I opened the door. He stood there staring at me, eyes sad and confused.
I stepped out of the way so that he could come in, but he stayed out on the step. “Come with me,” he said.
“Where?”
“A quiet place I know. I’ve been thinking. There’s something else I need to teach you.”
The last thing I wanted, right then, was more time alone together. I would have happily just sat in the motel for a few days watching TV while his wound healed. But we had to work together.
“Fine,” I told him in an okay-but-I-don’t-have-to-like-it voice. I grabbed my coat and laptop bag and stalked out to the parking lot. He went inside the room, grabbed something from his own bag and followed.
This time, there weren’t any cars around with wireless control systems so Alexei got to demonstrate his method: an elbow through the side window, a kick to the steering column to break open the plastic casing and then a jerk of the wires to tear them loose. Two wires touched together, a few sparks and the engine was running. It was quicker than my method. In the real world, simple brutality won out over subtlety and technology every time.
I climbed in beside him and sat in sullen silence for the whole journey. Alexei glanced at me a few times as if wondering whether to say something, but eventually just sighed and gave up. I pushed myself down in my seat and tried not to think about how big the sky was. Big and gloomy—storm clouds were rolling in and we were heading in that direction.
We drove way out of town and pulled up outside a junkyard. Not an active place, with machines crushing cars and eco-friendly recycling going on. More like a place cars went to die. They were piled up into mounds three stories tall. Almost every car had had its headlights removed, giving them the appearance of empty-eyed skulls. The tires were gone, too, and the glass had been removed or broken. The paint had peeled off and all that was left were the rusting metal bones, sometimes with a few shreds of rotting upholstery. An alien place—too alien, thankfully, to trigger me too much, especially with Alexei there. Since the night of the vet’s, I’d been a little better, as long as we stayed away from big places with lots of people in them.
“No one here on weekends,” Alexei told me, getting out. “No problem with noise.”
“Noise?”
He showed me what he’d brought with him from the motel—a small, stubby black handgun.
I put my hands up defensively. “No. No way. I don’t want to shoot guns.”
“You need to. It’ll give you a better chance, if they find us. I usually carry this here”—he pointed to his ankle—“as my spare. I want you to have it. But you need to know how to use it.”
We were interrupted by a long roll of thunder. The clouds were close and getting closer.
“I’m not a gun person! I can’t!”
“You couldn’t choke a man, a few days ago.”
“I don’t know if I could now!”
“You already have, remember? You did it to me. You’ll be able to do it again, if you need to.” He hefted the gun, weighing it in his hand. “Same with this.”
I sighed and gingerly took the gun. “You’re not going to ask me to shoot you, are you?”
Despite everything that had gone wrong between us that made a smile twitch the corners of his mouth for a second.
He took a takeout menu from his pocket and jammed it under the hood of an old junker so that it hung down over the radiator. Then he walked back to me and the lesson began.
He showed me how to load a magazine and how to chamber the first round. He showed me where the safety catch was and how to take it off. He taught me how to hold the gun in a two-handed grip, and how to aim down the sights.
“Now try it,” he said.
I wrapped my finger around the trigger and s-q-u-e-e-z-e-d. It was like trying to burst a balloon with a pin: I tensed up more and more, my eyes half-closing, bracing myself for the explosion….
There was a bang and the gun kicked up into the air. I have no idea where the bullet went, but nowhere near the car. My ears rang and my wrists ached.
“Good,” said Alexei.
“Liar.”
“You’re over the fear, now. Try again.”
My second shot was no better than the first. My third was even worse. I was too tense, too afraid.
Then Alexei stepped up behind me. His chest pressed against my shoulder blades and his arms wrapped around me. He covered my hands with his much bigger ones and my anger at him just evaporated. He hunkered down so that he could put his mouth to my ear, the stubble on his cheek brushing me ever so gently in a way that made me catch my breath. I was suddenly aware of how quiet it was in the junkyard: there were no birds here, no trees to rustle. It was as if we were the only living things in the world.
He spoke to me in that accent like crashing rocks and the vibrations shot straight down to my groin. It didn’t matter that he’d hurt me. My body responded to that sound like a goddamn tuning fork. “Relax into it,” he said, and I had to fight the instinct to relax into him. “Do you trust me?”
I thought about it. I wanted to say no and yell at him. But I told the truth. “Yes.”
“It won’t hurt you. Know that, inside.”
I needed something else to concentrate on or I was going to go nuts, having him pressed so close against me. So I focused on what he was saying. I believed that the gun wouldn’t hurt me and, for the first time, it felt a little less scary.
He put his hands on my shoulders, his thumbs tracing down the sides of my neck, and it was all I could do not to tilt my head to the side and push my cheek against his hand. “Pull your head down towards your shoulders,” he told me. I did. Then he skimmed his hands down the length of my arms, his size letting him reach easily. “You should be firm here, but not tense.”
I relaxed my arms a little. I felt him look down at my feet and then he moved against me, pushing me to adjust my stance. A breeze had gotten up, blowing my hair into his face and—
I suddenly felt his cock against the back of my thigh. He was rock hard under his pants. When he spoke again, I could hear the tension in his voice.
“Don’t think about pulling the trigger. Think about your target. See the bullet in your head, going right through it.”
My whole body was aching with anticipation. He seemed to completely encase me from behind, wrapped around me. All I had to do was turn around….
I took a long, shuddering breath...and squeezed the trigger.
A hole appeared in the dead center of the takeout menu. I didn’t even register the kick and the bang until afterwards.
I lowered the gun and turned to him, but he didn’t step back in time. As I turned, my breast brushed his arm.
I looked up into his eyes and the cold, distant gaze I’d been seeing all day was gone. The fire was back, those hot flashes of blue beyond the ice.
“You—” I started.
And then he grabbed me.
Alexei
My body knew what I wanted before I did. My cock had been hard as soon as I pressed up against her but, when her hair blew in my face and I smelled her scent, every muscle tensed. I was aching for her.
The warm, soft touch of her breast against my arm was all it took to tip me over the edge. My hands grabbed her waist and pulled her up against me even as my brain asked what the fuck are you doing?
The tension between us had built until I was past the point of reason. The soft, warm world of beauty that was Gabriella pulled me forward and everything else—my past, my life, the knowledge of what I was—pulled me back. I felt as if I was going to rip in two….
And then I saw the faintest hint of a tear in her eye, her fear that I was going to pull back again, hurt her again. And I’d be damned if I was going to let anyone hurt her, even me.
I finally broke free...and kissed her.
Gabriella
It was the kiss I’d been wanting since the very first moment I laid eyes on him, as if the shockwaves of it had rippled backward in time
and hit me even when I’d been in the coffee shop. He slid one hand under my back and stroked the other along my cheek, burying his fingers in my hair. Then his lips were coming down on mine and it was like we’d been made for each other, our bodies twisting and moving exactly in rhythm.
It started with a gentle press, almost as if he was savoring it after so long wanting it. Just a brush of our lips against each other, our hot breath mingling as we both began to pant. Two soft little kisses and then the third was hard, his mouth twisting to force mine open and I welcoming him in with a groan. His hands moved to my back as the tip of his tongue touched mine and then he growled, a low rumble through the kiss, and his warm palms closed on my cheeks to hold me fast. His tongue started to dance with mine, our lips crushing together. I could feel the strength of him through the kiss: the way he tilted my head back, the way he controlled my body. I melted into him, molding myself to his chest and he groaned again.
He broke the kiss abruptly and stepped back. I opened my eyes and saw the conflict on his face.
“Don’t fucking say you’re sorry,” I panted.
He stared at me, then shook his head. “I—Remember,” he said. He was panting as hard as me.
“Remember what?”
“Remember telling you I’m in love with you.”
And suddenly the whole day rewound back to waking up that morning and everything was clear and bright and rich with possibilities. I reached out and grabbed his shirt, pulling him against me, and I kissed him so fast our teeth clacked together. My breasts squashed against his chest as I pressed against him and he kissed me even harder than before, his hands tangling in my hair. Then he scooped one hand under my ass and lifted me clean off the ground, pulling me up to his level and kissing me there, my feet dangling in the air. He gave a groan of pain and I broke the kiss, wincing, remembering his wound. But one look at his expression put me straight: he was in pain, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him. He wasn’t going to let anything stop him.
I kissed him again and again and soon I was lost, carried on a pink cloud of pleasure, the heat throbbing steadily upward through the fluffy stuff. I wanted to spin around and around, I wanted to dance with this guy. He was in love with me! But every kiss was taking me closer to the place where I just wanted him to tear my clothes off.
Amongst all the warm pleasure, a frosty spot appeared. It was right on my scalp, a circle of cold that really shouldn’t be there. I ignored it, but then another one appeared on the other side of my head and slid down over my ear. I realized it was starting to rain.
I broke the kiss and looked up. Yep, the gray clouds were right overhead now and fat drops were starting to hit the ground all around us.
Alexei followed my gaze and then, without words, he grabbed my hand and ran with me. We found an old sedan—no wheels, no glass in its windows, but the seats were intact. He hauled open the rear door and we dived inside, lying full-length on the seat with him on top.
The rain really started to fall, then, thumping off the roof above our heads. It was like being in a gazebo: we could hear it, look out and see it, feel the cool air against our faces, but we were dry. Everything stopped for a second. He brushed the droplets of rain from my hair with his fingertips, shaking them off like little jewels.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
I started to protest, but he put a finger on my lips.
His voice dropped to a low growl. “Sorry I didn’t do this sooner.”
A deep, hot throb radiated out from my chest and hit every single part of me, before coalescing in my groin. I’d never known love and sex so perfectly mingled.
I was in the least sexy outfit imaginable—my back-up jeans and sneakers, a tank top and a deep red sweatshirt. I’d changed out of my sexy red scoop-neck sweater while I was in a huff with Alexei. And yet when he looked down at me I felt sexy as hell. He didn’t undress me with his eyes; he gazed at me as if my clothes didn’t matter at all because he was looking at me.
Then he was kissing me again, his shoulders and chest hulking over me as he bore me down on the seat. His hands ran up and down over my hips, growing warm from the friction of the denim, as if he was teasing both of us before he went higher. I started to buck and wiggle under him, flexing my ass against the cream vinyl seats, wanting his hands everywhere. It was only when I broke the kiss and gasped that he finally slid his hands up.
My sweatshirt was thick and there was my tank top, too. But when those big palms slid up my sides, it was as if I was utterly naked. They rubbed in slow circles, leaving my breasts for later and concentrating on the sensitive skin of my sides and stomach. I felt a thin sliver of cool air as my clothes started to hike up my body a little, but the warm press of him and the fire he was stoking inside meant I wasn’t cold for a second.
He was still kissing me—not just my lips, now, but my cheeks and the line of my jaw and then down to my earlobe and neck. It was just like in my shower fantasy but a thousand times better. He wasn’t just the big, powerful stranger anymore, the guy who could pin me down and make me his. He was the guy I’d utterly fallen for. Every touch of his lips gave me another little rush of pleasure and a fresh burst of heat until I was groaning and thrashing under him, ready to tear our clothes off just so I could feel him naked against me.
He worked his way down to my collarbone, the lowest point he could reach thanks to the neck of my sweatshirt, and then he sat back—as much as he could in the cramped back seat. I lay there panting, staring up at him, and he gazed down at me, his eyes hooded and burning hot. They didn’t look gray, anymore. They looked sharp, blazing blue. I realized he was recording the moment in his mind, freeze-framing an image of me, and I did the same. God, the sight of him, his size even more outrageous in this small space. His shoulders, under the black suit, were so wide, so solid, it looked as if he could just stretch the metal of the car to make space for himself if he’d wanted to. I could see the sculpted slabs of his chest moving under his blue shirt. His lips were slightly parted and trembling ever so slightly—his breathing was shaky, he was so turned on. He flicked his tongue across his lower lip, remembering the taste of me, and I saw him brace his hands against the ceiling of the car, as if holding himself back. As if there was one part of me he’d wanted for so long, but he was making himself wait before he sampled it.
His eyes roved all over my body but settled on my breasts.
The heat inside me twisted and pulled tight. I pressed my thighs together, my groin aching for him and my breasts suddenly super-sensitive under the layers of cloth. I’d seen him looking at them, had felt him react to the touch of them, but I hadn’t realized how much—
And then he almost launched himself across the car at me, unable to resist any longer. His hands scooped my breasts through my clothes as if gathering precious treasure and I groaned. My boobs are on the large size but his hands were the absolute perfect size to capture them and squeeze, fingers teasing the soft flesh while his palms covered my nipples. I could feel them hardening against his touch. He let out a long, low hiss of satisfaction, as if he’d been imagining this moment as much as I had, and the thought sent a shiver of lust right down my spine.
He began to circle and knead them with just the right amount of roughness, while his mouth found mine again. We kissed, open-mouthed and hungry, as he ran his hands over and over me, alternating between skimming my shape and squeezing. I started to rub one leg against the other, my toes dancing, desperate for more.
He broke the kiss again and lifted himself from me, panting. “I have to see you,” he told me. And suddenly his hands were on the hem of my sweatshirt, bunching it up along with my tank top and lifting. He did it slowly, following the fabric with his mouth, kissing a line up my stomach. I arched off the seat to help him, taking my weight on my shoulders. My clothes slid higher, higher, until they reached the bottom of my bra. Then, with a sudden tug, he pulled the bunched fabric up under my arms.
Alexei looked down on my bra-clad breasts with such a
look of scalding lust that I actually let out a tiny whimper. It felt as if he was already touching me, his eyes roving over my soft skin like a caress. And then he slid his palms all the way from my stomach up to my shoulders, lifting my breasts and letting them bounce back again, luxuriating in the feel of them. He muttered something in Russian.
“What?”
“I said you have the most beautiful breasts in the world.” He stroked the upper slopes of them with his thumbs, his palms rubbing circles on my nipples, and I gasped and quaked, closing my eyes. Then he was reaching beneath me and unclasping my bra and then tugging the whole bundle of clothing off over my head.
I gasped as my bare back flopped onto the seat, but our bodies had already warmed it. My breasts throbbed in the cool air. It felt scandalous to be so exposed: thanks to the lack of glass, I could feel every breath of wind against me and even the occasional splash of rain. The feeling of being outside only added to the spiraling black heat inside me. I grabbed Alexei’s shoulders and pulled him down on top of me.
He gathered my breasts in his hands, smoothing his palms over my nakedness and then ducking his head to take one nipple in his mouth. I twisted towards him, rising up on one shoulder and wrapping my arms around him. His tongue flicked over my hardened bud, teasing the edges and then lashing across it again and again until I was moaning and pressing towards his face. His hands traced down my back and I mimicked him, pushing under his suit jacket and following the hard bulges of his muscles through his shirt. We explored each other as we lay there, silent except for the sounds of his mouth on me and our panting breath. He’d slid down my body to reach my breasts, so with his long arms he was able to reach my ass and upper thighs, smoothing over my curves as if sculpting me from clay. I could only reach down to his mid-back, so I had to settle for running my hands over those powerful shoulders, feeling them flex as he moved. When he started to kiss his way down my stomach, I tangled my fingers in his hair, urging him on.
Kissing My Killer Page 13