Ghost (Boston Underworld #3) - A. Zavarelli Page 0,34
no longer.
“Now,” she pleads.
With a flick of my wrist, I slice into her thumb. She hisses, and then her head falls back against the pillow as crimson spills from her flesh and she lets go. The orgasm is neither small nor weak when she finally comes around my fingers with her lips parted and cheeks flushed.
Immediately, she closes her eyes and tries to hide from me.
I toss aside the knife and lean over her, my lips a breath away from her face.
“Look at me.”
She does.
“You will like it,” I tell her. “You will like my eyes on you by the time I’m through with you, Solnyshko. Get used to it now.”
She does not reply. But when I take her thumb to my mouth and wipe her blood across my lips, there is relief in her eyes. She craves this from me. My acceptance. And I crave the need she has for me. The need that only I can give her.
I push the material of her shirt all the way up beneath her throat and move up to straddle her hips. My body is much larger than hers, and she looks so small beneath me. So soft and sweet and fuckable.
But breakable too.
When the sound of my zipper reaches her, she opens her eyes and meets mine. Her tongue wets her lips, and I watch them as I reach inside my briefs and fetch my aching cock. It’s in my fist, and her eyes expand as she watches me stroke it.
Once. Twice. And then three quick, hard pulls.
Neither of us says a word. She watches, her eyes flicking from my cock back up to my face again and again. My eyes are on her lips. And then my thumb is too. Pushing inside.
I close my eyes and groan at the feeling of her wet, hot mouth wrapped around me. I want all of her wrapped around me. And I tell her as much as I jerk myself off on top of her.
When I come, it’s on her stomach. Hot and thick, marking her the way I have wanted to since I brought her home with me. I take what’s left on my fingers and push them to her lips. She licks them without being asked, and it makes me want to fuck her all over again. The urge even stronger than before.
I use her shirt to wipe up the mess and then cover her over with the blanket. Ropes still tied, keeping her in place.
When I lean down to whisper in her ear, her eyes are sleepy and the fight is long gone.
“I may not ever be able to love you,” I tell her. “But I can want you. And let there be no doubt, Solnyshko, I am keeping you.”
18
Talia
Alexei keeps me tied to the bed for three days.
Magda comes to help me to the bathroom and allows me to bathe. And then I am returned to my binds. She will not meet my eyes. And I can’t tell if it’s because of her shame or disappointment.
I disappointed her. The way I always do.
But it’s better this way. I tell her as much when she is adjusting my binds this morning.
“You should never expect anything from anyone,” I say. “And then you can’t be let down.”
Her soft brown eyes meet mine, and she shakes her head.
“Talia.” Her hand strokes my cheek, and I try to pull away. “I could never be disappointed in you.”
She sits back on the bed, watching me with quiet worry. I watch her back, wondering why she is nice to me. Wondering why she cares at all. And then disbelieving that it’s true. Because nobody ever cares. Those emotions are only the cover for something else. Something sinister.
I want to lash out at her. To push her away. Because that would be the easiest thing to do.
These aren’t the words that leave my lips though.
“Who is she?”
She blinks, and then asks, “who?”
“The woman in the bathtub. In the photo.”
She glances over her shoulder quickly and then shakes her head. All of the kindness has disappeared from her face in an instant, and instead, something else has taken hold. Fierce protectiveness. Devotion and loyalty.
“You must never speak of that photo,” she says. “Or that woman. Forget you ever saw it.”
I don’t answer her. Because I won’t make promises I have no intention of keeping.
“He’s avoiding me,” I say instead.
Magda nods, but gives me no explanation.
“He’s been drinking.”
Again, she nods.
And that’s the end of the conversation. She moves to