Kissing My Killer (33 page)

“No,” I panted. Something was happening—I felt almost drunk and we hadn’t even touched the free champagne. “Don’t tie me up.”

He yanked the belt of the robe completely free.

“Please don’t tie me up!” My voice was hoarse with need.

He ignored me. He pulled the robe the rest of the way off, leaving me completely naked. Then he took my wrists and crossed them in an “X” and started to wrap the robe’s belt around the point where they joined.

I tried to sit up. He straddled me, applying maybe a tenth of his weight, and I was pinned. The tying continued. “Don’t,” I said, feeling the soft cloth tighten around my wrists. “Please don’t!”

Every time I said
don’t
and he ignored me, I got a strange twinge in my groin. He finished with my wrists and I saw his eyes go to the iron bedstead. My eyes bugged out as he dragged my bound wrists towards them. “God, don’t tie me to the bed!”

I was dimly aware that I probably wasn’t a very good actress. And also that that didn’t matter at all.

The bedstead was made up of several thick vertical iron bars and Alexei tied my wrists to the very center one. He did it quickly and expertly, leaving me almost no slack. I panted as I tested my bondage and found that I really couldn’t move at all.

Then he moved slowly down my body, making it very clear where he was going.

It’s a shocking feeling, to have your hands tied high above your head. They’re so completely useless, so far away from where they could do any good at all. My whole body felt vulnerable in a way it hadn’t when my hands were just pinned by my sides. I really was defenseless: his plaything.

His head dipped between my thighs again but this time he was able to use his hands, too. He started with this thumb, drawing it along the line of my lips while he circled my clit with his tongue. Then, as I opened to him again, he started to roughly fuck me with one, two,
Jesus,
three fingers, building the pace until the black heat had travelled all the way up my body and was thundering in my ears. My knees were bent, feet scrunching at the comforter as I panted and thrashed.

My arms jerked and twisted on the belt, hard enough that some half-hearted bondage by a normal boyfriend might have come loose. Alexei’s bonds didn’t move at all. That was the scariest—and the hottest—part: when this guy tied you to the bed, he really
tied you to the bed.

Just like before, he drew me upward towards a shattering climax but refused to quite let me peak. The pleasure built and built until I thought I’d explode. Then he lifted his head and looked up at me. With one thumb, he drew circles on my clit. With the other hand, he continued to finger-fuck me. “Gabriella,” he growled. “My
krasivaya malen'kaya shlyukha.”

I didn’t know what that meant in English, but I was pretty sure it was both complimentary and filthy. The words seemed to scorch my skin. I felt them throbbing against my breasts, lashing at my spread thighs as I lay there bound. Whatever a
shlyukha
was, I felt like one. “Please,” I said, flushing at how desperate my voice sounded.

He didn’t quicken his movements. My hips made desperate little humping motions towards him.

“Please what?” he asked. The
what
was drawn out, like the slow hiss of a sword easing from a scabbard.

“Please let me—” I flushed.

He shook his head and the movement made his fingers twist just a little inside me, making me gasp. “I want to hear you say it,” he said.

What? Why?
Why did he want to hear
me
say something like that? It wasn’t as if I had a sexy accent or anything. I swallowed. “Please let me...come,” I panted.

He grinned a slow grin of satisfaction. Then his fingers sped up and his hand rocked in just the right way, the heel grinding against my clit, and—

I heaved so hard on the belt that my shoulders actually lifted off the bed for a second, all my weight on my wrists and ass. My thighs squeezed against his shoulders as the pleasure pumped through me, shudder after shudder of exquisite black heat. It filled my lungs, my mind—I saw an image of us, me pale and bound to the bed, the hulking, tanned Russian on top of me, and I arched my back and spasmed again, grinding and grinding against him. It must have been close to a minute before I lay still in a twitching, panting mess.

If he moves,
I thought,
if he even breathes on me….
I was so sensitized, even a touch would have been unbearable. But to my relief, he let me recover for a moment. My breathing gradually slowed, evidenced by how my breasts stopped
heaving,
and went back to just moving. I didn’t miss how Alexei’s eyes were locked on them. I got the impression he’d enjoyed the heaving.

I realized I was glistening with sweat—Alexei, too, the result of keeping my legs spread open and my body pressed down on the bed throughout all of my thrashing and arching.
This should count as a workout,
I thought.
The Ravished by a Russian Workout.

Eventually, I was calm. Alexei drew his fingers from me, which made me aware of just how soaking wet I was. Then his muscled hips were pressing between my thighs, spreading me even wider than before. I looked up just in time to see him rolling the condom down his thick, erect cock.

I tugged at the fabric belt that bound my wrists, but I was utterly trapped. It’s difficult to explain how that made it better, but it did—a thousand-fold. Being tied up
by him
made me feel somehow safe, rooted in the moment. The opposite of the dreaded slide into darkness I got when I panicked. Tied to the bed, I was
his
and nothing could change that—not even me.

In the junkyard it had all happened so fast. Now, he seemed to relish every second: the slow slide of his body against mine as he moved down; the kiss of his cock against my slickened lips. God, he was so...
big
: just looking at the size of him, poised for entry like that, made my heart flutter. And the solid heft of his body, the tight ass and the hard thighs—the power to drive into me for hours. I was more turned on than I’d ever been and yet, as he prepared to do it, I tugged again and again on the belt, testing my bonds, because their solid grip on me made it feel even better.

This time, I didn’t bother with the
don’ts
and the
pleases.
My acting wasn’t up to pretending I didn’t want it. I just stared up at him, my breath quickening, as he lowered himself atop me, putting his face so close to mine that our lips almost touched. I realized he wanted to look into my eyes while he did it.

“I wanted you,” he told me, “from the first moment I saw you.” Then his voice changed, an edge of lust creeping in. His eyes went from icy blue to frozen gray—the old Alexei, his dark side. “And now I’m going to make you mine, my gorgeous
shlyukha printsessa.”

He gave a thrust of his hips and I cried out in shock as he sank into me. My head rocked back, my eyes fluttering closed for a second at the stretching, solid heat of him—steel wrapped in silk. My mind swam with how good it felt, little sparks of silver flaring everywhere his cock touched me. Another thrust and I cried out again at the sensation of being filled. My legs went limp for a second against his thighs and then drew up, my knees bending and the soles of my feet sliding along the bed. I couldn’t even pretend to resist anymore, it felt so good. He drew back a little, nudged my legs wider and then—

I gave a high little cry as he filled me completely, the base of him snugged up tight against my folds. I panted with the feel of it, the hot length of him
so deep,
my whole body seeming to wrap around him and squeeze, sparks of pleasure bursting free all over….

“
Tebe nravitsya eto?
” he grunted. I looked into his eyes and went weak at what I saw there. I’d never seen him like this—so completely fired up. It hit me for the first time that he’d always been tightly under control, even at the junkyard. With me, he trusted himself enough to let go.

“
Tebe nravitsya eto?
” he asked again, twisting his hips in a way that made the pleasure bloom and flare. I realized he was asking in Russian if I liked it. I nodded.

He pulled back and I groaned at the slick, perfect drag of him against me, every millimeter of my flesh alive with pleasure. The need built immediately. It was an ache inside me, a creature that demanded to be fed. I wanted him back inside me,
now.

He thrust into me again, harder, this time, and I felt the brush of his balls against me. The sensation of having him inside me was incredible—I could scarcely breathe, scarcely think, my whole focus on that slick, hot tightness.

And then I saw us. There was a mirror over the dresser with angled panels and one had caught us from the side. I could see every detail—my pale, bound wrists, my legs shamelessly open and spread for him, my toes clutching at the comforter in ecstasy...and between my thighs, the huge, tanned Russian, his hulking body making mine look tiny. His muscled ass looked magnificent from that three-quarters view, and then he thrust into me again and the view got even better. My eyes opened wide as I took in the sight of his ass cheeks flexing and the unmistakable forward lunge of his hips...and my own answering cry of pleasure. It was the hottest thing I’d ever seen.

Alexei leaned on his elbows and slid his hands over my breasts. My nipples were still achingly hard, stroking like damp pebbles against his palms. He squeezed gently. “
Sovershennyye grudi
,” he told me. Something about my breasts, I guessed. The unfamiliar shapes of the words didn’t matter—what mattered was the lust I could hear in them. “
Ya khochu , chtoby lizat' ikh chasami.
” He kept thrusting as he said it. Something about what he wanted to
do
to my breasts? “
Izat' ikh, a zatem trakhnut' ikh,
” he told me, his eyes gleaming. Yes, definitely something he wanted to do to my breasts.

I nodded wildly.

He sped up and the pleasure started to thrash and slam around inside me like a living thing, desperate for release. I wanted to grab him, to claw at his shoulders and urge him to go even faster, but all I could do was jerk my wrists uselessly against the belt. I had to take things at his speed and that loss of control, weirdly, felt incredible. It felt
right,
in some indefinable way, like something I’d been missing in my life.

He was pressed tight against me now. With each thrust, the whole length of his sweat-slick body slid against mine, caressing every part of me from my knees to my chest. My breasts were lifted and exquisitely stroked by the solid slabs of his pecs, the nipples scraping along them, then pushed down again as he moved out of me. The hard muscle at the base of his cock was grinding on my clit each time he filled me. I was trembling, close to my peak. Sex had never been like this before.
Nothing
had ever been like this before. I felt so close to him, even though we were playing this twisted game, even though he had me tied up...maybe
because
he had me tied up.

Maybe I’d needed someone to take control and maybe he’d needed to lose it, for once.

He sped up again and I went crazy, wrapping my legs around him and pressing my cheek hard against his—the closest I could get to folding him into my arms, since my wrists were tied. I could tell he was getting close, that gorgeous face set hard as he strained to hold back—

And then suddenly he pulled himself from me, grabbed me by the waist and turned me over onto my stomach. The belt that tied my wrists to the bedstead twisted, giving me even less slack. I landed panting, my breasts squashed under me, and craned around to see what he was doing.

He was grabbing one of the cylindrical bolster pillows from the head of the bed. A second later, he shoved it under my hips, raising them up. My ass thrust up towards him, my back arched.

His knees knocked my legs apart. He bent low over me, his mouth to my ear. Everything had happened so fast, I was reeling. “
Ya sobirayus' k poshel na khuy, kak eto
,” he told me. He brushed a lock of hair away from my ear and the rawness of the lust in his voice sent a tremor through me. “
Szadi.
”

I didn’t need to understand to know that he was telling me what he was about to do. I nodded, frantic with need. Then gasped as he started to enter me.

“God, I love the feel of you,” he hissed in my ear. “You’re so—”

“S—
Say it in Russian!”
I blurted. Then I reddened. “I—I like it when you say it in Russian.”

I glanced in the mirror and saw him smile.

“Vy tak krepko i goryachaya,” he told me as he sank into me. It was so much better in Russian—the knowledge that it was darkly filthy but with the mystery of exactly what he was saying. The unfamiliar words, together with
that
accent, were like glowing chunks of molten rock dropping into my soul, heating me up from within. The pillow he’d put my hips on was firm, almost hard, and I started to grind myself against it.

He gasped and went deeper. God, it felt different like this—he could go deeper and yet I felt even tighter around him. I checked the mirror again and the sight of him sliding into me from behind burned itself into my mind forever. I couldn’t look away.