by Vivian Wood
“The circumstances are…unpleasant.” He stops and looks at me and finally I see his eyes soften. “You’re the one good thing about this.”
“I’m sorry it’s unpleasant. What can I do to take your mind off things?”
His eyes run over my face and he smiles. “You help just by being here.”
Amid the sunset walkers, the people taking selfies, the heave and sigh of the ocean, he kisses me, and he tastes like salt tang and cool mint. His large hands hold me close, one around my waist and the other sliding up to cup the nape of my neck. As I lose myself in his kiss I find I don’t care that he’s secretive and sometimes struggles to forget about work. He can have his life and I can have mine, and this can be our special world between worlds. One of sweetness and sensation where nothing else matters.
Just him and me.
He holds out his arm and I link my arm through his, as if we’re Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy. My breast presses against his bicep, which is probably not something Elizabeth Bennett would do, but it feels good.
The restaurant is at the top of the sea wall overlooking the ocean and we spend a pleasant few hours over dinner talking about the city. Misha has been here before and knows the history of the city. A few times, I let my foot caress his calf as he’s talking, and he loses his train of thought each time I do.
When we get back to the hotel I link my arm through his as we get into the elevator. Even though he’s been touching me he doesn’t seem like he’s going to take the initiative here. So I do.
“Which one’s your room?” I ask, smiling up at him.
He clears his throat, not meeting my eyes. “You don’t need to, you can just go back to…”
I twine my arms around his neck. I’m not doing my duty, I’m doing this because I’ve been distracted by the sight of his large hands all evening, and I want them on me. “Misha. It felt so good to come on your cock the other night. I want to do that again.”
He leans past me and hits a floor number. Pressed so close to him, I can feel the way his cock is thickening against my thigh. As the elevator rises he walks me back against the cool metal wall and kisses me with aching slowness. I moan deep in my throat. How can this man feel so good, look so good, taste so good?
In his room he seems to hesitate again, but I know exactly what to do. I get on my hands and knees on the bed and prowl around in a circle like a cat. I stop with my behind toward him, knowing he can see my G-string because my skirt is so short, and turn and look over my shoulder questioningly.
In my best purr, I say, “Please?”
He folds his arms, one eyebrow raised, desire glimmering in his eyes. “Please what?”
“Please lick me.”
But he shakes his head. “And miss the sight of you doing that? Oh, no, ljubica. I’m sure you’ve got more to show me.”
So he wants a performance. I remember how much I detested the idea of performing for men at Mr. Ravnikar’s club. Performing for Misha, though, would be a pleasure. I reach around behind myself and run a finger down the seam of my sex, watching him follow the path of my finger. I slip it just beneath the fabric, teasing myself slowly, and then pull the fabric aside, exposing myself to him. He still doesn’t move but he’s watching me with laser focus. I see the thick rod of his erection in his trousers and it makes my pulse pound hard deep in my core, knowing I’m going to soon feel the slow, delicious stretch of his cock. I run my finger through my wetness, circling my clit and then moving up to dip into myself.
Misha steps forward and runs a finger over mine. “Fuck yourself for me.”
I push my fingers deeper, feeling my slipperiness and the resistance of my tight flesh, imagining his strong thrusts. “It’s not enough,” I whimper. “Please, Misha.”
He says in the same uncompromising tone, “Keep going. I want to see you come.”
Under his hawk-like attention I continue to thrust into myself and then rub my clit. I’ve never done anything like this for anyone before but it’s so very good to do it for Misha. I move my knees wider and arch my back, giving him a better view. He surrounds me with his presence. I can feel my orgasm approaching and my eyes close, anticipating how the bliss will overtake me.
Suddenly he slaps my ass, hard, takes hold of my hips and pulls me toward him, and then pushes me down onto the bed. My behind is angled upward and I half-pant, half-laugh into the bedclothes. “I thought you said you wanted to see me come.”
“And I will.” He leans down and licks me through the gauzy fabric of my underwear and I squirm against his mouth, trying to get more of him. I was so close and it will only take a little more to push my over the edge. He spanks my ass again and growls, “Hold still.”
His tongue returns to its exploration of me and I melt into the bed. He pulls my underwear to the side and I finally feel the slide of his tongue against my pussy. I want to sob his name because he feels as good as I anticipated. He strokes me firm and slow, I clench my hands on the blankets and whimper.
“You want to come so badly, don’t you, baby?” he murmurs, the vibrations of his voice cascading through me.
“Yes, Misha. Please.”
He spreads me wider with his fingers and blows gently on my clit. “Pretty girl. I’ve been thinking about this since you left my car. Nice and slow.” One of his fingers teases my entrance and then sinks inside me. “Is that enough, ljubica?”
It won’t be enough until he’s buried his cock inside me. I need him to fuck me as furiously as the last time, the firm, deep strokes driving away everything but him. “More,” I whimper.
Misha slowly impales me with two fingers and strokes hard over my g-spot. His voice is warm and indulgent. “How about that, baby? Is that enough?”
Chapter Thirteen
Misha
“More, please,” she cries, leaning back onto my fingers.
It’s like a drug hearing her beg for me. She’s performing beautifully, getting on her knees and showing herself to me, but it’s a performance she’s giving willingly. I can feel it from how wet she is, how her swollen flesh feels, hot and tight around my fingers. How she responds to me. Just for me. And I’m going to drink my fill of the sight and feel of her.
I find the spot deep inside her that makes her cry out and massage it so hard her back flexes—but then I ease off again. I’m not in a hurry tonight. I have a large, comfortable bed, all the time in the world, and Ciara, exactly where I want her.
I flip her over onto her back so I can look at her face while I tug her underwear down her legs. She looks up at me with sultry eyes, her long blonde hair spilling across the bed, the silver of her dress shimmering in the soft light.
She’s so fucking beautiful. I really don’t deserve her. I shouldn’t even be doing this, but I can’t seem to help myself, not when she begs so sweetly with her touch and kisses to take her to bed. I’m only flesh and blood. I throw her underwear aside and slide my hands up her silken thighs, parting them as I go.
What’s going to happen, I wonder, stroking my fingers over her pussy, in just over a year from now when her debt is paid off? I could keep her as my baby. Or, I could tell her the truth about who I really am. Would that be so bad, if she knew she gave herself to Damir Ravnikar’s brother, and he fucked her as often as he could?
Because looking at her spread before me I know I’m damn well going to.
“Misha?”
She’s looking up at me, perplexed, and I realize I’m standing over her, just looking at her. “You make me forget about all the awful things in my life. I can’t talk about any of them, but just know that you make a difference.”
Ciara scoots forward on the bed and wraps her ankles around my hips, urging me closer. I sink down beside her on the bed.
She whispers, “Whenever I’m with you I feel like nothing bad can happen, and nothing can touch me.”
I close my eyes briefly and slide the blade of my nose against hers. That’s far more beautiful than what I said. I wish I could offer her beauty
, but where I come from there’s only blood and regret.
“That’s exactly how I wanted to make you feel the moment I laid eyes on you,” I say huskily.
She frowns, puzzled. “At La Fleche D’or? Really? I thought you didn’t really like me at first.”
Shit. I didn’t mean then. I meant in the footage at her parents’ funeral. “I liked you right from the start. I wanted to help you but I didn’t know how.” That’s the whole truth. I trace my forefinger along her cheek. “Everything feels so easy with you. How do you do that?”
A smile curves her lips. “You do that, too.”
“Me? No, I don’t, I’m surly and difficult. My PA always tells me so.”
She laughs and begins undoing my tie and the buttons of my shirt. “You’re really very sweet, Misha. You just sometimes hide it well.”
Convulsively, I put my hand over hers and flatten it against my chest. Fuck. I keep forgetting. I’m not self-conscious about it normally, but I feel strange about Ciara seeing it.
“Misha? What’s wrong?”
“I have a scar.” It’s a thick, ugly mark on the left side of my chest. Sometimes it itches, but mostly it just feels numb to the touch. It reminds me of dead things and bad times.
She shakes her head, puzzled, smiling gently. “It’s all right. I already know you’re beautiful.”
Slowly, I release my hand and let her unbutton my shirt. When she pushes it back off my shoulders, she traces the ragged scar tissue for a moment, and then runs her fingers down my chest. “See? Beautiful,” she whispers.
I’m not, but it’s very kind of her to say such a thing. Her hands go on touching me, caressing my ribs and belly, and scratching gently through the hair on my chest. She takes her time over touching me and I enjoy the sensation. I can’t remember the last time I let a woman just do that, because it felt good.
I fumble for the zipper of her dress and slide it down. We undress each other slowly, caressing each other, kissing flesh as it’s bared. I can’t get enough of the way she feels, soft and smooth against my mouth. Ciara takes my hand and presses my fingers against her sex. Fuck, she’s even wetter than before, and her eyes grow hazy the moment I touch her clit.
Ciara’s hand snakes down between us and she begins to pump her hand slowly up and down my cock. For a moment I have to close my eyes and go with it. “Are you trying to make me lose my patience,” I manage between gritted teeth.
Her voice is a tempting whisper. “You can go slowly the next time. I want you now. We’ve got all night.”
I’m so close to giving into her and just spreading her legs and thrusting into her, over and over, but I rein myself in. I pull her hand off my dick and slide down between her legs. Just for that I’m going to make this torture for her.
Licking her is a slow pleasure and I want to make it last because she feels so sweet against my tongue. The sounds she makes as I suck her clit are heaven. Maybe I’m one of those fools who can’t tell when a woman is flattering him to get what she wants, but I’ve known those women all my adult life and there’s something different about Ciara. I slide two fingers deep into her pussy and she cries out roughly. Something very different.
I want to savor every moment with her. Things between us will be over all too soon, forever, and I know I’ll never have anything like this again as long as I live. I let up the movements of my tongue, sensing she’s close, and she digs her nails into my shoulders.
I withdraw my fingers, too. She clenches harder on my muscles, trying to be vicious, but I just laugh softly and lap at her teasingly. If I make her feel good, I can take away some of the pain and fear she’s felt these past weeks, though I’m not sure she counts this as pleasurable as I stop before she can come yet again.
“Having fun?” she asks through narrowed eyes, her chest heaving.
“I am, rather.”
I sit up on the bed on my knees, arching over her, enjoying how she looks spread out beneath me, naked and incredibly turned on. My cock juts out over her and I savor the sight. Remembering how she feels, squeezed tight around me. Anticipating the grip of her velvet flesh on my cock. Committing every moment with Ciara to memory.
She whimpers in relief as I reach into the bedside table and begin to roll a condom down over my length. “Needy, baby?”
She nods. “Yes, daddy.”
I smile at the nickname, remembering how much I hated it when Bethany teased me with it before I’d met Ciara. I like it from Ciara, though. I hold out my hand and she places hers in mine, as sweet as sugar.
“Come here, ljubica. Come to daddy.”
She sits up and straddles my thighs and I watch as she positions the tip of my cock at her core. But I clamp my hand around myself and don’t let her take me into her yet. With my other hand I draw circles on her clit with my thumb, slowly, slowly, watching her face. Her breathing picks up and her hands gripping my shoulders begin to knead my flesh.
“Will you let me come this time?”
“If you’re good.”
“I’m always so good,” she says, brushing her lips against mine.
“Yes, you are.”
I want to see it, the exact moment she reaches her peak. Her face tenses and her eyebrows draw together. One more circle, two. And then her head tips back and her body flexes as she cries out. I let go of my cock and she sinks down onto me as she comes. Fuck. The sensations ripple along my length and I feel her clench tight with her climax, over and over.
Ciara works herself up and down on my length and her cries become rough and increase in pitch. Her desire’s intense and it’s almost too much for me, watching her like this, feeling her tight flesh gripping my cock. She pants my name against my mouth.
I lift her body in my arms and lay her back in the bed beneath me, drinking in my fill of the sight of her as I pound her hard, her body soft and smooth in my hands. She gazes up at me with need and abandon in her eyes, closing them for longer and longer periods as she nears her peak. I want to draw it out and make this sweetness last forever but she rubs her fingers along my bristly jaw and her eyes are plaintive.
“Come with me, Misha, please.”
As she crests beneath me I come as well, the wave of sensation crashing through my body, hard and unrelenting, and I know then that I want this again and again.
I get rid of the condom and pull her into my arms, our legs tangled together and the orgasm flush still bright in her cheeks. She looks so fucking beautiful, and so happy. I let the happiness fill myself too, pretending for a little while that it’s just the two of us we have to worry about, and no one else.
“Misha?” she says softly, and I draw her face up to mine, hearing the question in her voice. “Did you think it would feel this way between us?”
I stare at her, not knowing how to answer. There are so many things I feel for Ciara but I didn’t expect to feel any of them.
Panic flickers in her eyes. “I mean—I don’t want to speak for you. But I just feel like this is more special than couples who are in our position usually experience. Maybe. I don’t know.”
“I never imagined anything could feel this way.”
It seems her mind is still on our arrangement as she asks, tentatively, “Do you ever wonder what I’m doing with your money?”
I think about it often. I hate that she’s forced into Damir’s cruel orbit but I can’t think of a way to protect her from that. The money has to pass from her to him. “I’m sure you’re putting it to good use.”
“Have you ever wanted to ask me about it?”
I hesitate, trying to disentangle the things I know about the Alders because of Damir from the things she’s told me. “I assume that when your parents passed away they left you less than well provided for. But that’s none of my business.”
I remember what Ciara said earlier about her parents. I hated them as much as you can hate people you love. I know exactly what she means. How I hate my dear, beloved brother. I hate that I’ve been sent here on Damir’s paranoid o
rders. I hate that I can’t say no to him, because I’m tied to him through the loyalty he earned from me eighteen years ago. But that’s not even half of the hate that’s simmering in my chest, and I can feel my hatred approaching the boil. For the first time since we became partners in Ravnikar Enterprises, I start to wonder what my life would look like if I was rid of my brother, once and for all.
“Misha? You look so serious. What are you thinking about?”
When I look at Ciara, a sense of calm washes over me. She’s here, she’s mine, and she’s safe. “I was thinking that I haven’t felt this before. The peace that comes from knowing you have made a woman happy.”
She smiles up at me, a tender, wondering smile. Her arms wrap ever tighter around me as if she’s seeking the protection and comfort of my body. As if I’m someone she can trust.
A voice from the past echoes down the years. You’re a good boy, Misha.
I clench Ciara more tightly in my arms and she rests her cheek against my chest. No, I’m fucking not.
The sick room is dim and overwarm. Mama lays back against the pillows, cheeks hollow, dark circles under her eyes. She’s grown so frail so fast.
Mama reaches out a thin, shaking hand. “There he is. Come closer. Let me look at my boy.”
But as I step forward Damir pushes in front of me and takes her hand. She smiles at him, a smile of such tenderness it makes my heart turn over with longing. Why won’t she ever look at me like that? Am I bad?
“You’re a good boy and you’re going to do great things. I love you, Damir.”
“Mama?” I ask, moving around Damir so she can see me. So I can be in the circle of her love, too.
Mama glances at me and all the pleasure melts from her face. “What are you doing here? I don’t want you. No one wants you.”
“Misha?”
I gasp and open my eyes. Where am I? The room is unfamiliar and someone’s in bed with me. As the sickroom evaporates I see Ciara and reality rushes back. It was just a dream. It never happened.