Kissing My Killer

by Newbury, Helena

  When I felt his fingers on the button of my jeans, I let out a strangled moan. Both of us sensed the subtle change in mood, that point you reach when you know with certainty that this is no longer just kissing-that’s-got-out-of-control, when you know that unless you stop, right this instant, it’s definitely going to happen.

  Neither of us even contemplated stopping.

  There wasn’t a lot of room and he was still wincing sometimes when he moved, but he was determined. He got the zip down and I wriggled my hips and then my jeans and panties were sliding down together. I felt his eyes burn a trail down over my pubis, through the curls of dark hair and down to the pink lips beneath. I could feel myself getting hotter, wetter, responding to his gaze.

  It was too awkward to get my clothes off my legs so he left them there, bunched around my ankles. He slid off the seat and knelt on the floor of the car so that he could lean over me and—

  I grabbed the edge of the seat and the headrest as his mouth made contact. Kisses, first, around the little triangle of hair and on the soft skin of my inner thighs, getting closer and closer. Then he was burying his nose in my hair and licking the edge of each lip. I opened my knees to make it easier for him, but we were so short of space that it was hard to get it to work. His tongue parted my folds, hot and quick, then slipped inside and I groaned as he tasted me. But I could tell he was getting frustrated: he wanted me spread and available to him, wanted to be able to ravish me completely.

  Suddenly, he pulled back. Grabbing me by the hips, he flipped me over. “Kneel up,” he said hoarsely. “Chest down.”

  It wasn’t a request. I had a momentary flashback to his words outside the ship, the idea of being his plaything. She does what she’s told, or she’s punished. An unexpected shudder of heat went through me, pitch black and powerful enough to take my breath away.

  I knelt up. Chest down.

  He put his palms on my shoulders and then ran those big hands all the way down my naked body, describing the shape he wanted. I arched my back like a cat, thrusting my hips back and up. I felt the seat move as he knelt behind me and then gulped as his knees nudged mine apart. I could feel my moistened folds open for him.....

  Facing away from him meant I couldn’t see and that meant that he could drive me crazy with anticipation. As soon as I felt his breath on me, I started to grind my hips. When I felt the first touch of his tongue, I closed my eyes and pressed my cheek to the seat.

  Now I knew why he’d been frustrated before—he was good at this. An expert. His gentleness, as he began to feather his tongue against me, was all the more incredible because of his size. He teased me and teased me, circling closer and closer to my clit so that the energy inside me built in a twisting, tightening spiral, but deliberately stopping short of release. I could feel myself getting wetter and wetter, rocking back against him, begging him with my mind to enter me but not wanting to stop the sensations. Thunder crashed outside and I was dimly aware of the rain growing heavier, droplets splashing up and hitting the sides of the car. There were bright flashes, too, visible even behind my closed lids, but I barely registered them: the world outside seemed far away. Everything that mattered was in the car and at the center of it was the crackling silver energy that was coiling tighter and tighter, ready to whip me over the edge into my climax.

  His tongue left me for a second and I had to hold back a moan of loss. I’d never felt wetter or more ready.

  Then I felt something warm and firm pushing at my super-sensitized lips: two of those thick, strong fingers—

  I groaned as he plunged them all the way up inside me. Then his tongue started circling my clit and any last shreds of control I had slipped away from me. I pressed my cheek hard against the seat, swirling my hips and grinding back against him as he began to thrust, feeling how wet I was around him. I had my mouth open, panting out my need. Then I felt his hand on my back, stroking all the way down the length of my spine, making me arch and tremble. My walls were slippery around him as his fingers moved faster and faster and—

  I rocketed over the edge and screamed. My cry echoed around the car and was swallowed up by the storm as I spasmed and clenched around him, my knees trying to press together, to trap him inside me. I bucked helplessly, pushing back against his expert hand and tongue, and he smoothed his palm over my back and growled dark, hard-edged words in Russian the meaning of which I could only guess at.

  When I came back to myself, I barely had the strength to lift myself up and turn over. I managed to flop onto my side, my jeans still around my ankles, and sat there panting and wide-eyed, staring at him. I knew what was coming next, but I’d been waiting for it—fantasizing about it—for so long that I couldn’t believe the moment had really arrived.

  He lowered himself down onto the seat next to me, lying on his side so that we were face to face. I scooched back on the seat as much as I could, pressing my back against the seat back. He smoothed his hand over my cheek, pushing my hair off my face. “I am going to fuck you, now,” he told me.

  I drew in my breath. And nodded.

  He began to unfasten his shirt and I helped him, undoing the buttons from the bottom while he worked from the top. More and more of that magnificent chest appeared and soon my hands were finally on those hard abs I’d stared at so many times. We met in the middle and as one we pushed his suit jacket and shirt back and off his arms.

  I almost threw myself at him, kissing the smooth wall of his chest, running my hands over its curves and delighting at its hardness. I skirted around the dressing that covered his wound, secretly proud that it had stayed in place so well. My fingers swept over each tattoo in turn. I wanted to know the story behind every one of them.

  For now, I kissed him. I couldn’t get enough of his lips—exactly the right combination of hard and soft. I kissed my way across his mouth and then down the line of his jaw, both of us twisting and panting as we fought to take control. He worked his way across my cheek to my ear and I flexed and ground my whole body against him in response. I found his lips again and sucked the upper lip into my mouth, nibbling on it, and he groaned. I never stopped running my hands over his muscles—God, he was so hard against me, as if he was carved from sun-warmed granite.

  My hands skimmed over his abs and brushed his belt. He shifted on the seat and we locked eyes.

  And suddenly my hands were working at his belt, pulling it frantically through the loops. I needed him as naked as I was.

  Together, we shoved his pants and boxers down his thighs and then the heavy, hot length of him was in my hand. I’d seen it a few times, now, but it was the first time I’d touched it: satiny-smooth and throbbing with need. The size of it, now I held it, made me go weak. I ran one hand up the shaft and there was room for my other hand to easily wrap around beneath it.

  I wasn’t sure how we were going to manage it, in such a confined space, but he gave me the answer by simply picking me up and placing me down again so that I was sitting on the back seat, right in the middle. Next, he stripped the wad of jeans and panties off my ankles and tossed it out of the way, along with my sneakers, so that I was completely naked.

  He knelt on the floor facing me, shoving his feet under the front seats. Then he pulled me forward, opening my legs and lifting my knees. Now I was sitting on the very edge of the seat, but tipped back until my shoulders rested on the seat back to support me. That brought my groin right to the edge.

  I put my feet down on the edge of the seat, my knees wide apart. My gaze was locked on his erect cock as he grabbed a condom from his wallet and rolled it on. He rose up on his knees, his cock bobbing as it moved closer. He was perfectly lined up to—I gulped.

  He brushed his fingers along my cheek and ran them through my hair. “I’ve been thinking about this for so long,” he told me. He ran his thumb across my lips. “My beautiful Gabriella.”

  My breath came faster and faster as he moved his hips between mine. He was so achingly hard that his cock pointed upward, along his stomach, and
he had to gently draw it down to nestle the head between the lips of my sex. The thought of him inside me, so hot and so hard, had me wetter than I’d ever been.

  There was a flash of lightning outside that lit up every muscle, every vein—he was a perfect marble statue, so hard and smooth and...big. I grabbed his forearms, squeezing his biceps as if they were the safety rails on a rollercoaster.

  He must have been able to see my nerves because he looked deep into my eyes, waiting until I nodded, before he began. He kept looking into them as the blunt, arrow-shaped head of him opened me up, my widening eyes mimicking the sensation. He went slow, gliding into me, groaning at my soft tightness, and the feeling of him spreading me was like steel easing past silk. He slid up inside me, his hips coming closer and closer between mine, and I closed my eyes as I felt myself gloriously filled.

  I’d always been in awe of his size, but feeling him there brought it home to me. It was something about my position—it wasn’t like being on my back, where I could flex and buck and wiggle. I had to stay still, to support myself, and with my knees open wide for him I felt like I was offered up to him—the virgin princess, made the prize for some conquering champion. I had to be passive, while he would just...take me. That thought, coupled with the solid heat of him inside me and the sight of him looming over me...it triggered all the same things that the idea of being his plaything had.

  He slowly drew back out of me, but I knew it wasn’t going to stay slow and gentle for long. The pain in his chest wasn’t going to hold him back. Nothing was going to hold him back. My eyes flicked over the solid muscles of his thighs, the power in his abs and hard ass.

  We weren’t going to fuck. He was going to fuck me. And God, I wanted it.

  He started a rhythm: a slow push into me and a quick pull back. Immediately, twin currents began to surge and flow inside me: the silvery pleasure of it, building rapidly, and the glorious, fluttery feeling, halfway between lust and panic, as I looked down and saw more and more of him entering me with each stroke. God, I can’t—He can’t...I am. He is.

  The silvery pleasure started as delicate threads, a delicate filigree spanning out from my groin, but the threads quickly twisted together to become cords and then ropes, coiling around me and jerking my limbs like a puppet. I pulled my legs wider, bracing my heels on the edge of the seat. I wrapped my arms around his neck, urging him on. At the same time, the nervous excitement I was feeling at his size had me heady and weak, tossing my head against the seat back.

  I was his, now, a slave to the sensations he was unleashing in me. He moved closer to me with each thrust and I wanted him right up against me, buried in me, wanted to feel those hard pecs press against my chest. I looked down, my eyes half closed, and saw him go steadily deeper and deeper and—

  Ah!

  He was in me to the root and I’d never been so completely filled. My whole body seemed to throb and pulse with pleasure—moving would be almost too much. There was no pain, just the sensation of being utterly his.

  My hands slid down his muscled back to his ass, clutching him there as our bodies locked together. He was panting, his mouth close to my ear. “I’ve needed to do this for so long.”

  Then he began to move. Slowly at first, relishing every millimeter of my tightness. Each movement made the pleasure flare and brighten, until I was grasping and clawing at his shoulders, my toes dancing on the seat. Each inch he moved out of me was like a physical loss—I wanted the friction but I wanted him back. The lightning lit him up again and his face was set, jaw hard and teeth bared. Almost a snarl. It sent a deep, dark thrill through me, that image of him again as the conqueror, taking me how he wanted.

  And then it clicked that his strained expression was from holding himself back. He was trying to stay gentle with me. This was him being gentle. And the dark thrill doubled.

  He started to thrust, his toned ass and solid thighs like a machine, pumping into me. The pleasure whipped back on itself, taking my breath away. My eyes were locked on his, on that blue glint of lust in the growing darkness. I could see his control slipping away. What he really wanted to do was to take me, hard and fast.

  I swallowed and ran my fingertips over his shoulders, tracing the muscles. Doing that gave me the courage to ask for what I really wanted. I craned forward and put my mouth to his ear, but it was three more slow thrusts before I dared to whisper, “Do it.”

  He drew back from me and stared into his eyes, checking to see if I was serious. But I saw the gleam in his eye and felt the accompanying twitch of his cock inside me.

  I nodded.

  He stared at me a moment longer and then a look of such powerful lust crossed his face that it alone brought me right to the brink. Then his huge hands slammed into my shoulders, pinning me back against the seat, and he drew back from me—

  ohmygod

  He grunted as he filled me and immediately started a fast, unforgiving rhythm that made me moan. The sound of our coupling filled the car, drowning out the rain: pants and gasps and the slap of his body against mine.

  I felt like a kite caught by a force-ten gale. The silver pleasure, once so delicate and sensual, was replaced with something rawer, darker and more primal. Every forbidden fantasy came snaking out of the depths, all the stuff we’re not supposed to want. I could feel my orgasm looming ahead of me, rushing towards me faster than I could think.

  His hips were rising and falling between mine, pounding me, each flash of lightning freeze-framing him in a position of power, like some oil painting of a warrior and a helpless maiden. Despite the cold outside, both of us had started to sweat, a fine glossy film across our bodies. It made him gleam, every muscle hard and visible. He took me like that for long minutes, until I was thrashing and arching under him, my climax hovering on the very brink.

  His thrusts got steadily faster, hammering into me, my nipples scraping against his chest with each stroke. I swirled my hips, circling around him, and we groaned together at the slick friction. He put his mouth to my ear and as his cock drove into me hard and tight, he hissed in Russian all the things he was going to do to me. My mind ran wild, imagining what they might be, and that sent me over the edge.

  I felt myself tighten around him and I gasped—and then the starbursts were going off throughout my body. I still couldn’t move my hands, so I hooked his ass with my feet and clutched him to me as I shuddered again and again. He growled and pushed deep and then he was coming too, a hot throbbing I could feel even through the condom.

  When he eventually lay still atop me, he brushed my hair away from my ear and whispered. “You are the most incredible woman I’ve ever met.”

  Only then did he release my hands and draw himself from me. My arms dropped limply to my sides. He put his arms around my waist and turned and lifted me so that he was lying on his back on the seat, his knees pulled up to allow him to fit, and I was straddling him. I collapsed forward on his chest. Too late, I remembered his injury and jerked my head up. But he stroked my hair and pressed my head down again.

  “Doesn’t it hurt?” I asked.

  “A little,” he said, which in Alexei-speak probably meant a lot. “But it’s worth it.”

  It was a half hour before we moved again, my back growing cold but my front kept delightfully warm by his body. When I started to fidget and shiver, he helped me get my clothes back on and then he put his on, too. Then he spooned me from behind, his body against mine and his strong arms wrapped around me. The storm clouds had made it as dark as night and, with the rain pattering outside and no other sound, the car became a private, intimate place.

  After a long time, he said, “What did he do to you?”

  I knew exactly what he meant, but the shock of the question, coming out of nowhere, made me stall for time. “Who?”

  “The man who hurt you.”

  I twisted around to face him. It was awkward because the seat wasn’t all that wide and, however much he squashed himself against the seat back, he still took up most of it. I
had to press myself up against him or risk falling off the edge, so our faces were very close. “Why now?” I asked in a small voice.

  “You don’t have to tell me.” He meant it. I could see it in his eyes. He was already regretting asking, having heard the tension in my voice. And that made me feel guilty about not wanting to talk about it, which I knew wasn’t his intention. The whole situation was twisting back on itself, turning into something that would come between us.

  “Why now?” I repeated.

  He stared into my eyes for a moment. “Because I’ve wanted, ever since I first saw you, to protect you.”

  “You can’t protect me from the past. It’s done.”

  “Is it? I think that man is still hurting you. Every time you panic.” His hands tightened on my back, pulling me even closer. “I want to protect you from everything. Even the things that’ve already happened.”

  I pressed my lips together into a tight line, deciding. I loved that he could be so gentle when he needed to be, loved that he wanted to help. I wanted to tell him but I wasn’t sure I could. I sure as hell couldn’t do it while I looked into those eyes, so full of concern that they were already making me well up with tears.

  I turned away from him and then nestled back against him as tightly as I could. He cuddled me into his arms. I lay there in the gloom for a long time.

  Everyone has that place inside them, the dark cave mouth that leads down and down, down to where the worst memories live. I didn’t dare to venture inside, normally. Too cold and too dark. But the warmth of his arms around me gave me strength. It was like a fire in the mouth of the cave, providing just enough light for me to find my way back again.

  I went deep.

  And I started to tell him.

  Gabriella

  People get it wrong.

  They think trauma is like an injury, like a broken bone. Something awful happens and you break, and then eventually, if you have the right help, you heal. Maybe you’re always a little weak after that, in one particular spot. Or maybe you don’t get the help you need and the bone sets badly and leaves you in constant pain, and someone has to come along and fix you—which might mean causing you more pain as they help you dig down to get to the problem.