Instead, foreign kindness surges in my chest. I need to claim her in a different way, to witness her fall apart beneath my touch. To memorize her expression and cries as she comes on my dick.
I lift her to her feet and tug her onto the couch beside me, arranging her against the cushions.
Her body is boneless in the aftermath, her skin flushed pink from her cheeks to her chest, her nipples erect and begging for attention.
I resist the urge to suck one in my mouth, to taste her everywhere.
Later. Right now, I need to witness her unravel.
I slide down between her legs, settling my hips against her inner thighs. The scent of her heady, intoxicating arousal cocoons me. She’s dripping wet, swollen, and pink.
“Kolya.” Her voice quivers with desire and uncertainty as I use my fingers to part her. “You don’t have to?—”
“I need to taste you.” I lightly pinch her slick clit, and my fingers slide right off.
She gasps, her hips arching off the couch in a sudden, convulsive jerk. With her eyes squeezed shut and her bottom lip trapped between her teeth, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Raw, honest, and completely abandoned to sensation.
I begin to move up her body, my fingers still working her, my mouth never leaving her skin as I press kisses up her stomach, between her breasts, toward her throat.
My lips graze her collarbone, eliciting a soft moan. This woman is too fucking perfect. I could?—
A crack splits the air.
The lamp beside the couch explodes, spraying shrapnel and porcelain across the wall right where my head was mere seconds ago.
I roll off the couch, shielding her naked body with mine as I carry her with me to the floor. Glass crunches beneath us when we hit the hardwood, my arm cushioning her head from the impact.
Someone just tried to put a bullet through my skull.
And they nearly succeeded.
Chapter 15
Kolya
I shove Chloe flat against the floor, pinning her with my weight.
She’s breathing fast. Shallow, panicked breaths that saw through the air. The desire in her wide eyes rapidly gives way to fear. “What the he?—”
Anothercrack.
This time, the bullet punches through the window, shattering the glass before burying itself with precision in the same patch of wall as the first one. “Stay down.”
The sniper has discipline. He’s not spraying bullets or taking wild shots. He’s waiting for a clean hit, for the perfect angle on his target.
The couch sits in front of the windows, creating an ideal kill box. Whoever’s shooting has a clear sight line into this room and can probably see the outline of our bodies despite the dim lighting. Beyond the impact, the shots are virtually silent. No gunfire. No echo. Just cracking glass and holes appearing in windows and walls as if by magic.
Suppressor. Professional.
We need to flee. Now.
I grip Chloe’s arm tightly enough to bruise. She winces but doesn’t cry out.
Good girl.
With my other hand, I yank my pants up, not bothering with the belt. I cram my feet in my shoes and reach for my gun, thankful this woman didn’t get me out of my shirt and jacket. The cool metal in my palm centers me. “Back door.” I drop into a crouch beside her. “Crawl.”
She mutters, “Is that a gun?” but obeys without question, snatching her pants as she goes. I keep one hand on the back of her neck in a reminder to stay low as we scramble across the living room.
