Kissing My Killer (22 page)

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.

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.