grabbed at his too-lengthy hair and forced his head down lower so I could kiss him deeper. His tongue was so hard and probing. So commanding, bossing my tongue around. But my tongue was stubborn, defiant, fighting him at every swirl.
He rocked forward, his hard-on shouting ‘Here I am’, telling me he wanted me.
Moving one hand down between us, Chad dipped down into my leggings and panties, where he found me slick and hot and aching for him. He drove his fingers through and through the valleys of my folds before taking hold of my clit between his fingers and began massaging. The sensation felt so fucking amazing, I bit on his lip and rocked into his hand, again and again, until he massaged an orgasm right out of me.
I came with a shattering jolt, and cooled down in placating ripples, hips still rocking at his fingers until I went lax.
Removing his hand, Chad brought his wet fingers up to my mouth and I greedily sucked them in, loving the taste of myself and the masculinity of him.
Brooding gaze on my mouth as it sucked his fingers clean of my cum, he said in an easy, but threatening voice, “Better let this hold you until later. ‘Cause if you dare order a call-girl, I’ll fucking kill you.”
Thirteen years ago…
Rublevka, Moscow, Russia
Staring at the unsolvable math problems on the pages of her homework notebook, the girl bit her lip, and bumped her forehead down on her study desk in her room.
She was no good at mathematics. Blood usually helped her with her homework, but she hadn’t seen him in over two weeks, and her father and brother thought she needed to learn to solve the problems on her own.
That’s why she loved Blood more than them, because he always, always helped her and made things easier.
The girl hated math. She hated homework. She hated school as a whole. It all made her head hurt—
The air suddenly felt different.
Without even having to look up, she felt him appear at her bedroom doorway.
Her headache transformed into relief as she set down her pencil and swiveled her chair away from her study desk to greet him.
But her smile morphed into a gasp when she saw his face. His right eye was swollen shut, nothing but blackened, bruised skin clotted with blood. He looked as if he’d been tied to a wheel of a trailer truck and then dragged through the streets. A gash on the cheek, a busted lip.
Cold chills wound through the girl. Seeing him like that pained her heart to the very core.
As he entered the room, she started to ask, “What happe—” but he cut off her question with, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“But—”
“Please.”
With a weak movement, he waved the J. R. R Tolkien book in his hand. “Can we read?”
The girl walked up to him and tipped up her chin to accommodate his great height. He was a well-grown teenager, she wasn’t even close. They were a wide eight years apart. “Only if you let me put something on your eye. I still have a half-tube of that smelly antibiotic ointment the doctors gave me when I broke my pinky finger.”
The girl would not let up if he denied her that much. He was used to getting whatever he wanted, but not this time; not unless he agreed to her terms. In any way she could, she needed to help ease his pain. Of course, she was no doctor, but maybe her ointment would help. It had helped with her broken finger a few months ago.
