Chapter 14 - Fiona

When Boris's hands squeeze my hips, lifting me up and over the side of the bed, there are two things running through my mind: first, that he is going to open his wound, and second, finally .

As soon as I'm settled on his lap, I can feel him hard through his shorts, and I rock instinctively, making him hiss through his teeth. He can't reach me, so I lean down to him, loving the control as I kiss up and over his chest before finally meeting his lips with mine.

The stubble around his mouth rubs against my face. He sighs into my mouth. I grind against him, and he puts a hand in my hair, pulling me closer. I want every single part of him. To be as close as I can get to him, then even closer than that.

He smells like soap and alcohol wipes. The room is fragrant with the flowers Anya keeps bringing. Distantly, I register that the door is locked, that I locked it before doing Boris's bandages because Anya walked in last time and nearly passed out.

Boris's hands are on the hem of my camisole, groping, grasping, and then he puts his palm flat against my stomach. It's like every nerve ending in my body lights on fire at his touch, his fingers kneading into my skin, working their way up. He stops just under my breasts, and I realize he can't reach any higher.

I let out a breathy laugh against his lips, then pulled back for a moment so I could reach down and strip the camisole over my head.

I've been going bra-less while taking care of him, just to be more comfortable. I realize now that it's a decision that may have led me to this very moment, driving Boris so crazy with desire that he had no choice but to pull me into his lap.

And what a glorious lap it is. I can feel, through the thin fabric of my shorts and his, that he's hard and he's big . My core throbs with need and I feel myself getting wet at the thought of getting him inside me, how he might pant and bury his face in the crook of my neck, how he might grip my hips and maneuver me the way he wants.

Obviously, in his current state, he's not going to be doing much heavy lifting, but I can't stop thinking about all the ways I want Boris to take me. I want to feel his tongue on my clit, want to ride his face, want him to grip my hips until he leaves a bruise there.

" Fuck ," he whispers when my breasts are bare in front of him, and I lean forward, planting a hand on the wall above his head so I can lean over his face. He lifts his chin, taking one of my nipples into his mouth, and I almost collapse at the pleasure that courses through me.

With his hands on my hips, rocking me against his hard cock, and him sucking and biting at my nipple, I might come right here, with our clothes on, five minutes into something I've been dreaming about since the day he appeared in the Allard office building.

I've had sex with other men, of course, but it wasn't like this. They were fumbling, apologizing after every little thing, scared when I told them to put their hand on my throat or pull my hair. They were afraid of how much I liked it, how much pleasure I got from it. They wanted a woman who would lay on her back and smile demurely when the act was finished, but that wasn't me.

And it's still not.

With my other hand, I reach behind Boris's head and press his mouth closer to mine, watching as he looks up at me and bites down on my nipple so hard that the pain mixes with pleasure, and I cry out, grinding against him harder.

"Shh," he says, his voice rough and barely audible when he pulls away, leaving my breast raw and tingling. "You wouldn't want someone to interrupt us, would you?"

Then, he takes one hand off my hip, trailing it over my stomach, down my thigh, until he finds the hem of my shorts. We kiss as he plays, driving me mad until I'm grinding my pussy down onto his hand.

When he finally pushes my panties to the side and slips a finger into my folds, I bury my face in his neck and let out a low moan. Feeling how his body responds to that underneath me makes me want to strip off his shorts and ride him right now.

"Are you in pain?" I whisper, having enough wits about me to remember that the guy has a stab wound in his side, and I have my entire body weight on him, riding him.

"Yes," he growls, "but I like it."

I gasp when his fingers swipe up and down, exploring me, touching every part of me, spreading the wetness around until every part of me is fully soaked.

"You're so wet for me, Fiona," he murmurs, his eyes practically black as he gazes up at me. My tits bounce in his face as I move my hips, trying to get his fingers where I want them. He circles my clit once twice before diving back down to my entrance like he can't focus on just one area at a time.

"You're so hard for me, Boris," I say through gritted teeth. "What's the matter? The short shorts and camisole getting to you?"

"I knew that was on purpose," he mutters, letting out half a laugh.

" Everything I do is on purpose," I hum, letting out a little gasp when he dips just the tip of a finger inside me. He's playing with me. Fine—two people can participate. "Including leaning over you, putting my tits in your face, taking extra careful strokes when bathing you, touching myself at night, thinking about what it would be like to have your big, pulsing cock in—"

I'm cut off, letting out a half-scream, half-gasp when Boris plunges two fingers inside me, his hand trapped between our hips. The pleasure is like nothing I've ever felt before—sure, I've used toys on myself, and I've had other men, but there's been nothing like Boris thrusting his fingers into me, trying to take my breath away.

"That's right," he says, "shut the fuck up, Fiona, and ride me."

I growl at him but follow his instructions, gasping again when he adjusts and gets a third finger inside me, stretching me just to the point of pain. Everything in his lap so far has been about pain and pleasure, mixing together, like salty and sweet, complementary flavors.

My brain conjures up the image of him chasing me through the office building, out into the front yard, his arms roping around me and pulling me back—that jolt of fear that quickly translated into arousal when his body was near.

When he puts a fourth finger in, his thumb working my clit, it only takes two more pumps, his hips working with his hand, to make me come undone.

I lean down and press my mouth to his as I come, his tongue in my mouth and his fingers in my pussy working together as I shake and shudder before eventually going boneless on top of him.

" Fiona ," he breathes, his fingers still inside me. " Fuck . You are so tight."

"So why don't you take these shorts off," I say, reaching down for his waistband. I'm still feeling wrung-out now, but I know in a few minutes, I'll be more than ready to come on his dick. The thought of it sends a shiver down my spine, and I move faster, hooking my thumbs in the waistband of his shorts, trying to tug them down.

"Fiona," he says, his hands wrapping around mine, stopping me in my tracks.

"What?" I ask, pulling back so I can look at his face. "Oh my god, are you okay? Is your side hurting you?"

I make to climb off his lap, but his hands go to my hips, holding me tightly in place.

"What's wrong?" I ask, and his eyes skip up to meet mine.

"Sorry," he says, letting out a breath. "Shit—I finally have you here, and this isn't—"

"Boris," I laugh, "that was legitimately the best sex of my life, and you haven't even gotten your dick out yet. So, what's wrong?"

He lets out a sigh and brings a hand to his face, scrubbing over his head.

"I've just—things haven't exactly been going my way lately. And I want to make sure I do this with you, right."

"What is this?" I ask, breathless. "Why wouldn't you do it right?"

"Olive," he says, shaking his head. "Your friend. I can't promise that I won't…approach her. I'm not saying kidnap, and I'm definitely not saying marry. But I can't be certain that she's not involved in her father's dealings. And if she is, she could be a valuable source of intel."

"Boris," I say, wrestling with the thing that I've been hesitant to tell him since he was stabbed. All this time, I've been defending Olive tooth and nail, but it was her bodyguard—the guy always hanging around her at work—that came after me. That doesn't mean nothing.

Of course, now that I know what kind of guy her dad is, it could just be him using Olive's guy to try and drive a wedge between us. But it could also be Olive, and I would be a fool not to acknowledge that.

As I spend more time with the Milovs, I realize that the world isn't what I thought it was. That means Olive could be someone I've never known.

The thought of it is painful, especially as I think about every Saturday night we've spent together, all the episodes of The Bachelor, Bridgerton, Friends, and every show that even remotely involves romance.

I think of her, holding my hair back while I vomited into the toilet. Telling everyone at the party, it was her hurling her guts. Every heartbreak, every late night, every emergency call to which she came running. She told me she loved me, and I said it right back because we were the closest thing two strangers could ever get to being sisters.

"It could have been Olive," I breathe, a tear slipping down my cheek. I look away from Boris, not wanting him to see this weakness in me.

"A betrayal from the person you love most in the world is the most painful," he says, taking my chin and turning my head so I'm looking at him again. "If one of my brothers ever betrayed me, I wouldn't know what to do with it. I hope that Olive wasn't behind it—"

"It was her bodyguard," I say, a tiny sob ripping from my throat. "I've seen the guy lingering around her before. I used to think he was a boyfriend or one of the guys she kept around in case she got bored, but looking back on it, I realize he's a bodyguard."

"Allard could have used him strategically," Boris says, running a hand over his chin. "To make you think Olive has betrayed you."

"Maybe," I say, closing my eyes. "But what I'm saying now is that I can't be sure it wasn't her."

"Fiona—"

"Just promise me that no matter what happens, you'll let me talk to her. I want to look her in the face to see if she truly was the one behind this. I need to see her myself. If she knows about everything her dad has been doing, then she's made a fool of both of us."

"If Olive is involved in my next steps," he says, "I promise you that I will give you an audience with her if it's within my power."

"Thank you," I breathe, then, "what are the next steps?"

"I don't know just yet," Boris says. "Right now, I suppose it's just getting this damn wound to heal. After that—well, I still haven't gotten revenge for the death in the community. For the embarrassment at the arms deal."

When I raise an eyebrow at that, Boris tells me quickly about what happened.

"That was very smooth, telling him it was a test."

"Yes, but if we don't figure out how Allard pulled it off, it could very well happen at the next trade-off. If that happens, Nevio will surely realize it wasn't a test. My failures will just continue to compound."

"Boris—"

"They are failures—but that's okay. I can own up to them. The failed arms deal, kidnapping the wrong woman—"

"—I would argue you kidnapped the right woman—"

"—the stabbing. Each one of them demonstrates a moment in which I could have done something different. Better watch over the weapons. Actually checking to see what Olive looked like, more security at Noch. But I am learning from those mistakes. And I won't continue to let my family down."

"Your family is so, so proud of you," I say, eyes shining with tears for this man who truly thinks he isn't doing enough. "I—I wish I had what you have. Your brothers and sister—they all came immediately to help you. The only person I've ever had in my life who would do that is Olive, and now I'm not even sure if that was genuine. You're not failing them. They love and respect you so much."

"Fiona—"

"I'm telling you, you're not allowed to talk about yourself like that anymore," I say, and when I move my hips against him, I see his eyes darken.

"It does turn me on when you tell me what to do," he murmurs, and this time, when I hook my thumbs in the waistband of his shorts, he doesn't stop me.