Oh.
“Sergei—” I pulled back slightly, but his grip tightened.
“Tell me I’m good,” he said, voice rough, almost wrecked. “Just—tell me. I love when you say that to me in bed.”
I swallowed, heat pooling under my skin, and leaned closer instead of pulling away. “You’re a good boy for me,” I said huskily into his ear. “The absolute best, baby.”
He shuddered against me, a broken groan spilling into my neck as his body went rigid, then slowly, slowly slackened. His grip loosened, breath coming in uneven pulls, as if he’d just run a marathon instead of standing in my arms.
For a moment, neither of us moved, then he huffed out aquiet, almost embarrassed breath and dragged a hand down his face.
“Fuck,” he muttered, nuzzling my neck, the area sensitive from where he’d all but been chewing on my flesh. “My hand doesn’t feel as good anymore. I prefer when you’re inside me, Leo.”
Me too.
But I cleared my throat and reached for his hand, sticky with cum. He seemed to have caught most of it in his palm. Gazing into his eyes, I raised it to my mouth, then licked it. I moaned, swiping my tongue up the center of his palm to catch the tip of his middle finger into my mouth.
“Be good,” I murmured, delighting in the way his nostrils flared. “Don’t get distracted. Tell me exactly what happened last night.”
Sergei’s throat worked as he swallowed, eyes locked on my mouth as I dragged my tongue over his skin again, slower this time.
“You’re—” He broke off with a sharp exhale. His fingers twitched in mine like he wanted to take control back, but he didn’t. “It’s hard to think when you’re doing that.”
I hummed softly, lips still brushing his palm. “Answer the question, or I’ll stop.”
“Motorcycle,” he said finally, like he was forcing each word out. “Guy on a motorcycle.”
I sucked his finger deeper into my mouth.
His head tipped back slightly, a strained sound catching in his throat. “Fuck—Leo…”
“Focus,” I murmured, pulling back just enough to look at him, then licking a slow line across his knuckles. “What happened?”
His eyes snapped to mine. “I was leaving the club on my way to see you,” he said, voice rougher now. “He came out ofnowhere.” His breathing hitched when I flattened my tongue against his palm again. “He took a shot at me.”
I lost my rhythm as fear coursed through me, then I reminded myself he was okay. He was literally standing in front of me without a scratch.
“He shot at you?” I asked, taking his index finger this time. Last night he’d intimated that someone had tried to kill him, but hearing the details made everything sound more real. Yet he talked about facing death so nonchalantly. Didn’t he have any fear?
He nodded once. “Yeah.” His hand flexed in mine. “But he missed.”
“So you’re the one who slit his throat?” I repeated softly, sucking harder, watching the way his control slipped a fraction more.
A low sound dragged out of him. “No. He did it after I caught him. He figured if he ended his life, I wouldn’t get the chance to torture information out of him.”
I pulled his hand from my mouth just enough to speak, my lips still brushing his skin. “That’s something you do? Torture people?”
“If I need to,” he said immediately, then sucked in a breath when I licked along the seam of his thumb.
“Do you know who sent him?”
Silence stretched, but not because he didn’t hear me. I tilted my head, meeting his gaze, then slowly, deliberately, took his thumb into my mouth.
His composure cracked. “Leo.”
“You’re not going to tell me.”
“It’s best for you not to know certain things.”
