by Paula Cox
He places me on my feet and lets go of my shoulders. One hand moves down to my ass, gripping it hard. I imagine my ass cheek going red with his handprint and a thrill of pleasure moves through me. The other hand reaches down and grabs my crotch. I reach down and grab the front of his pants. His cock is huge, the biggest cock I have ever touched. It presses through his pants and into my hands like an iron rod, urgent, insistent. I rub it up and down and he growls even deeper.
He rubs my pussy fast, his arm pumping. All his killer’s power goes into the effort of rubbing me. He squashes my clit against my pussy and pushes down on it with such power I’m almost lifted off my feet again.
Then he breaks off the kiss and looks down at me, his face no longer uncertain. He is sure about this, I can see. He is absolutely certain this is what he wants to do.
I unbutton his pants as fast as I can. They fall down his ankles and his cock springs up and hits me in the belly. It’s nine inches, at least, so hard it sticks almost straight up. I look down at it, biting my lip. I’ve never felt such anticipation for a cock before. It’s Roma’s cock, and that means so much more. I grab it at the base and rub hard, fast.
“Fuck . . .”
He unbuttons my pants and yanks them down, and then immediately slides his finger inside of me. I had no clue how wet I was until now; his finger slides in easily, without any resistance at all. He slides deep inside of me and my body is gripped with pleasure. It’s like a giant’s hand grabs me tight and throws me around. He pushes his finger deep inside of me, rubbing my sweet spot. I close my eyes and—
The orgasm hits me like a gunshot out of nowhere. My chest pulsates and everything trembles and I throw my head back, moaning without reserve.
Then it passes and I see that Roma’s face is stern. “I can’t wait any longer,” he breathes. “I need you.”
Without waiting for my response, he steps out of his pants. Then he lifts me off my feet, my pants falling to the grass, and lays me flat. The grass tickles my spine, sending shivers all over me. I look up as Roma leans over me, his shoulder muscles bulging through his shirt. I can’t stop myself. I grab him by the shirt and lift it over his head, throw it aside. His torso is taut, his pecs rock-solid and his belly a firm slab of muscle. I grab his arms, feeling the well-defined muscles, and stare into his eyes.
“Fuck me, Roma,” I moan. My pussy pricks with longing for his cock.
He props himself up with one arm, reaches down, and guides himself inside of me.
Holy. Fuck.
Holy fuck!
Holy fucking fuck!
His cock stretches me wider than I ever thought I could go, a huge mass pushing inside of me. He goes deeper and deeper and reaches places no man ever has before. He hits my sweet spot, the tip of his cock pressing it, and then he holds it for a moment. His jaw is clenched and his chest rises and falls rapidly.
“You’re the sexiest fucking woman I’ve ever seen in my life.”
I make to respond—then he thrusts in and out, and words are lost to me.
He pounds into me hard and I know it’s because he can’t stop himself. His cock is huge and rhythmic, in and out, in and out, deep and fire-hot. My pussy is on fire, burning. I bring my hands to his back, feel the shifting pack of muscle as he fucks me. He’s like a wild wolf finally let out of the cage. He’s wanted this since he first saw me. He’s wanted this since the first second he laid eyes on me. This drives me on. I push my hips up to meet him, matching his pace, and we fuck greedily.
His breath touches my forehead and his cock is a jackhammer, never missing a beat, pulling me into its boiling-hot pleasure. Soon, my mind empties and all I feel is his cock. This has never happened to me before. Usually, I’m self-conscious during sex. But not with Roma. I look into his face but I barely see it. I barely hear his grunts. My world has shrunk down to one sensation. His pounding cock.
“Fuck—fuck—fuck!”
In and out, in and out, so fast it’s like one huge movement.
I feel the orgasm building, a wave inside of me, as though my insides want to explode in a tsunami of tingles and burns and pulses.
“I’m going to—”
Words become impossible.
“Come,” he urges, voice deep. I know he’s close, too, but he’s waiting for me to finish. “Come for me, Felicity.”
I can’t—
The wave builds and builds and then—
I don’t realize I’ve been holding my breath before the orgasm hits me. My body seizes up. My pussy goes tight around his cock. The waves break and push through my body, causing me to gyrate. Pleasure like I have never experienced, pleasure I never dreamed was possible, attacks me. I dig my fingernails into his skin, feel the skin break, but he doesn’t so much as wince.
Yes, yes, yes, yes!
The orgasm takes me violently, throws me about, and then I’m left panting, lightheaded, disoriented.
“Thank fuck,” Roma breathes, pounding into me one last time, burying himself right to the shaft inside of me.
“Fuck,” he grunts.
I reach up and touch his face as he comes inside of me.
“Fuck,” he repeats, falling to the side.
We lay still for what feels like a long time, under the moon and the stars. Faraway, a bird sings out into the night.
Then Roma lifts his arm. Without needing to discuss it, I climb into him and rest my head on his chest.
“That was—”
“I know,” I interrupt. “I felt it, too.”
It was like our bodies knew each other, like they had been waiting our entire lives for us to meet, and only then would they reach their full potential for pleasure. I close my eyes, too exhausted to think about getting dressed, too exhausted to think about where we are. Too exhausted, even, to think about Roma walking into the night.
I’m content in a way I haven’t been in weeks. Roma caresses my shoulder and I hear in his breathing that he is just as tired as me.
Then I close my eyes, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Chapter Twenty-One
Roma
I wake with sunlight on my face and Felicity in my arms.
I keep my eyes closed for a long time, savoring this moment. I am hers now, make no mistake, and she is mine. The thought of leaving her now disgusts me. I can’t believe I even tried it. I’m so glad she caught up with me I can’t even put it into words. Something happened last night, something which has never happened with any other woman. We fucked, but it was more than that. The phrase making love comes to mind. I never knew what it meant until now.
“Are you awake?” Felicity’s voice is dreamy.
“Yeah.” I smile when she kisses my chest. Such a simple gesture, and yet so full of meaning.
What about the job, Roma? a voice whispers. A hateful voice. What about your life? You know you can’t stay with this woman, can’t ever really be with her—
I shut it out.
“Last night was something else,” Felicity says, joy and shock mixing in her voice. “Really something else.”
“I know.” I open my eyes and look down at her. She’s looking up at me, a sweet smile on her face, her cheeks bright red. She looks fresh and young and carefree, not at all like a woman who was taken hostage by perverted Russians. Not for the first time, I admire her resilience.
“What now?” she asks.
I swallow. “We get you back to the States, back home,” I say.
“But we’ll still see each other, won’t we?”
The future, the damned future. There’s so much to think about.
I’m about to answer when I see it. A swirling tower of smoke down the hill . . . Coming from Bear’s cottage.
I’m on my feet in a second, bending down and grabbing my clothes.
“What are you—”
Felicity stops when she looks down the hill and sees it, too. The smoke rises high into the air, curling fingers of smoke dominating the skyline. It’s a wonder we didn’t notice it earlier
. It’s a wonder we didn’t smell it, there’s so much of it. That’s love for you, the same snide voice whispers. It blinds a man.
“You should stay here,” I tell her. “Wait for me—”
“Like hell I will,” Felicity says, pulling on her pants. “You might need backup.”
I make to argue with her, but I see there’s no point. Her hands are on her hips and she won’t be budged. I guess it’s because I tried to leave her last night. But surely she knows I couldn’t do that, not now, not after . . .
“Okay,” I say. “Just stay close.”
I shouldn’t be going anywhere near it. If Bear’s cottage is on fire, it can only mean one thing. Mr. Black’s agents are here, in France. They’ve found Bear and if they’ve found Bear, it means they’ve found me, too. They must know about Barinov’s death. Maybe Mr. Black has Russian contacts. I wouldn’t be surprised. And if he knows about Barinov’s death, my train of thought barrels as I jog down the hill, then he might know about me and Felicity. What will he make of that? I think of him now, sitting in the shadows as he so often does, spit flying as he roars at me. I don’t fear him. But I know the life well enough to understand that with a click of his fingers Mr. Black could have one-hundred hard bastards on my heels.
We get to the bottom of the hill just as the fire tears away some rafters and part of the roof of the cottage caves in. Tiles slide into the overgrown garden and shatter. The fire spits and hisses. The bricks are charred black and heat emanates from the cottage. Flickering hands dart out of the windows, the glass exploding in the heat, and lash out against the brick. There’s a crash as more rafters are torn and one of the walls collapses inward. It looks like it’s being eaten from the inside. Dry leaves in the garden, close to the windows, burst into flames and in a matter of seconds the entire garden is ablaze.
I stand just beyond the gate, watching as the flames engulf the house.
“What . . .” Felicity’s tone is numb. “What happened? An oven fire?”
“No,” I breathe. “Bear . . .”
I step forward without thinking. The flames hiss as the final rafters are consumed. The rest of the roof collapses; another wall totters. I step back, shielding Felicity with my body without thinking.
Bear is in there. I see the old man on his back, covered in smoke and being eaten alive by flames. The urge to charge in and save him, or at least reclaim the old bastard’s body, would overpower me if Felicity wasn’t here. But I have more to think about than Bear or myself. I need to protect her. She’s more important than all of it now.
I’m sorry, Bear, I think, turning away from the cottage.
I scout the other cottages. The next one over, about a quarter-mile, has a pickup truck outside. Right. My instincts kick in. If Mr. Black’s agents are here, they could be watching us right now. Or maybe they’re scouring the area. I don’t know, but I have to get Felicity out of here. That much is certain.
I take her by the hand and walk toward the pickup truck.
“Do you think he’s dead?” Felicity asks, walking quick in an effort to keep up with me.
My head pulses with rage. They killed Bear, I think, struggling not to clench my fist lest I crush Felicity’s hand. They killed Bear!
“Yes,” I say. “I think he’s dead. He was a mean, tough old bastard but even mean, tough old bastards burn.”
“What now?” Felicity says.
“We get you out of here, far away from whoever set that fire.”
As we walk, memories of Bear are thrust into my mind, despite my efforts to keep my head clear. I remember feeling lost and alone on the streets. The other kids were scared of me, because when I fought them, I hurt them bad. I didn’t feel good about it, not then, because it meant they left me alone. I was wandering the streets one night when I collapsed against the door of a Chinese takeout place. My belly was aching and it only occurred to me when I collapsed that I hadn’t eaten for five days. My head felt like it was going to explode. I was too young for all of it, but I was sure I was going to die. The customers in the takeout place ignored me. The owner began walking around the counter as if to shoo me away. And then this vending machine of a man, scarred and grizzled, stepped into his path.
“Don’t touch the boy,” he said, his voice strong, unwavering. “Don’t you dare touch the boy.” He stood over me. “Hungry, lad?” I barely managed to nod, and he scooped me into his arms and carried me up to his apartment. It was the first time in my life I had ever been treated kindly by anybody.
I shake my head, shaking away memories.
Keep her safe. Just keep her safe!
But Bear! Bear!
“Stop it,” I growl under my breath.
“What?” Felicity says.
“Wait here.” I let go of her hand, approach the driver’s side of the pickup, and smash the window with my elbow. The glass shatters and I reach in and unlock it.
“Come on,” I say, waving Felicity over.
“We can’t take this,” she says.
“We can and we are.”
There must be something in my voice which frightens her. She looks at me uncertainly.
“Get in,” I say.
She nods and climbs into the passenger seat. I get in, tear out the ignition panel, and begin hotwiring the car. I feel Felicity’s eyes on me, but I don’t have time to set her at ease right now. My only job is to keep her safe, make sure Mr. Black’s agents—the fucks who killed Bear—don’t get their hands on her. After this, I couldn’t give up Felicity even if I wanted to. And I don’t want to. It’s me and her against the entire damn organization now and they’re stupider than I thought if they think I’ll give her up easily.
The wires spark and the car thrums to life. In the rearview mirror, a man wearing overalls and a wool cap runs into the garden, waving his arms and screaming in French.
I ignore him and step on the pedal, the truck coughing away from the cottage and toward the hill.
We need to head to the village, pick up supplies, and then be on our way. Get back to the States, pick up my funds, and then . . .
I can’t think about and then right now. Right now is enough to worry about.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Felicity
He just stole that man’s truck, I think, gazing across at Roma. It’s not just that, either. He grips the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn bone-white. He mutters under his breath fiercely, and I don’t think he even knows he’s doing it. “Bear . . . kill the bastards . . . they’ll pay for this . . . keep her safe . . .”
It’s the first time since I met him I’ve seen him like this, as though he’s on the verge of losing control.
“Roma,” I say, as we trundle up the hill. “Roma, you need to calm down.”
He’s driving too fast and the suspension on the truck is shoddy. There are no seatbelts and we bump up and down as though just waiting for the chance to go flying through the window.
“Roma,” I say, and he glances across at me.
“Oh,” he breathes, relaxing his hands, and takes his foot off the pedal slightly.
The truck slows down as we reach the top of the hill, the village clear in the startling sunlight.
“Oh,” he repeats.
Then he steps from the truck, paces to the tree we met at last night, and punches it. Not just once, though. He punches it half a dozen times before I climb from the truck and jog over to him.
“Fuck!” he roars. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”
Splinters of wood fly away from the tree. His knuckles turn red with blood and the place he punches becomes a massive dent in the bark.
“Roma,” I whisper, placing my hand on his shoulder. “Roma, stop.”
At my touch, he turns to me, chest heaving, an animal. Blood drips from his hands onto the grass.
I knew he was tough, but I’m shocked by this side of him. I’ve never seen such mad rage in a person before.
I touch his face. Hot, like he has a fever. A fever of fury, I think.
> “Calm down,” I say, stroking his cheek. “Calm down and let’s just focus on the next step.”
He watches me for a long moment, his face torn, and then he nods and paces toward the car.