War(45)

I lined our bodies up, moved my dick up and down her lips, the slick, wet heat still apparent even though I was covered.

I pressed it against her opening, nudged ever so slightly inside of her, and then paused as both of us moaned.

Then I rocked against her, my strokes shallow.

“You want me to fuck you from behind?” I said.

She dropped her head and arched her back more. “Yes. I want it deep and hard. You can give me that, can’t you?” she asked.

A smile crossed my lips at her words. How like Milan, disguising a demand as a question, pretending to be coy when we both knew she was anything but.

I teased at her entrance, pushed my cock ever so slightly inside her, pleasure, satisfaction filling me when her pussy started to close around me.

“Next time. I want you face to face,” I said.

Then I lifted her and flipped her flat on her back.

I stepped between her splayed thighs and looked down the gentle swell of her stomach, lower to the dark patch of hair that covered her sex, slick, wet from her juices.

After I gripped my cock at the base, I rubbed it against her slit, my heart starting to pound and my grip on her hip tightening as I touched her.

“I was right,” I said, probing at her entrance with my latex-covered cock.

“About what?” she said.

“You weren’t disgusted, Milan,” I said, wanting to meet her eyes but unable to pull my gaze away from her dark, slick lips, the witness that flowed from her. “If you were, your pussy wouldn’t be dripping for me,” I said.

Her only response was a moan as she splayed her thighs wider. The movement pushed her lips apart, flashing me the wet, pink skin of her core.

I thrust against her, and she pushed down. My own breath started coming out on a broken pant as her pussy swallowed me.

“Look, Milan,” I said.

She rose up on her elbows and looked down, inhaling sharply as she watched me push my cock the rest of the way inside her.

She threw her knees apart even wider, and I tightened my grip on her hips, pulled out and then pushed in, so hard, our pubic bones hit.

My gaze was riveted to the sight of my dick entering her, and though I wanted to see her eyes, I couldn’t look away.

“Are you watching, Milan?” I asked, my voice strained as I pushed in and out of her.

“I’m watching,” she whispered, her voice coming out on a broken moan, her fingers tight against my biceps.

Then I couldn’t speak and instead began to move faster, harder, watching as my cock disappeared and reemerged, her body under me, her tight walls around my shaft threatening to send me over.

But I held off, wanting to make this last as long as it possibly could.

Milan held me tighter, her fingers now bruising against my arms, but still I couldn’t look away, couldn’t stop, and continued to pound into her over and over again, her pussy holding me so tight I thought I might lose it. But I was so determined to make this last.

She wasn’t, though, and I could feel her walls clamp down on me as she squeezed my arms even tighter.

Saw the way her body pulled tight as she climaxed.

Still I continued. Kept going, slamming into her over and over again, until I heard the single word.

“Nikolai.”

She was holding me tight, her voice barely audible through her climax, but when I heard it, my name on Milan’s voice, I couldn’t hold out anymore.

With one final thrust, I pushed inside her and came harder than I had in my life.







Priest



Later, much later, she asked the question I had cut off.

“So why did you stab yourself?” she said, looking at me with curiosity brimming in her eyes.

I smiled at her.

“It’s the only way I could call home.”





Twenty-Four





Priest



“I’m going,” she said.

“You’re staying.”

I looked at Milan flatly. There was no room for argument, no room for debate, but that didn’t stop her from trying.

“Haven’t you ever seen a scary movie? You’re never supposed to split up. So we should stay together.”

“This isn’t a movie, Milan, and you can’t come with me,” I said.

“What do I do if you don’t come back?”

She had that small voice again, and she was afraid. It would be easy enough to assume it was just for herself, but I thought I heard something else in her voice.

It might have been wishful thinking, but it sounded a lot like concern. For me. I was humbled by that. Because I didn’t deserve it.

“I’m going to the Simpson Building. I’ll be back in less than two hours,” I said.

She looked at me, her disbelief apparent. But she gave in.

“You’re going on foot?” she finally asked.

“Train. I’ll be back, Milan,” I said.