13. Alik

13

ALIK

S omething strange happens to me as soon as the door closes to my apartment, locking me and Olive away from the world.

My arms surge with energy. My chest expands with power, fueled by lust.

I have her now.

Here, in my apartment, where she can’t leave. No handcuffs needed. No threats needed.

It’s … dizzying. She crosses her arms over her chest while looking around the place as if she didn’t just see it last night. Her feet shuffle by the door, but she follows like a puppy as I go to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water, my hands buzzing with excitement I don’t understand.

It isn’t as if I haven’t had control over people before. I’ve held more lives in my hand than I could ever count, but … not really. I’m always the one to wield the knife but never the one to make the call. Of course, this isn’t about ending her life. I have no desire to do that.

So what is it, then? What’s causing this rush? How good of a puzzle could she be to make me risk my life, kill one of my own, for some insignificant, possibly insane woman?

Pavel .

A glass cup slips from my hand and shatters on the kitchen floor.

By the time I can react to it, blinking away my thoughts, Olive is there, picking up shards with her bare hands.

“Stop,” I say, but my voice is too soft. I clear my throat, along with the lingering feeling of betrayal from my mind. “ Stop .”

Olive flinches at my harsh tone then gasps as she knicks her finger on the broken glass.

With a sigh, I bend to take her arm before hauling her up and leading her to the sink. Red-tinted water swirls down the drain as the tap rushes over the cut. I watch her face, expecting her to cringe, blush with embarrassment, hide herself in her hair, something very Olive , but she stares at the cut with such an intense, mesmerized gaze, that I follow her stare just to look for what she’s seeing.

It’s just a cut. A little bit of blood.

Her eyes flick to me, and she startles like she just remembered I’m here. She lowers her head so her hair shields her. “Sorry.”

“About what?”

“The glass.” She tilts her head toward the broken shards on the floor.

I squint. “I’m the one who dropped it.”

“I know, I meant…”

What?

You meant what?

She doesn’t go on. I think she’s just so used to apologizing that it’s become an awkward reflex.

Why are you so weird, Olive?

And why do I want you so damn bad?

After shutting off the tap, I grab a towel and wrap the cloth around her finger, holding it firmly. Her eyes stare at my hand while her breath stutters, her pale pink lips parting. One simple touch, perfectly platonic, has her looking like she’s about to collapse. I can’t say I hate it. As much as I want to, I can’t even say I don’t understand it. Her touch has the same effect on me.

If it wasn’t for the sketchbook giving away her ongoing obsession over me, I might feel guilt. I would assume her reactions to me were the byproduct of the utter confusion I’ve caused her. In her eyes, I’m her savior, but in truth, I’ve been her executioner from the day we met.

But her reactions to my touch have nothing to do with tonight, or at least not entirely. She’s been watching me for months.

My eyes pan to the sketchbook on my table, my mail piled atop it, and when Olive’s gaze follows mine, she stiffens. She pulls her hand away, wrapping her palm around the towel covering her finger as her steps move toward the book. I thought she might have recognized me today, but the dread on her face shows I was wrong.

I lean my hip against my counter and rest my forearm on the laminate while I watch her.

She carefully sweeps my mail off the top then opens the first page before shutting it and bringing her hands to her chest, not looking at me. If she’s angry at me for taking it, it’s hidden beneath those silky strands of cinnamon I want so badly to unveil.

“You followed me,” she whispers, her eyes pointed at the floor.

I take my time answering. I’m not sure if she needs me to confirm it or if she wants an explanation I don’t have.

Why was I following her?

I don’t know. Probably for the same reason she was drawing pictures of me fucking other women. Sometimes people do things they can’t, or won’t, explain.

“Yes.”

Several seconds of silence pass while she uses her sneaker to scuff my floor. “So then you know.”

I know .

I know?

The way she says it, like there’s a deep, dark secret she’s been keeping, makes me pause. Is there more than the weird shit in the sketchbook?

No. A normal person would be ashamed enough of the drawings being discovered, let alone being outed for stalking someone for months on end. Not everyone spends their days living out the fantasies in her book like I do, so certainly others would judge her more harshly.

“Yes.”

She nods, her face twisting with what looks like agony. “I was on medication that worked for a long time. It was only recently that it stopped.”

What?

“Your sketches of me span over the entire time I’ve lived here. I can tell by the women in some of the drawings… There’s no need to lie.” I push off the counter to walk toward her. When we’re inches away, I take her chin and force her to look at me. Her stormy eyes lasso around my neck and tug me toward her, and I have to fight myself from kissing her vulnerable lips, so unsure, so fearful.

She’s terrified of my judgment. If she knew it’s exactly the things she tries to hide that make her so interesting to me, I wonder if she’d still try to hide them.

“You don’t have to worry about what I think of you.”

She swallows, muscles contracting beneath my fingertips. “What do you think of me?”

Her words hit my mouth in a breeze of minty breath that dips my eyes to her lips. They pull on my neck, and this time, I don’t fight the imaginary cord. I lower my mouth to hers, closing my eyes as I claim the soft, supple flesh that’s been tempting me for too long.

She’s tense for a moment, nervous, but when she relaxes into me, there’s a release in my chest that blows a breath into her mouth. My hands glide down her sweater to the sweet curve of her hips, and I bring her closer to me before gripping her ass and lifting her into the air.

For a moment, her lips break from mine with a gasp, her pretty eyes flying open in question as I carry her to my bedroom. Her tongue briefly swipes across her bottom lip before she latches her mouth onto mine and weaves her hands around my neck.

My cock throbs with anticipation, but my movements are slow as I lay her on my mattress and pull my shirt over my head.

For the very first time, as I stare down at Olive, our eyes locked with a feverish intensity as her chest heaves, I don’t question the way this woman makes me feel. I don’t question the need to go slow, make it last, make it worthwhile for the girl who spends her life capturing mine on paper. I don’t think it strange, even with how starkly it contrasts with the cold sexual exchanges I’ve preferred in the past. For the moment, it makes perfect sense. She makes perfect sense.

We make perfect sense.

My belt buckle jingles as I pull it loose, and Olive’s gaze moves to my pants a moment before she looks at me like she finally understands that she’s Little Red Riding Hood and I’m the wolf. And it’s far, far too late.

I crook my finger at her. “Come here.”

She shifts onto her knees then shuffles to the edge of the bed, her neck craned to look up at me with the sexiest look on her face. A mesmerizing cocktail of excitement and nervousness that sends the same surge of power shooting down my arms as when I shut the door to my apartment. Only much, much sweeter.

“Good girl,” I whisper, my voice heady as I push her hair over her shoulders. A low sigh pulls from my lungs when I run my knuckles down her neck to trace the collar of her sweater, my gaze lowering to take in a body I’ve yet to fully explore.

Her arms raise easily for me as I take the hem of her sweater and pull it over her head, immediately raking my eyes over her torso and finding the tattoos of the little birds flapping their wings, some hidden behind a lacy, black bra.

I run my hands up and down her sides while she leans into my touch, her breaths quick, her eyes wide and full of anticipation for what I might do next.

I wonder how long it’s been since she’s been fucked.

No. Never mind. I don’t want to think about another man inside of her right now. For now, for tonight, she’s mine.

I unclip her bra and toss it on the floor while raking my eyes over tits as perfect as they are in the drawings. She got them just right.

Tight. Perky. Soft pink nipples the black and white photo couldn’t show.

She’s incredible.

When I meet her eyes, she’s watching me with that same look of anticipation, so content to let me fuck her just as I like.

My cock swells.

I press my lips to hers, fighting back a growl when my balls clench with pain at being denied. I lay her on her back, never breaking the kiss.

The button on her jeans pops open with a quick tug of my fingers before I rip her zipper down and work her pants over her hips while she lifts to help me. She’s a little ball of excitement beneath me as her hands weave into my hair and her tongue mingles with mine, her legs moving to shrug off her pants.

I yank mine down next, along with my boxers, then give her panties a tug down her thighs before pressing my cock against her gushing cunt.

When my balls clench again, I break my mouth from her and groan as I push inside her warm, inviting pussy, her walls squeezing around me in an embrace so sweet, it only deepens the ache. Only makes me want more.

I tuck my arm behind one of her knees then bring it to her chest to open her wider for me, a sharp gasp sucking into her parted lips when I thrust inside her with more force.

She keeps her doe eyes open, watching me with lust swirling in the gray of her irises as I rock my hips to fuck her. I don’t know how she keeps her eyes open so wide when mine are heavy. They close from the weight of the ecstasy sitting on top of them, and I only open them to aim for Olive’s lips when I kiss her.

Her body feels so warm beneath mine. I know it must be an illusion of some kind because I don’t keep the temperature up in my apartment, and it’s freezing outside, but in here, it feels like we’re fucking by a warm fire, atop a plush sherpa bedspread on a soft mattress instead of my thin, scratchy comforter, on my firm bed I’ve had for too long. I didn’t notice the inadequacy of my things until now, but suddenly, they seem to matter.

I press my lips to her ear and try to catch my breath before speaking, but my words still come out breathy. “Is this how you pictured it?”

I want it to be.

With every thrust of my hips, pleasure sizzles down my spine, and I want her to feel this too. Need it.

“Or did you picture yourself on top?” I ask, my eyes opening at the realization. The photos. So many of them featured the woman on top.

Goddamn, I’m really putting a lot of thought into this.

Olive’s hands wrap around my neck before she jerks me to her lips for a passionate kiss, pulling away after only a moment. “I pictured it every way,” she says, her voice just as needy as mine was.

My chest rumbles at the intensity in her eyes, and I shove my face in her neck while thrusting my hips faster, harder, her words fueling me. Her heels dig into my back as she moans my name, her nails clawing over faded scars on my back. When it all becomes too much, pushing me too close to the edge, I clench my fists into the comforter and growl as I jerk my cock out of her.

Her whimpers cease, but she pants while looking at me quizzically.

“Get up,” I command, forcing myself off her as my body protests. In an hour, I might regret bringing her here. I might come to my senses and regret everything, wish I’d kicked her out without it potentially having deadly consequences for me, but right now, the idea of having her anywhere but attached to my cock, even for a moment, is unacceptable.

When she sits up, I rest my head on my pillow and take her hand to pull her on top of me. A rare smile spreads over her lips as understanding takes hold. If I didn’t enjoy it so much, I’d kiss it away.

Her palms plant on my abs, making them contract at her touch. When she lowers herself on me, engulfing me in her warm pussy, relief spreads through my tensed muscles.

“Alik,” she cries, her head tilting toward the ceiling as she starts to roll her hips.

Now I understand how she could keep her eyes open. The view of her slender body undulating, her eyelids sinking with pleasure as she fucks me, is too good to miss.

Warm bursts of dopamine hit my cells with every glide of her hips, and my firm mattress starts to feel like it’s sinking me all the way to the ground. Olive leans forward and uses my shoulders as support while moaning in my ear. They grow louder as her thrusts quicken until her nails dig into my shoulder and she rises up with a guttural cry, her jerky hips erratic as she comes.

The dopamine bursts become a tsunami that drowns every cell in my body as my hands grip her waist and I empty into her, grunting as her pussy spasms around me.

She shows me another rare, sleepy smile as she comes down from her orgasm and lowers to lay down in my arms, our sweat-slicked skin slippery against each other.

For a minute, the only sound in the room is our heavy breathing. If she could hear my thoughts, it’d be deafening.

That was … incredible.

I brush sweaty hair off my forehead and try to prepare myself to get up. I don’t know how I’m possibly going to be useful now , but I can’t afford to waste any more time. Nikita will be expecting me to have found Vitaly by morning, but even more than that, I’ll be surprised if I’m not the one they put in charge of handling what happened tonight.

What did happen tonight?

Why the fuck did the Bratva not wait for the Irish to do the hit?

Why did I not know about it?

If I had… I rub my hand over my eyes, brushing away the thought. I’ve been ordered to kill more brothers than I can count. One more shouldn’t suddenly elicit guilt. Although I do wish it hadn’t been Pavel.

“I have some work to do,” I announce, my body heavy with exhaustion. “Do you want me to get the light for you?”

“I can’t go to sleep.” Olive sounds as tired as I am. “I sleepwalk. Trust me, it would freak you out.”

My brow furrows as I turn my head toward her. “Are you serious?”

She bites her lip and nods.

“You can’t just not sleep.”

“I’ll be fine.” She tries to smile, but I can tell it isn’t genuine. “Actually, I’m relieved to have my sketchbook back. I’ve been wanting to draw you nude since forever, and now I can finally get everything, you know…” She gestures to my dick while her lips twitch. “Accurate.”

When she meets my eyes, I can tell she’s hoping for a laugh, but I don’t even smile. She’s acting odd. Not in an Olive kind of way, but in an ‘I’m lying to you,’ kind of way.

She’s cute. She’s always cute, even when she lies. And I’m very much looking forward to crawling into bed with her as soon as I possibly can and will be happy to play games with her later.

But right now, I can’t have her stalling bedtime. I have way too much work to do.

“Okay.” I nod. “Sure.”

She slowly untangles herself from my bed while I get up and go to the kitchen, wasting no time preparing her a glass of water with the same tranquilizer I knocked her out with before, only much less of it. Just enough to get her to sleep.

I clean up the broken glass, guzzle some water, and wait another five minutes until she’s passed out at the table, a few lines drawn in her sketchbook.

When I get her into bed, the blanket pulled to her chin, I spend just a minute staring at her peacefully sleeping form.

With a kiss to her forehead, I stand and shut off the light.