by Shandi Boyes
Fear isn’t an emotion I feel, but I can understand how the prospect of mixing business and pleasure may be daunting for her.
“We’re making the best out of a bad situation. How can that be wrong?”
Although she’s making excuses, her body is playing devil’s advocate. The heat between her legs is so scorching, her cunt shouldn’t be as drenched as it is. Its dampness is soaking into the material of my pants, convincing me she’s so close to the edge, she’ll freefall into ecstasy with only the slightest thrum of her clit.
Forever willing to test the boundaries, I slide my hand up the smooth planes of her stomach before slipping it beneath her bra. Her nipple hardens even more as the throb in her throat jumps for a sluggish beat to a brisk cantor.
While tweaking her nipple to the point it could cut a diamond, I murmur, “Tell me again you want me to stop.”
She doesn’t utter a peep, proving what I’ve always known—the good girls always want the bad boys; they’re just too afraid to admit it.
With one hand on her tit, teasing and tweaking her nipple, and my mouth ravishing her neck with playful bites, I slide my other hand to the heat warming my thigh.
Just as my index finger sweeps the erogenous zone above her panty line, Justine stiffens. I don’t know if it is the faintest ripple of a scar under my fingertips that has her stiffening, or if she’s afraid her ruse to act unaffected by me will become null and void when I feel how wet her panties are.
I believe it’s the latter when she says, “Stop. I need a minute to think. Oh, god, Nikolai. We can’t do this.”
I growl, loving her husky purr of my name while also praying it’ll hide my disappointment about her constant double-guessing. I’m doing the same thing, except my thoughts are more sinister than hers. They won’t just have me smashing personal records tonight, they’ll have me breaking the law—again.
Annoyance that I’m giving into the voice I rarely listen to is heard in my tone when I ask, “You want me to stop?”
The devil on my shoulder gets a second wind when Justine answers, “No. Yes. I don’t know.”
She internally battles for several long seconds before pushing back from the door. Her wish to flee makes matters worse. It joins our bodies together so intimately, each cavernous breath she takes between shoves steals morals I was unaware I had.
“Stop, Nikolai. Please stop. This isn’t what I want. This isn’t why I brought you here. It was an accident. A mistake. I was flustered. Have you never had a lapse in judgment before? Have you never made a mistake?”
Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. “A mistake?” Realizing you can’t fear hell when you were born there, I slip my hand into her panties to cup her soaked pussy. She’s so wet, evidence of her excitement slicks my palm. “This doesn’t feel like a mistake. This feels like a game—a taunt.” Like you want to fuck with my head even more than my father. “I don’t play games, Ahren, not ones that don’t involve a weapon.” Since my voice is laced with the venom that’s been pumping through my veins from the day I took my first breath, it’s unrecognizable. “Is this a mistake, Ahren, or a game?”
She sounds pained, disappointed and scared when she says, “It’s neither. I’m just as confused as you—”
Her words are pushed aside for a moan when my thumb swipes her throbbing clit. I don’t take anything unwillingly given, except the lives of worthless men, but I’m over this charade. If she says no now, I’ll back away without so much of a sideways glance. If she doesn’t, Vladimir will have to pry her out from my dead cold hands before I’ll ever give this up.
When Justine’s breaths become as tender as the bundle of nerves under my thumb, I slowly inch my finger inside her heated core. “You’re dripping,” I growl when nothing but the greedy sucks of her cunt protest my intrusion.
I didn’t think it was possible for me to get harder, but her tightness makes a quick liar out of me. It reveals what I suspected all along: it’s been a long time since she’s been touched like this.
I can’t wait for her tight little cunt to be grabbing at my dick, begging for my seed, but before I can do that, I need her drenched front to back, as that will be the only way she can take all of me.
And she will take all of me—more than once.
As Justine’s head comes to rest on my shoulder, the pleas I’ve seen in her eyes the past three hours fall from her mouth. “Please... oh, God. Please, Nikolai.”
When I flick the sweet spot inside of her, her back arches against my chest. While peering at her gorgeous face, loving that she’s finally given in, I strum her clit with my thumb. I pump into her as fast as I can, my touch the only thing needed to drain the panic from her face.
I hear how wet she is, much less feel it, which has me finger-fucking her faster, almost cruelly. I push into her deeply, groaning when the hook of my finger causes her thighs to shake.
As the undeniable scent of lust thickens the air, her chest heaves as it struggles to contain her moans. I don’t want them held back. I want them as free as the woman I see hiding in her eyes.
“Let me hear your screams, Ahren. Perhaps if the world hears how much you’re enjoying this, your brain will acknowledge the pleas of your body a little sooner next time.”
A carnal growl rumbles in my chest when she weakens the clench of her thighs, giving herself wholly to me. Her acknowledgement of the friction burning between us serves her well. I pump my finger into her on repeat while ensuring my thumb keeps close contact with her clit at all times. I’d bring her to the climax now, but since I’m not ready for this over just yet, I’ll hold back the urge until I’m certain it isn’t just her libido overriding her senses.
The quiver of Justine’s pulse is heard in her moans when she sings a cock-thickening serenade. “Oh God, yes. There. It feels so good. Please. Yes. Yes. Yesss.”
Blood roars into my ears as the urge to switch my finger with my cock overwhelms me. I would if the prospect of hearing her shout my name during climax wasn’t more dire than my wish to come. She’s right there, on the brink, her orgasm so close, I can taste her sweet scent as much as I can smell it.
When her cries grow louder, I flick the sensitive bud inside her on repeat. “That’s it, Ahren. Nice and loud. I want to hear your screams ringing in my ears for days.”
As her cunt clamps around me, she moans a long, throaty groan. It relinquishes more than excitement from her body. It strips away her pent-up anger and frustration as well. The glow on her face is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. She truly looks like an angel straddling the fine line between good and evil.
Pleasurable growls rip from her throat when I bring her to the very edge of insanity before my thumb topples her into it. While quivering my name into the humid night air, she erupts on my hand, coating it with the wetness I’m dying to taste. She rides her orgasm shamelessly, taking what she needs from me with the viciousness I used to stop her from denying the truth.
She’s now responding how I want her to respond, how I need her to respond.
Once her brutal shudders slacken, I lower the severity of my pumps. I bring her back from the depths of hell with more control than what I used to push her there. She’s still responsive to my touch, she just has a better handle of everything.
After removing my finger from her insatiable cunt, I command her eyes to mine. “Turn around, Ahren. Let me see what I’ve done to you.” My voice is gruff, burned with need. I’m usually more controlled, more through requirement than preference, but right now, I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind. Lust isn’t just potent to an ethical mind. It screws immoral ones as well.
It seems as if I am the only one spiraling. Even through the hazy aftermath of an orgasm, Justine maintains a smart head. “I can’t.”
“Can’t or don’t want to?” My words whip off my tongue like cracks of lightning. I understand she’s not denying me, more my lifestyle, but that doesn’t mean I’ll accept her rejection without endeavoring to show her how wrong she is. I
don’t believe in love at first site, I don’t even believe in love, but I sure as fuck recognize lust.
Furthermore, I’ve denied myself for years. I’m not doing that again. I drank the poison, I blackened my heart, so you can be as assured as fuck I’ll stick around for the reward years of torment owe me.
For a devil to regain his wings, he must fight evil and win. Justine has me halfway there, she just needs to finish seducing this devil into believing he’s a saint.
That would be easier for her to do if the brittle voice of an elderly lady didn’t ripple through the front door of her apartment not even two seconds later. “Justine, honey, are you there?”
Chapter Six
Justine’s cunt clenches around my finger when I growl, “Ignore it.”
I could barely hold back the urge to claim her in a room full of cameras, so you can imagine how potent my cravings are now. It’s the equivalent of putting an addict in a room full of cocaine and telling him not to sample the goods.
It would never happen.
Some of the annoyance heating my blood dampens when Justine cranks her neck back to peer at me. Her eyes are sparked with lust, but that isn’t the only thing firing in them.
There’s also life.
“You want to spin around, but you can’t.” My lips tug into a smirk when she tries to deny my comment with a brisk shake of her head. “The most dangerous lies are the ones you tell yourself, Ahren.”
Her lips twitch in preparation to refute my remark, but a person with an obvious death-wish interrupts us for the second time. “Justine? Honey? Is everything okay?” She pauses for a moment, most likely to fix her dentures back into place to stop her questions coming out with a whistle. “I know you’re home. I heard you...” My cock stirs all over again when Justine’s cheeks redden at the interrupter’s second pause. “Do you want me to call the police? I saw the men entering your apartment. I’m really worried.”
Preferring to keep my whereabouts unknown by my father, I withdrawn my hand from Justine’s soaked panties before stepping back, unpinning her from the door.
My voice is rough with endorphins, but it still holds its usually arrogance when I growl, “Get rid of her.”
Justine’s address may be on my home arrest documentation, but Vladimir knows as well as anyone that proof is in the eye of the beholder. He won’t believe I placed myself under home arrest at my defense attorney’s apartment any more than I’m shocked I cooked up the idea. This is the first time I’ve been led by my cock, and look where it’s gotten me? The indents of my zipper are imprinted in my cock.
When the person responsible for the interlude in our activities knocks for the third time, Justine straightens her clothing before swinging open the door. An old bitty with a headful of silver curls falls forward at a rate too quick for her chubby feet to keep up with. She doesn’t have far to fall—she’d be lucky to be four-feet tall—but Justine saves her from landing on the tiles of the entryway by grabbing the tops of her arms.
“Whoa, careful,” Justine mutters to her guest.
Just as quickly as her guest’s hands shoot up to check none of her ringlets bobbed out of place, Justine has her back on her feet.
The whistle I heard earlier amplifies when the lady I’d guess to be mid to late seventies says, “Sheesh. You had me worried, honey. I wasn’t sure if you had company, or if these old girls were playing tricks on me.” She taps on a hearing aid curled around her ear. “It’s been a while since I’ve heard those noises come from this apartment. I honestly couldn’t tell if they were cries for help, or if you were...”
Her words trail off when I fail to stifle my chuckle. I’m not embarrassed she heard Justine’s cries of ecstasy. I’m fucking stoked even someone as ancient as her recognizes the moans of a woman in need. If she has the ability, perhaps it won’t take me as long to coerce Justine into a second ‘entrapment’ against her front door.
“Oh, excuse me, young man.” She’s fast, but I don’t miss her quick scan of my body before her eyes rocket back to Justine. They’re even wider than her circled lips. “I best let you get back to it.”
When she pivots on her heels, preparing to exit, Justine slams her front door shut, endangering her life. Archaic old lady or not, nothing will stop me making Justine mine tonight.
“Oh, no, don’t leave. We’re not doing anything you can’t participate in.” When the elderly lady eyes Justine like she wasn’t born many moons ago, Justine coughs out the most pathetic excuse I’ve ever heard. “I stubbed my toe. It really hurt.” She curls her arm around the interrupter’s shoulders before ushering her into the living room. “We’re long overdue for an official introduction.”
“Are you sure I’m not interrupting something?” Justine’s elderly guest is acting as if she wants to leave, but her bouncing eyes say otherwise. She’s been dying for this moment for months. I guarantee it.
“I’m not a patient man, Ahren. Make this quick,” I growl at Justine in Russian, eyeing her with the eyes of both a murderer and a desperate man.
Justine’s head bobs half an inch when her guest breaks away from her side. “Oh, dear, are you hurt?”
I’m so shocked when she grabs my face to inspect the wounds my all-in brawl caused, I represent a vyperdusch with half a cock. No one handles me without asking, but she’s not really handling me, is she? She is trying to take care of me.
My assumptions are proven accurate when she drifts her eyes to Justine and asks, “Where’s your first aid kit? If we don’t address his injuries, they may scar.” My zipper stops biting my cock when she returns her eyes to mine. They’re brimming with unhidden admirations, and they make my skin crawl. I may fuck whores, but I still have very high standards. “We wouldn’t want any nasty little marks ruining such a handsome face.”
When she claps her hands together two times, Justine jumps into action. She races across the living room, forgetting the excuse she used to cover up her cries of ecstasy.
I stop summarizing the many ways I can force Justine’s visitor to take a leave of absence when she mutters under her breath, “Stubbed toe, hey.”
The redness on Justine’s cheeks deepens from her guest’s leering comment, but she continues her mission to fetch the first-aid kit from the bathroom, unwilling to test her ability to think on the spot against a woman as quick-witted as this silver-haired hellion.
In a record breaking three seconds, Justine thrusts an unused first-aid kit into the chest of our interrupter. “Here you go.”
I eye the elderly lady in confusion when her chin hair wobbles along with her pencil thin brow. Is she requesting for me to sit on the couch brushing the back my knees, or are her nighttime suppositories not working as intended? I’m truly unsure. Her angry face is identical to the one Roman makes when he’s constipated.
When Justine mouths a quick, “please,” I realize it’s the former, but before I can act on her request, Justine snatches a cotton ball out of the elderly lady’s hand, shoves me into the armchair with force, then mumbles, “Let me, Ms. Aaronson.”
The burn scorching my face is forgotten when Ms. Aaronson scolds Justine about her rough application of the iodine. “Gentle dabs.”
She displays what she means on a handful of smaller scratches in my cheek before leaving Justine to handle the bigger ones. She’s clearly smarter than she looks. If she had hurt me, unintentionally or not, I don’t know how I would have reacted. Violence is usually my go-to reaction, I punish first, ask questions later, but I don’t see me facing the same conflict with Justine. I don’t know why. The thought just doesn’t anger me as you’d expect.
“Much better,” Ms. Aaronson praises Justine when she blows on a cut in my left brow I didn’t know existed until now.
I’m going to assume the gash is compliments to Detective Franco guiding me into the back of his unmarked cruiser. I was having too much fun goading him about his sister to worry about a little sting to the forehead.
I watch Justine closely when a gho
st-like smile stretches across her face. The woman seated across from me isn’t a wannabe defense attorney or a woman on the verge of a climax. She’s just her. An angel trapped in a void she doesn’t know how to get out of, but is still capable of spreading her wings to help others.
As the bright gleam in her eyes lessens their blackness, a faint pink hue creeps across her milky white skin.
“Do you know your smile extends all the way down here?” I brush the back of my hand down the silky smooth skin high on her inner thigh. My cock aches to sink into her when the faint red coloring inflames from my briefest touch. “As does your excitement.”
I slump into my chair with a laugh when Justine backhands my chest. Her slap is the equivalent of a fairy tap, but the playfulness it arrives with denotes fireworks in her eyes. She’s grappling to reach the top of the food chain, and I’m on the verge of letting her win.
“Unless you want these stabbed in your eye, I suggest you sit still.” She snaps together the stainless steel tweezers she’s been using to remove slithers of glass from my wounds, unaware they’re the prefect instrument for that exact job.
“Without pain, there is no pleasure.” Heat skates through my body hard and fast when her knees curve inward at my reply.
Although she’s clearly affected by my accurate statement, she maintains a cool head. That might have more to do with the fact Ms. Aaronson is eyeballing our exchange like she’s the head surgeon of my heart transplant.
If she is, she’s wasting her time.
I don’t have a heart.
Once Justine has half a dozen shards of glass sitting in a makeshift surgeon’s dish most people would call a soap dish, she places down the tweezers so she can inspect her handywork. Her face is whiter than it was earlier, but her eyes remain bright.
She’s halfway through her assessment when Ms. Aaronson thrusts a three strip of Band-Aids into her face. “Better cover up the wounds to stop any nasties,” she whistles through her false teeth.