Ghost (Boston Underworld #3) - A. Zavarelli Page 0,54
swallow and glance up at Alexei, who is already staring at me.
“It is okay,” he tells me. “Just a routine safety check.”
I nod, and he leads me to the car and deposits me in the passenger side. Then he kneels down beside me and captures my leg in his hand.
“Give me your foot,” he tells me.
It is a strange request from him, but I don’t argue. I stretch out my leg over his muscular thigh, my heel dangling in the cool evening air. He removes the shoe and does the unexpected. Dragging his fingers down the center, the most sensitive part, before he removes a switchblade from his pocket.
“You will want this tonight,” he tells me. “But only a little bit.”
How he can know this about me is unnerving. But he does. He sees my anxiety at the prospect of leaving this sanctuary.
“Only a little bit,” he tells me as he drags the knife to the ball of my foot. “And only the first time, Solnyshko.”
I nod, and he scratches the sensitive flesh with the blade. Not even to draw blood. But enough to sting. And then he leans down and presses his lips to the curve at the top of my foot.
I watch in fascination as he puts the heel back into place and directs me to press down onto the ball of my foot. Until I feel the pain that I will need at some point tonight.
“Good?” he asks.
I nod, and he puts the knife away before buckling me in and closing the door. He speaks with Franco for a few moments, and then climbs inside with me, the scent of him mixing with the rich leather interior. The headlights of the car behind us follows as we leave the house, and I know that Franco is coming too. Though why he is driving separately, I’m not entirely sure.
“I thought it would be more comfortable this way,” Alexei answers my unspoken thought. “It is a long drive.”
I nod and sink back in the seat, turning my attention towards him.
“It’s not a good name for me,” I tell him. “Solnyshko. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“It makes perfect sense to me.”
That’s the only answer I get before his hand is on my thigh. He glances at me, his eyes moving over me as his hand slides up. Further and further until it’s between my legs.
“Pull your dress up,” he instructs me. “I want to look at you.”
I do as he asks because I always do with Alexei. I lift my hips and bring the dress up so the material falls around my waist, giving him full access to me.
He isn’t shy about what he wants. He just takes. But with Alexei, it never feels like he is taking anything from me. But rather, giving instead.
His hand cups the matching lace thong and his thumb pushes the material against me. I don’t make a sound, but my hips jerk and inside I’m begging him for more.
I like it when he touches me.
When he makes me forget. And makes me feel alive too. His hand on me is large. And I feel safe with him. He doesn’t let me get away with anything. But he doesn’t hurt me either.
“You are wet for me already,” he says, his voice husky.
I don’t reply, and he doesn’t say anything else either. His fingers move the thong aside and slip inside of me. Casually playing with me while he drives. His eyes on the road, his forearm flexing as his hand moves inside of me.
My head falls back against the seat and my legs splay wider. The wife he dressed to look so classy right now looks anything but.
“Take your tits out,” he says. “I want to see them.”
I pull the material of the dress down over my shoulders, trapping my arms and forcing my breasts out. They are hard and aching when he reaches up to squeeze one in his palm, leaving me cold down below.
“Play with yourself while I watch,” he tells me.
I try, but swiftly give up.
“It’s better when you do it.”
He smiles at me and returns his palm between my thighs, giving me exactly what I need.
“Your foot,” he reminds me. “To give yourself the pain if you want.”
I do. And it only takes a couple minutes before I’m feeling on edge. Unable to tear my eyes away from Alexei. The way his wedding ring gleams against the steering wheel on his left hand. He wears it proudly.