Last Hit(21)

“Then let us not speak of it.”

We don’t, but I still think about it as we eat and chat about school, and then return to our classes. I’m still thinking about it as we go home that night. When he goes to the gun range again, I will scour the Internet and the library for books about current artists, men who make a living creating with their hands, their minds, their imagination. I will prove to Nick that he’s wrong and that he can be more than just a hired gun.

Determined, I smile to myself, and Nick catches me. His fingers caress my cheek as I clear plates from the table.

“Why do you smile?” he asks. He likes to know all my thoughts. Sometimes I think Nick wants to crawl inside my head, just so he doesn’t have to be in his own. But this is a thought I’m not going to share with him, because we’ll argue and I don’t want to do that. Instead, I think about his fingers on my skin, and decide to distract him the best, most wonderful way I know how. I set the dishes down and turn to him, unbuttoning the front of my cardigan.

He raises an eyebrow at me, his smile broadening. “Is it not study time?”

“It is not,” I tell him, parting my sweater and revealing the nude bra beneath. The tattoo of his art is lurid between my breasts, over my heart, his name in Cyrillic. I touch it and become immediately aroused. If I have to be his canvas to get him to appreciate art, I’ll cover myself with his designs. “I was thinking about another tattoo,” I tell him, and cup my own breasts through the bra. “Something for these. What do you think?”

He stalks toward me like a wolf, and I shiver with excitement at the look in his eyes. “I think they are perfection already, my Daisy. You are perfection.” His hands push mine aside, and then they are cupping my breasts, kneading them and teasing my nipples.

I gasp and put my hands to his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. “I want you,” I tell him. “Please, touch me, Nick. I need you.”

His mouth captures mine, and I’m startled by the hunger in it. Always ravenous for love, my Nick. His passion increases my own, and I tear at his shirt, desperate to see his skin, his tattoos. He’s beautiful to me. So beautiful it makes an aching knot in my throat.

“Bed?” he asks between kisses.

We can go to the bed and make sweet, languid love, but I’m feeling a little wild tonight. I grab two handfuls of Nick’s shirt and drag him to the sofa instead, and when he falls backward, I climb onto him and straddle him, grinning as I do so.

“Too impatient for bed, milaya moya?” he breathes, and his hands return to my breasts.

I nod, nipping at his mouth. “I need you inside me, Nick.”

His breath hisses out from between his teeth, and then he’s reaching between us. I think he’s going to slide a hand under my wool skirt, but instead he is unbuckling his pants. Giddy, I shove at the stockings covering my legs, hitching up my skirt. I need to be bare for him. Right away.

He gets his cock free long before I’m able to wriggle out of my stockings, and I whimper in protest. Nick solves my problem by putting his hands on the waist of my stockings and tearing them right down the center seam, then pressing his hand into my now-damp panties. My skirt’s rucked up around my waist and I start to ride his fingers, eager for more. More Nick, more of his touch, his skin, his scent. I’m utterly addicted to this man.

He murmurs sweet-sounding words in Russian under his breath, his lips playing against mine even as his fingers stroke through my wet, slick folds. Then, when I can’t stand it any longer, he pushes aside my panties and drags my hips forward a little, settling the head of his cock at my entrance.

His gaze meets mine, an unspoken question. Do we want to go bare this time again?

I nod. I’m on birth control. I want him deep inside me without anything separating us.

He grabs my hips and thrusts me down onto his lap, and I sink onto his shaft. My breath escapes my lungs, and then I lean forward, kissing him, our lips playing as I start to ride him.

We move together, every motion utterly sweet, and delicious, and just right. Perfection in a male body—that’s my Nick. He knows just how to touch me so that I’m whimpering, knows how to play his fingers over my skin so that I’m clenching against him with a forceful orgasm.

The sight of my pleasure makes his erupt. He buries his face against my neck and bites down just as I feel his cock pulse inside me. He’s coming, holding me so close and so tight that nothing in the world will ever separate us.

We are one, Nick and I. And I love this more than words can ever express.

***

The next morning, I avoid seeing my father. I know I should visit him. I should probably go and make sure Peanut is walked, and Father isn’t having one of his anxious episodes, but I keep thinking about Christine and her fear, and it makes me remember all the bad times with my father. And I just can’t face him today.