Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

VIVIAN

B urning white fiery flames licked over my body.

My mouth opened on a low, keening moan as his cock pierced me.

My inner muscles contracted painfully as I struggled to accept his shaft. I hadn't had a boyfriend in over three years and was not the type to enjoy one-night stands.

This was an absolute first for me.

Holy shit.

I didn't even know the Russian's name!

He yanked on my hair as he leaned over me.

The heat of his skin warmed mine.

"You feel that, beautiful? You feel me inside of you?"

How could I not? The man was tearing me in two.

His open mouth ran along the edge of my jaw before he kissed my neck, sending sparks of awareness up my spine. "I'm going to fuck you like an animal until you scream for mercy."

Oh, God!

My body jerked forward against the sofa cushions as he pounded into me even more fiercely.

Everything about this was raw and primal.

I could feel everything about his cock.

The thick girth, the warmth, the hard ridge of his head.

Everything.

It was so much more intimate and intrusive than fucking a man with a condom on.

The heat of it.

The contact of flesh to flesh instead of smooth, impersonal rubber.

He shifted his hand from my hip to my breast, ruthlessly pinching my nipple.

It almost sent me over the edge.

My fingernails dug into the sofa cushions as this time I cried out.

My knees opened wider as I pushed my hips against him. I didn't want to; it was as if my body were responding to his primal claiming.

Then it happened.

Something that had never happened before with a man. Ever.

He hit my G-spot. And not once by accident. But steady, rhythmic pressure.

As if he knew he'd hit it.

Lightning sparks ignited behind my eyelids as an intense glow fired from within me.

This was happening!

Holy shit.

Usually I'd only come from oral sex or my vibrator, but now… Oh, God!

"That's it, krasivaya . Come on my cock."

He thrust harder, bruising my pelvic bone, taking complete control over my body.

If it wasn't so pleasurable it would be sadistic.

I desperately wanted to deny him. To resist. To refuse to give him the satisfaction.

As if reading my mind, like the demon he was, he bit my earlobe. "I'll fuck this tight pussy raw until you do. Don't try to deny me."

My inner thighs clenched. Fuck. The man was a master at the totally inappropriate dirty talk.

He moved his hand from my breast to between my thighs.

Oh, no!

As he rubbed two fingers over my clit in slow, deliberate circles… I came undone.

I threw my head back with a cry as the most intense orgasm of my life washed over me. If it wasn't for the pleasurable pain, I would have blacked out from it.

Even so, my vision blurred as my breathing stopped.

I gripped the sofa so hard, I was sure I broke a nail as my hips bucked and twitched under him.

"Fuck, yeah, baby. Yes," he groaned as he twisted his hips and ground against my ass.

I slumped forward, sagging against the inverted sofa cushions.

But he wasn't finished with me.

His breath was harsh against my cheek when he whispered, "We're not done."

My eyes sprang open.

Before I could react, he had flipped me onto my back. I was now lying on the floor along the sofa back cushions with my hip pressed against the seat of the sofa. From this strange position, he spread open my legs and kneeled between them.

This was when I got my first good look at his cock.

My mouth dropped open.

Turgid and thick, it glistened with my arousal as it bucked and bounced between his legs.

My God.

The man had a fucking horse cock. No wonder it hurt so badly. I'd be lucky if I could walk after this.

He raised an eyebrow and smirked.

My cheeks flamed at getting caught gawking at his junk.

Leaning forward, he rested a forearm above my head, covering me with his considerable height and muscle dense weight. "Look all you want, beautiful. I'll even give you a taste if you ask nicely."

I choked as if that thing were already in my throat. "You're not getting that anywhere near my mouth!"

His lips quirked. "We'll see."

The knuckles of his right hand brushed my inner thigh as he grabbed his shaft and positioned the head at my entrance.

"Wait!"

He refused, thrusting forward, straight to the balls.

My back arched as my knees rose into the air on either side of him, as if I were trying to open myself up as much as possible to ease the pressure. Even after the pounding he had just given me, I still wasn't accustomed to his girth.

His chest rose and fell with his heavy breathing as he pounded into my already sore pussy.

I closed my eyes, assuming he would now be focused on his own release.

Since I'd had my orgasm, it was logical he would do so.

"Open your eyes, baby. Look at me."

Even as I hated myself for it, I obeyed.

"You're coming again for me."

It wasn't a request.

My brow lowered as I pressed my hands against his chest. "I'm not a robot. I can't just come on command."

His eyebrow quirked upward. "We'll see about that."

A few more thrusts and dammit… he did it again. My G-spot. It was like the man had tagged it with some kind of primal radar.

With his free hand, he pushed my still wet T-shirt up, exposing my breasts.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous," he exclaimed before he leaned down and latched onto my right nipple with his lips, sucking hard, using the edge of his teeth.

My hips bucked again. "Oh, God!"

He sucked on my nipple harder.

I came again, seeing stars behind my eyelids as my legs wrapped around his hips, anchoring him against me.

Before the last ripple had finished, he increased the pace of his thrusts. "My turn."

My palms pressed against his chest as I breathlessly spat, "Don't forget to pull out."

He thrust harder, saying nothing.

My fingers twisted into his chest hair and yanked. "Hey! Pull out!"

He bared his teeth as he threw back his head with a roar.

I tried to shimmy my hips backwards and away from his body, but it was no use. He had me locked beneath him.

Hot come filled my insides and dribbled down my inner thigh as he slowly pulled out.

I curled my hand into a fist and beat it against his chest. "What the fuck was that?"

He leaned back on his haunches and ran his hand through his hair. "I'd say the best sex of both of our lives."

I fumed in the bathroom mirror as I pressed a warm, wet washcloth between my legs.

That he was right didn't make it any less wrong.

Nor did the fact that I looked thoroughly fucked.

My hair was a tangled mess of still damp curls. My cheeks were bright pink and…

Jesus Christ… were those hickeys?

Fucking hickeys!

This was not how I envisioned this night going when I set out to get my money from Abakar.

Pushing my hair back, I wrapped it in a tight ponytail with a scrunchie. I then tossed on a pair of yoga pants, thick socks, and an oversized sweater. As I was leaving the bedroom, I grabbed a discarded wool scarf from over a nearby chair and wrapped it around my throat for good measure.

If I'd had my parka in my bedroom closet instead of the hall one, I would have put that on too.

Remembering that I couldn't leave him alone for too long for fear he might get curious and open the second bedroom door, I left my room to confront him.

The sofa was righted. The candle and ashes from the burnt mail discarded and the coffee table wiped off with only a black scar as evidence of the fire. He was standing in the middle of the room with a mop, wiping the last of the water off the hardwood floor.

Still shirtless.

Damn, he was hot.

Crossing my arms over my middle, refusing to acknowledge his kindness, I ground out through clenched teeth, "I can do that."

He set the mop aside and reached for his thermal shirt. Drawing it over his head, he pushed it down over his chest as he said, "Is that what you're wearing to the airport?"

I blinked. "What airport? What are you talking about?"

He crossed to the kitchen counter with his discarded duffel bag. Unzipping it, he pulled the sides open and tilted it so I could see the contents. There were stacks of crisp bills. All hundreds.

Zippering up the duffel, he said, "There is ten thousand in cash in there. That should tide you over until I can send for you. There will be a million more euros in it for you later."

Send for me?

And yeah, right about the million euros.

As a former bartender, I knew never to trust a guy who promised to tip later at the end of the night.

Later never seemed to come for men like that, especially not after they got what they wanted.

He tore a piece of notepaper off my magnet notepad on the refrigerator. Snatching the pen next to it, he scribbled on the paper, folded it in half, and handed it to me. "If you get into trouble before then, call this number and ask for me."

I unfolded the paper and looked down.

In harsh, masculine scrawl there was a Chicago phone number and under it was the name Varlaam Romanovich Rubashkin.

Could his name sound more scarily Russian?

I folded the paper and handed it back to him. "Thanks, but I won't be needing this. Or your money because I'm not leaving."

I mean, if he insisted, I would still take the money, but my pride dictated I at least pretend to refuse it.

He brushed past me to waltz into my bedroom. "Good. I see you are already packed."

Closing the suitcase, he leaned to the side to zipper it up.

"Hey! Don't touch my suitcase! I don't want to leave."

Sure, I'd been desperately trying to leave town less than an hour earlier, but that was on my terms. And strictly speaking, I hadn't wanted to leave. I was being forced to for my own safety.

Since the monster chasing me had literally showed up on my doorstep and then fucked me into oblivion, I figured it would be safe to unpack now and go on with my life.

Ignoring my hands, he finished zippering it, pulled the heavy case off my bed, and marched back into the main area, depositing it by the door. "I didn't ask what you wanted to do."

Once more, I crossed my arms over my chest as I tapped my foot. "Yeah. I noticed you're not so great about asking first."

He gave my cheek a pinch. "You're adorable when you're mad. What do you want in this other suitcase?"

"Not to go back to a touchy subject, but what happened to you coming here to kill me?"

I was getting whiplash from all the changes to my situation.

"I told you. I wasn't here to kill you, and I didn't kill the bastard, but an unhinged Southside gang did. It's only a matter of time before they learn about you. You're in danger. You'll be safer out of the country for a few weeks."

My lips thinned. "And fucking me?"

His head tilted as he stared at me. "That was just a farewell bonus."

"You're a bastard."

"So you've told me. If you're not going to change, we really need to get going. Your flight leaves soon. Where is your passport?"

Despite my strenuous objections, I somehow found myself sitting in the passenger seat of his car, parked outside the international terminal at O'Hare airport.

They were so skittish about bombs that usually a person couldn't so much as pause here without a police officer coming up and threatening federal prison. But one after another they approached the car and the moment they caught sight of Varlaam, they tipped their hat and moved on.

Who the hell was this Russian?

He handed me a printout of my ticket.

First class to Italy.

At least he wasn't cheap.

He leaned his arm along the backseat of the car. "I'll come and find you in a few weeks. In the meantime, find yourself a nice hotel and lie low. If you have any issues, in the duffel bag there is the contact information for Benedict Cavalieri on another piece of paper. He'll be able to help until I get there."

I stared at the ticket printout. Without looking up, I asked, "Find me? Why would you want to do that?"

He grasped my chin and forced me to look at him. "Because I'm not done with you."

"What if I don't want to be found?"

His thumb stroked my bottom lip. "I'll find you anyway and convince you otherwise."

He'd taken my cellphone and told me my bank accounts and credit cards had been closed to avoid anyone tracking me. I couldn't see how he'd find me, even if he wasn't lying and wanted to.

Without saying another word, I got out of the car.

He followed.

Popping the trunk, he grabbed my suitcase.

A porter appeared out of nowhere to take it from him.

He stepped close, pushing me against the warm metal of the car. "Kiss me."

"Mr. Rubashkin?—"

"Var."

"What?"

"Call me Var."

"I don't want to."

"Do it anyway."

I sighed. "Fine, Var. I?—"

His hand wrapped around my neck and pulled me close as his lips claimed mine. As with everything, he dominated and controlled. Taking and tasting. Stealing my breath away.

When we broke free, my lips were bruised, and I'd forgotten what I was going to say.

He stroked my cheek with the back of his hand. "Go now. Stay in Italy until I come for you."

Stumbling over the curb, I entered the airport.

I have to admit I was proud of myself for not turning around, even when I heard the Range Rover car door close and him drive away.

I stayed in the airport lounge for over an hour. Ignoring all the strange stares at my odd attire as I downed two Kamikaze martinis.

After hoping enough time had passed, I grabbed the duffel bag full of what was probably incredibly ill-gotten cash and hailed a cab back to my apartment.