“No condom,” she whispered, her mouth dry. He let out a ragged breath, thrusting his hips and sliding roughly inside. She let the desire for him take over then. She would let him take whatever he wanted from her body, she realized. He bit and teased her, stretched and filled her. He had her dripping and begging for release. Her orgasm shot up her spine and exploded in her brain, the intensity heightened by the dream-like state she'd been reduced to. It was the middle of the night and her passion-addled brain wasn't thinking straight. She felt drunk and unsteady, her head spinning.
He let out a rush of Russian against her cheek as he came, his passion spurting deep inside of her. He continued thrusting into her, his hand kneading her breast as he rolled his hips until he softened. She felt his hot come smear across her thigh as he pulled out of her and a chill went through her. She liked the sensation. A lot. She purred in pleasure as he kissed her neck and rolled her over onto her back. He stood and she frowned in disagreement, wanting him back immediately. He chuckled and went into the bathroom. He turned on the light and she threw an arm across her face to block out the light.
“Misha!” she squealed, and she heard his laughter echoing in the bathroom. After a minute, he flicked the light off and returned with a warm, wet washcloth. He spread her thighs and slowly cleaned her up, his eyes on hers as his soft caresses made her moan. When he finally slid back into bed beside to her, she closed her eyes and pressed her body against his. With a deep sigh, she drifted back into a sex-induced slumber.
Some time later she woke again, reaching out for him. The air in the room smelled like sex, heady and thick. A light breeze blew through the open window, stirring the gauzy curtains in a ghostly way. Mikhail's breathing was steady in her ear as he slept. He was hard again, she noticed, his erection like steel against her ass. She sat up, rolling him onto his back. She was single-minded, zeroing in on his cock. She stared down at him in the semi-dark, running her tongue over her lips. She pressed her nose to his flat stomach and breathed deep.
She loved the way he smelled, she realized. She loved that her skin and hair smelled like him, too. She didn't know what it was about him. Why was this man so irresistible? The sex was raw and addicting, but maybe it was something else, something too buried and scary to be examined. Whatever the reason, she was still mad with lust for him. She leaned over and took him in her mouth, sucking and licking with abandon. He woke with a start, his thighs tensing under her hands. His hands tangled in her hair immediately.
“You are trying to kill me,” he rasped, as she ran her tongue up the underside of his cock. She snorted out a laugh then sucked him all the way inside, deep-throating him. His fingers tightened against her scalp, and she knew he wanted to slam into her. And she wanted him to. She hummed low in her throat, egging him on.
Finally, blessedly, he lost control. He bucked his hips, his cock pumping in and out of her mouth. She felt her eyes squeeze shut, moaning and crying against the onslaught. She loved every minute of it; she loved his lack of control. She was doing this. She was making him crazy. He pulled back a second later, his cock still hard and wet from her tongue. He was up on his knees in a flash, grabbing her hips and grinding into her ass.
He entered her hard and she screamed into the softness of the blanket. Her body was sensitive and pulsing with overexertion, but she still wanted him. His hands gripped her ass, his thumb dipping in between her cheeks. She twisted her spine, turning around to look at him. He wet her with her own juices, then dipped his finger inside her tightness, his eyes flicking to hers. She bit her lip, her heart stopping in her chest. She liked the feeling. He knew she liked it, too. He smiled that hungry smile again and ground his hips against her. She went lightheaded, dropping her head back to the mattress. She was letting go... then he slapped her ass. She craned her neck to give him a sharp look and he stared back, unsmiling, dangerous.
“You want me here?” he said, slowly pumping his finger in and out. She licked her swollen lips, actually considering his offer. She was going crazy. Maybe she was out of control, but she didn't care. She nodded. He made a low noise in his throat and withdrew from her. She clenched her fists around the sheets, waiting for him. She heard him open the drawer, and then warm wetness as he got her ready for him with the bottle of lubricant she kept there.
Excitement fired up her spine as he turned her over onto her back. She lifted her legs high and his big body loomed above her in the darkness as he positioned himself, lifting her ass off the mattress as he angled into her. She felt her lungs tighten and she reminded herself to breathe.
“You want me?” he asked, his voice as tight as she felt.
“Yes,” she whispered. He didn't waste any more time. She felt him push into her and the pressure grew as he slowly, ever so slowly, entered her. The pleasure and pain was interwoven and the feeling was so intense she couldn't make a sound. Her body was frozen as she felt every inch, every shock wave of sensation. He grunted, dropping to his elbows and caging her in. She rolled her hips, taking him deeper, and he pressed his forehead against hers.
“Does my cock feel good?” he whispered, his voice strained. He moved against her and she clenched her teeth, raising her knees all the way up to her tits. He took advantage, and plunged into her even further. She gasped, dragging her fingernails down his back. He rolled his thumb over her clit and she bucked into him.
“God, yes. Fuck me, Misha,” she whispered, even though she didn't know if she could take it. But she wanted him too much. She was out of control over him. She wanted him to take whatever he wanted. He surrounded her and filled her, leaving no room for anything else. Her body didn't fight him and she took him all. Mikhail had come home to her and she had given him all of her, every bit. Now, she knew for certain the one thing her body had never forgotten—she was la tigra and he was a wolf, and their bodies were made for each other.
Chapter 24
As the light turned blue with the impending sunrise, Gennifer traced the hard lines of Mikhail's face as he slept. Her body felt limp, sore, and used up. She was exhausted. But she couldn't sleep. Her brain was humming. She'd just had the most intense sex of her life. Her Russian fucked like his life depended on it, and she'd kept up with him every step of the way. She knew now that this was how it had always been between them. How the hell had he stayed away from her so long? She ran her hand down to his chest possessively, seeing the bullet wound on his shoulder. From stealing a car, he'd said. She remembered. Bits of memories were starting to float up through the ether. It was frustratingly slow, and possibly impossible, this process of rebuilding the hours and minutes she'd lost. But for the first time, she had more than hope—she had Mikhail.
But he had never really just been Gennifer's Misha, she supposed. He was Igor Ivanhof, prized heavyweight. What a trip, she thought as her hand traveling lower, down the ridges of his abs, to the coarse hair that lead a trail to his cock. He was soft now, after the workout she'd given him. She traced the tattoo on his hip, a thick scrolled band of Russian lettering. She told herself to remember to Google it later. She had to start learning some Russian. She laid her head on his chest, deciding she would call off work. She wanted to spend the day in bed, maybe make him some breakfast if he was lucky. She smiled, pressing a kiss to his warm skin. For the first time in a long time, she actually felt...happy, as bonkers as that sounded.
Mikhail stirred beneath her, and she angled her face to look at him, pressing her chin into his chest. He opened his eyes and blinked, taking in his surroundings. Then his eyes found hers.
“Good morning,” she said. He brought a hand up to run through her hair. She purred, loving the feeling of his fingers.
“What time is it?” he asked, his eyelids heavy. She glanced over at the bedside table.
“5:42.”
“Shit.” He rubbed his face with a sigh.
“What?”
“I have a flight.” He blinked at the ceiling, then looked at her.
“A flight?” She furrowed her brow
. She didn't want him to go. It hadn't occurred to her that he would want to go either. “Miss it.”
“I have a fight in Chicago.” He raised an eyebrow. “Tonight.”
“So?” Gennifer shrugged her shoulders lightly. “Miss it.” He stared at her for a moment, then rolled over, taking her with him. She squealed as he buried his face in her neck, tickling her with his beard.
“What will you give me?” he said.
“I think I've given you enough,” she said, swatting at his roaming hands.
“Wrong answer,” he growled, getting her under the arms, tickling her so hard she screamed and writhed under him. When she was gasping for air, he finally let her go, grinning like the cat that ate the canary.
“Asshole!” She punched him on the shoulder and he laughed, unconcerned. He laid his head on her chest and wrapped his arms around her.
“Maybe I will miss my flight,” he said.
“Maybe I don't want you to anymore.” She stroked his back, not able to suppress a giddy smile. He craned his neck to look at her. She stuck her tongue out at him. His smile faded a bit, and she felt the air between them still. He was looking at her in a strange way, and she felt a flutter of anxiousness through her chest.
“Marry me,” he said. Gennifer felt her mouth fall open.
“What?” she said, wanting to make sure she'd heard him correctly.
“I will miss my flight if you say you will marry me.” His face was calm, his eyes unreadable. She, on the other hand, felt sweat break out on her forehead. Her heart was pounding in her chest. He sat up, sensing her panic. She rolled off of the bed and stood beside it on shaky legs, her chest heaving. Her muscles screamed in protest, but she ignored them.
“You've been gone for weeks, and now you want to marry me?”
“Yes,” he said, quietly.
“I hardly know you.” She ran a shaking hand through her hair.
“That is not true, Gennifer.” His voice was still frustratingly calm.
“I can't.” She shook her head. “I can't.” He took a deep breath, a change coming over his face. Now he was getting angry. She took a step back, crossing her arms over her bare chest.
“You will fuck me, but you will not marry me.” He stood, facing her across the bed. She couldn't stop her eyes from dropping to his cock, and cursed herself for it. She still wanted him. But marrying him? The thought sent another wave of panic through her. “I have to go.” He found his pants and pulled them on, then yanked his hoodie on over his head. Gennifer, gnawing on her lip, went to the closet and threw on her bathrobe.
“When will you be back?” she blurted out, tying the sash tight. He stopped and stared at her.
“You want me to come back?” His eyes were cold, his eyebrow raised. “Why?”
“Because!” she shouted, frustrated. He crossed the room in a flash, pinning her against the closet door.
“Do you love me?” he asked, anger radiating off him in waves.
“What?” she stalled.
“You said once that you loved me,” his eyes dropped to her mouth. “Is that still true?” She turned her head, squirming against him. He grabbed her chin painfully, forcing her to look at him. “Is that still true?” he repeated.
“No!” Gennifer said it without thinking, her own rising anger overriding her good sense. She didn't know if she loved him, but she'd been in love with him before. Which meant it was was probably only a matter of time before she fell again... and maybe she already had? She didn't fucking know! Now, it was too late to backtrack. His eyes flashed a deadly look.
“You love what I do last night,” he growled, his accent thickening. “You beg for it.”
“I only did it to make you feel better,” she said, lying through her teeth.
“You—!” His eyes widened, shaking his head in disbelief. “You are a fucking liar!” he roared.
“You're in love with someone who doesn't exist anymore. She's gone, I'm here, get used to it!” she screamed. Then the room was silent. He looked like she'd sucker punched and knocked the wind out of him. “If I loved you, I was in love with someone who didn't exist either, so there's nothing to save anyway,” she blurted out and immediately regretted it. She watched the cold mask slide back over his face. His eyes deadened and he gave a slow nod before he turned and left the bedroom. She followed him out to the living room, not knowing what to say to make it better.
“Misha—,” she began.
“Fuck you, Gennifer,” he said, slamming the door behind him. The sound echoed in her ears and for a long moment, she stood there, frozen in shock. She wanted to run after him. She wanted to make him come back. But she didn't.
“Goddammit!” she shouted in the empty room, returning to the bedroom and collapsing on the bed. She forced her eyes shut, telling herself that she was going to at least try and get an hour of sleep before she had to get ready for work. But she couldn't. His scent permeated the sheets. She jolted off the bed, yanking at the sheets, pulling them free of the mattress. They were covered in Mikhail's scent, sweat, and come. She tossed them in the corner and threw off her robe. She went in the bathroom and turned on the shower. She had to wash him off of her. Her muscles screamed when she stepped under the hot water. She scrubbed her skin, wincing as she skimmed sore spots. Her inner thighs were scratched red from his beard, her nipples were sucked raw, and if she clenched her legs, she could still feel him inside her. She pressed her forehead against the cool tile of the shower wall, wishing she could forget all over again.
***
At work, she went about her day like nothing was wrong. But the anger was building. By the end of the day, she was livid. How dare he? How dare he show up after who knows how long, fuck her brains out, and then ask her to marry him? After work, she tossed her workout bag in the backseat of the car and gunned it for House of Pain. She needed to work out the aggression she was feeling. She just wanted to punch a bag and pretend that it was Mikhail. Mikhail, who lied, who left her, who had the nerve to stop by at one in the morning and...
Something dawned on her. Hector. Hector had called her. He wanted to make sure she was home and in bed. Safe from Mikhail. He must've known Mikhail was in town. Son of a bitch. She put the pedal to the metal and sped down the West-Side highway, her blood boiling. By the time she found a parking spot and stomped her way to House of Pain, she was damn near breathing fire. She shoved open the doors and looked around. When she didn't see Hector on the floor, she hauled ass up the metal stairs and shoved open the office door.
“You knew he was in town!” she yelled, slamming her hands on the desk. Hector looked up at her, eyebrows raised. Erica sat on the edge of the desk, staring at her like she had two heads. But Gennifer was too mad to care she was acting like a crazy person. “You knew he was in New Jersey. You knew he was going to come looking for me.” She pointed a finger at Hector, accusingly. “That's why you called to make sure I was in bed.” Hector leaned back in the chair, the crease in his forehead deepening.
“Who was in New Jersey last night?” Erica asked.
“I didn't want you to freak out. Like you are right now,” Hector sighed.
“Well I would have liked to know that he was in town. Especially before he showed up on my doorstep and asked me to marry him.”
“He what?” Hector sat forward, looking pissed.
“He asked me to marry him,” Gennifer said, running her hand through her hair impatiently.
“Mikhail asked you to marry him?” Erica asked, eyes wide as she got up to speed. “What did you say?”
“Ugh.” Gennifer waved her off, avoiding the question.
“She said no.” Hector said. “You said no, right?”
“What do you care?” Gennifer said, avoiding the question. “I thought you said you and Mikhail weren't friends?”
“Christ, G.”
“So where is he now?” Gennifer shot back.
“He has a fight in Chicago tonight.”
“And then what?”
“Vegas this weekend,” Hector said. Gennifer rubbed her face, feeling very tired all of a sudden. He was so far away from her and it was driving her crazy. And to know that he was angry and hurt and there was nothing she could do... she didn't like the feeling. It was like a heavy ball of gloom sitting in the bottom of her stomach. She could call him. But what if he didn't answer? What if he did answer? What could she possibly say?
“If you don't like him, you should let him go,” Erica said, quietly. “It's not right to keep the guy hanging on if he doesn't have a chance.”
“Who asked you, Erica?!” Gennifer exploded, the thought of life without Mikhail sending another wave of panic through her. Erica jumped up, a rare scowl clouding her face.
“Well...fuck you too, Genny!”
“Hey. ¡Cálmate!” Hector was saying, but Gennifer was already on her feet, in the taller girl's face.
“You don't know anything about it!”
“You've been like a ticking time bomb around here and we're all sick of it!” Erica shot back.
“I almost died!”
“Well, you didn't!”
“You don't know anything about it, blanca!” Gennifer heard the touch Bronx chick rearing up in her, but she she couldn't stop herself now. She wanted to beat on someone, and Erica was the most convenient body. Suddenly Hector was between them, pushing Gennifer back against the wall.
“I'm so tired of hearing 'Gennifer this, Gennifer that',” Erica said, way too calm for Gennifer's taste. “What happened to you was shitty, but you're fine now. Stop punishing everyone!”
“Shut your fucking mouth!” Gennifer pushed against Hector.
“G, back the fuck up!” Hector growled.
“Mikhail is good for you, and if you can't see that, maybe you really are brain damaged. Either that, or just really stupid!” Erica screamed, her voice rising. Gennifer felt hot, stinging tears welling up in her eyes at the girl's words.
Stone Cold Knockout Page 26