The Devil's Beauty (Crime Lord Interconnected Standalone Book 2) (47 page)

She snuggled back into him. “Where’d you go?”

“Late business.” His arm snaked around her middle and she was tucked securely into his curve. “Did I wake you?”

Her answer was prolonged by the adjustment of her body slipping half onto her back to study the painted lines of his face bathed in the rising morning.

“Devil business or leader of the north business?”

His fingers ghosted the curve of her cheek. The single gesture sent a scatter of shivers along her spine.

“I can’t believe you know about that.”

One shoulder lifted in a shrug. “I’m clever like that.”

The finger glided down to tuck beneath her chin. It lifted her mouth to his in a deep, toe curling kiss that had her head spinning and her nerve endings prickling to life.

“Devil business,” he murmured to her lips. “And a little leader business.”

She hummed quietly. “Sort it?”

He nodded. “I’m yours for another…” he peeked over her to the alarm clock on the nightstand. “Two hours.”

A slow grin worked over her face, curving her lips into a wicked grin. “That’s plenty of time.” She hooked her arms around his neck and bunched her fingers into the damp locks of hair at the back of his head. “And you have eight years to make up for.”

His answer was the crash of his mouth over hers and the tightening of his arms. He held her to him with a possessive dominance that made her stomach muscles flex. Her senses tore at the clean scent of him washing around them, smelling of spices, night, and man, at the feel of his smooth, taut skin gliding beneath her palms. God, he felt good. The feel of him on her, his hips pushing apart her thighs, his mouth invading her sanity. He was an addiction she had no notion of ever relinquishing.

“I need to taste you.”

She gave him no chance to react. In a single motion, she heaved him onto his back and straddled him. Her bare mound settled with him nestled between her thighs. The fat head of his cock peeked out from the moist folds of her lips, nudging her swollen clit.

He was rock hard. The feel of him rubbing so close to the place she needed him filled her with a desperation she could barely stand. It rode over her in columns of heat. It took everything she had not to lift her hips and slid him inside her all the way until it hurt.

She wasn’t one of those women who needed to be choked and smacked during sex. The ones who wanted to be spat on and tied into a ball with itchy rope. She just liked that sweet pang of it the next day while she went about her daily routine and she couldn’t sit down without grinning. She loved the violence of a good fuck. That’s what it was. It just didn’t feel real if it wasn’t wild and left both parties sweat drenched and exhausted.

Maybe it was his fault. The first time he’d taken her in anger it had been the afternoon they’d had their first real fight as a couple. It had been about something she couldn’t even remember, but he’d slammed her into the wall and there had been a vicious attack of hands and mouths, and the assault of his cock pounding into her while he held a firm rein on her hair.

The orgasm had lasted hours. It had sizzled through her entire body. It had turned her legs to jelly and her brain to pudding. She couldn’t even cry out as the world was ripped apart around her. Her mouth had hung open in a silent scream while he hissed into her ear what a good little cunt he had. Then, when she’d been semi coherent, he’d forced her to her knees and fucked her mouth with the cock dripping with her release. He hadn’t been kind about that either. There had been very little gentleness after that, after they both realized how much better it was compared to all other lovemakings, but that was how she liked it, how she came the hardest, and only he’d ever done it properly.

Grinning at the memory, Ava started her descent down the masterpiece of his torso. Her lips sucked, licked, and nipped their way over the artwork tattooed across the rigid muscles, worked down along the lines of his stomach, and followed the dusting of fine, dark hairs guiding her from navel to the appendage waiting for her. She paused only a split second, curious a second time about the gauze inches from her face, but like the last time, she would wait for later when she wasn’t starving for him.

He gave a grunt even before she was there, before her chin glided the smooth length, before her hot breath traced the cap. His fingers twisted into the sheets on either side of his hips, the knuckles white, reminding her of someone preparing themselves for a crazy carnival ride. The thought made her smirk to herself as she went to work breaking him apart.

It was probably her favorite part of him being on his back. Usually, she liked him on top, liked him in control, liked being dominated. But, occasionally, she enjoyed returning the favor, enjoyed making him squirm and snarl his frustrations. Occasionally, she liked being the one in control.

“Don’t go anywhere,” she whispered, pressing a hot kiss along the stretch of skin between his belly button and the puddle he was creating beneath the head of his cock.

“What…?” His head jerked off the pillow, his bemused, and slightly panicked expression comical.

She snickered. “I’ll be right back.”

She rose off the bed quickly, unabashed by her nudity, and padded quickly into the bathroom. She shut the door and ran the faucet. She let the sound of rushing water striking the bowl muffle the sound of the drawer being tugged open and the rattle of pills as she shook two extra strength aspirins into her palm. She downed both with a glass of water.

The pain wasn’t unbearable. She knew she could go another couple of hours before she really felt the assault of the previous day, but the sooner she caught it and numbed it, the better. This way, Dimitri wouldn’t catch it either. He wouldn’t get that look on his face, the one that always made her think he’d just been skewered in the heart with something blunt. She hated that look, hated seeing it tightening his jaw, darkening his eyes. She hated knowing he only got it when he felt responsible for something he had no control over.

Properly medicated, she quickly brushed her teeth, ran hurried hands through her hair and stepped out.

He was still exactly where she’d left him, one arm hooked over his eyes, his cock a hard bump against his abdomen. But she knew the moment she got close enough and heard the subtle rattle in his chest, saw the slow rise and fall of his chest, that she was too late. He was asleep and the fact that he’d hardly slept the night before made her pass up the idea of waking him up.

Ava sighed with a miserable shake of her head. “Damn it.”

Dejected, she padded to the empty spot next to him and climbed in. She tugged the sheets up around her and was getting comfortable when he turned over. The unexpected movement startled her, but she didn’t resist when his arm tucked around her and she was dragged into his side. The pillow was replaced by his shoulder and his heat became her blanket.

“Don’t tease,” he mumbled sleepily into her ear. “Blue balls are not fun.”

Ava laughed, one leg snaking over his hip. “You fell asleep.”

He made a sound between a grumble and a groan. “Sleep. Not dead. Get back down there.”

Her laugh deepened, but she wiggled her way back down to his midsection. Her fingers closed around the thick shaft.

Dimitri moaned huskily. “Good girl,” he praised, watching her through half opened eyes. His hand stroked her head. “Let me come in your mouth.”

Not many would agree that the taste of a man’s release could make their mouths water, but his did. Only his. The very idea of having him spill down her throat swarmed her with the same electric sizzle of anticipation as the first sweep of his tongue against her sex. It made her wet just thinking about it.

Driven by greedy hunger, she leaned in to lap up the clear liquid off his stomach and the hood of his erection. Her tongue danced over the cap, circling and gathering every last drop before her lips closed over it in a kiss.

She’d missed the taste of him. She missed how he felt stretching her jaw and flattening her tongue to slide all the way into the back of her throat. She missed cradling him there as he pulsed against the tight suction of her lips.

“Ava.” He purred her name as though whispering a prayer. His hand stilled in its rhythmic stroking. His hips gave an involuntary jerk. “Deeper…” He broke off with a guttural gasp. His fingers curled into the strands at the back of her head. “Deeper, myshka. All the way. Let me … yes!”

His head dropped back. His teeth closed along his bottom lip. Ava would have grinned if she weren’t so focused on her mission.

Her throat muscles worked with her first swallow, massaging his head while she expertly rolled her tongue around the shaft. The fingers on her right hand snuck between his thighs and cupped the tight sack of his balls and she tugged in time to her swallows.

“Ava…” His hips rose, pushing him deeper against the back of her throat. “Fuck, I’m…”

That was all the warning she got before hot, thick ropes of salty come spurted out of him and pooled in her mouth. She tried to keep it all in, but it kept jetting out until she was sure she would drown. She gulped down as much of it as she could before breaking the seal. She was panting almost as hard as he was, but she still cleaned him off, collecting every last drop before pushing her hair back and lifting her head.

His arm was back over his face, but his breathing was rapid.

She climbed over him, straddling his middle and bracing her weight with both palms planted on his chest. She followed a series of circles with the tip of one finger, following it along an interact path to a starburst of tiny images hidden amongst larger images. The ones she remembered, the row of tiny stars along his right breast plate for his fallen comrades, the full length angel with spear in hand on his left arm, the old time keeper and clock on his right, the hungry bird of prey swooping for the kill across his chest, wings extended across his ribs were all there. The rest, the phoenix, wings protracted on his back, the embedded Celtic cross tattoo, the patchwork of minor designs weaving it all together to become a single piece of artwork with smaller images engraved in its hidden meanings. It was thousands of hours of work. Years, maybe even. But nothing there was hers. Everything spoke of violence, loss, pain, anger, but nothing said her.

It really shouldn’t have bothered her. He got all of those after he’d left her. He clearly wouldn’t want a reminder of her on him when he was the one who walked away. She was being ridiculous. Besides, there was so much there that even if he did have something about her inked on him, she’d need days and a magnifying glass.

The hand not balled loosely over his face lifted and closed over the hand she had running over his chest. He never opened his eyes, not even when he directed her to the place between his breasts plates, just over the bird’s head where the wings curled in an almost not so distinct, upside down heart. It wasn’t visible if someone didn’t point it out, but she could almost see it. But there, in the center of it, in elegant loops, embraced closely by discarded feathers and an array of patterns, were the words,
lyubb-lyu tebya vsem sertsem, vsey dushoyu
in black ink. Words he had whispered to her over and over again so many times, they had become their own tattoo in her head

She couldn’t breathe. Each time she tried, the lump in her throat grew an inch and she had to fight back the sobs. Tears blurred her vision, smudged the colors and images, and she had to blink several times to keep them from falling.

Why did you leave?
She wanted to ask him, wanted to shake him and cry until he answered. And that was why she didn’t. When they talked about it, she wanted a clear head. She didn’t want to fall to pieces and blubber all over him.

She pulled herself together, doing it carefully so he wouldn’t notice. She cleared her throat and put on what she hoped was a playful smile.

“Does this mean you’re done already?” she teased him.

The forearm lifted a fraction and he squinted at her with one opened eye. “Woman.” His low warning had her biting back a grin.

“You are getting old,” she reminded him. “I’d hate for you to break a hip—”

In a movement she never saw coming, he had her face down across the bed. Her head dangled over the edge, her fingers gripped the mattress. Then he was on her, forcing apart her thighs and draping his body over her. His hands curled over hers, locking them into place, locking her into place when he pushed inside her.

Christ.

There was no better sensation than that initial penetration. It stole her breath, her sanity, her inhibitions—if she’d ever had any—and her thoughts in a single, downward plunge.

“How’s this for my hips?” he taunted, low and gravelly into her ear, just the way she liked it.

She managed a strangled mumble of something even she didn’t understand and was rewarded by the long, even thrusts of his cock. Each one painfully slow, painfully hard, painfully perfect. Each one sang through her in sweet, beautiful pangs of pain and pleasure that had her sobbing into the ledge of the mattress. Her fingers tightened and his tightened with hers.

“No matter how old I get,” he went on, delivering each word with a forward rock of his hips. “I will still fuck you the way you need it. The way you deserve it.”

Ava couldn’t think. The world beyond the pounding beat of her own pulse had abandoned her to the man coaxing her closer to the edge. She didn’t know how he did it, but he always seemed to find that spot inside her, that little hidden gem no one else could ever seem to find. He rode against it now, a rhythmic persistence that had her eyes squeezing shut tight. She didn’t even notice when his right hand lifted off hers until it was tucking beneath her hips, lifting her to him. She pushed back, digging her knees and toes into the mattress and meeting every plunge.