What the fuck just happened?
9
KAZIMIR
The cold hits me like a fist when I step outside, but it's not nearly enough to cool the fire burning through my veins, or to ease how painfully fucking hard I am.
My cock strains against my jeans, and every step sends a jolt of frustrated arousal through me. I can still feel her—the heat of her skin, the wetness on my fingers, the way she trembled and gasped when I touched her. Those little whimpers she made, the sound of her moans as I edged her toward an orgasm…
Fuck.
I walk around the side of the safe house, putting distance between myself and the door. Between her and me. My breath comes out in harsh clouds, and I brace one hand against the rough wood siding.
This is insane. That was the stupidest thing I could possibly do.
I’ve already gone outside the bounds of what I was supposed to do. I didn’t find out a damn thing about what Iosef was doing beyond the trafficking; instead, I ended up rescuing the one woman that not only does Ilya no longer give a damn about, but would likely not spend a single resource rescuing. As far as Iknow, he’s never forgiven Svetlana for her treatment of his now-wife, and he washed his hands of her the minute he told her to leave that warehouse where they were both being kept.
He trusts me—or as much as a man like Ilya trusts anyone. I'm his fixer, his problem solver, the one who handles the situations that need to disappear. If he discovers I pulled his ex-fiancée out of Iosef's compound without telling him, that I've been hiding her, lying to him…
That’s bad enough. I could lose a lot just from that. Ilya is not a forgiving man. I could lose my job, but the punishment might be much, much worse. The thought of the creative ways that Ilya might choose to hurt me for breaking his trust sends a shudder down my spine… and yet, even the thought of being tortured for lying to my boss isn’t enough to make my fucking erection go down.
Get a fucking grip, Orlov.If lying to Ilya could get me fired and tortured, then fucking her…
That could get me killed.
Ilya has killed men for less. I've watched him do it. A business partner who tried to cheat him. A lieutenant who got too ambitious. A rival who mouthed off to him at a meeting on a particularly bad day.
And Svetlana was his. He gave her up, walked away from her for the woman he truly loved, but I doubt he’d think kindly of me touching her now, even if he no longer wants her. He’d look back at the years they were together, and wonder what I did all that time, what I thought.
There’s no statute of limitations in our world on treachery. If he found out I touched her, that I had my hands on her, inside her?—
He might just put a bullet in my head himself.
And yet… I find myself lifting my hand to my face as the cold wind whips against it, breathing in the scent of Svetlana’sarousal on my fingertips. Remembering the way she squirmed and cried out when I spanked her. The way she baited me to punish her…
She wanted it. I’ve had enough women in bondage rooms to know when they’re just doing it to please the man they’re with and when they truly crave that punishment, that feeling of being put in their place. Svetlana, a woman who has always been pampered, catered to, and worshipped by everyone around her,wantedme to spank her.
She knew she fucked up, and she wanted me to punish her for it. She wanted a man capable of handling her.
I can still feel the way she moved against my hand, desperate and needy and so fucking responsive. The sounds she made—those little gasps and whimpers that went straight to my cock.
The way she looked at me when I pulled away. Not grateful or relieved.Disappointed.
Like she wanted me to keep going. Like she wanted me to lose control and take what we both knew I wanted.
My hand moves to my belt before I can stop myself.
I can’t do this inside, with her so close. Until I’ve relieved the pressure, this fuckingneedthat feels a thousand times more intense than anything I’ve experienced before, I run the risk of doing exactly the one thing that I shouldn’t. So despite the bone-wracking cold, despite the fact that I shouldn’t leave her alone right now, I work my belt open, popping the button on my jeans. The zipper sounds obscenely loud in the quiet night.
I pull my cock out, hissing at the contact of skin on skin. I'm so hard it hurts, the head already slick with pre-cum. The cold air should be uncomfortable, should kill my arousal, but it doesn’t.
I wrap my hand around myself and stroke once, slow and firm, and the pleasure is so intense I have to bite back a groan. I’ve been aching since I pulled her across my lap; painfullyhard since the moment I realized she wasn’t wearing panties. Leaning back against the wall of the house, I stroke myself again, clenching my jaw against another low groan.
It feels so fucking good. I’m no stranger to my hand; I’ve never had any problem finding a woman when I want one, but there’ve been plenty of occasions where I’ve needed release and haven’t had time to find another way. It’s never felt this fucking good.
I let go of my straining cock for a second, raising my hand to my face again. My cock jerks as I think of her scent on it, pushing my fingers into my mouth to taste her. Her musk is sweet and sharp on my tongue, and I push them back and forth, getting them nice and wet before I grip my cock again.
My saliva and her arousal and my pre-cum mix together, slickening my cock, and I hiss through my teeth as I feel my balls tighten. This won’t take long. Just thinking about her getting my cock wet is enough to get me close, enough to send a long string of pre-cum dripping down onto the snow as I start to jerk faster.
