The Hitman's Angel(12)
“But you’re only that way with me. You know I will not break.”
“Yes. So it’s safe to try and break you. I’m awful aren’t I?”
“There is nothing awful about you, Margaret. You’re magnificent. And you may torture me to your heart’s content. Lenin can take it.” I don’t know what to do with my hands suddenly. “It means you like me, when you do this teasing, so…it is very much worth the frustration.”
“I like you all the time.” After the smallest hesitation, she sets aside the soap and stands, sending a waterfall of suds down her front. My cock jerks, releasing a spurt of semen down the leg of my pants. And a second one breaks past my body’s defenses when she says, “I want to start kissing now, Lenin.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Margaret
What am I going to do about this man?
Every time I remind myself to be wary, he proves himself trustworthy. Or he says something that calms me, makes me laugh, feel special, sexy. Important.
Did I mention he’s stupid hot?
In his suit, he was a ten. Now he’s just walking toward me like King of the Tattooed Bad Boys and every step makes muscles bunch and roll beneath his inked skin. If someone ran head first into the muscular planes of his chest, they would get a concussion. His nipples are reddish brown, puckered like mine, because I’m pretty sure we’re both excited about the kissing. No, he’s definitely excited. His erection is going to bust the zipper of his pants at any moment. It has to be painful, but he’s still sauntering like a badass, that jaw flexing, his eyes smoky and intense as they drift over my naked body.
Yeah, I want to kiss now.
Lenin stops in front of me and drops his hand, massaging the bulge in his pants. “You’re not teasing me, are you, angel? You’re going to let me lie with your naked body and kiss that sweet mouth?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
He groans, long and low, that hand tight on his sex, moving, squeezing. “Life with you is going to be beautiful torture, Margaret.”
Before I can respond, he grips my hips and plucks me out of the bathtub. My feet have barely touched the floor when I’m swept up in Lenin’s arms and being carried toward the bedroom. My heart raps against my ribs but not from nerves. I’m one hundred percent positive Lenin won’t cross the line we’ve drawn, no matter what. Even if I tempt him out of his mind.
And God, I crave the chance to tempt him to cross the line.
Who knew I was such a tormentor?
I can’t help it, though. His willpower has given me permission to embrace a part of myself I didn’t know existed. Maybe it never would have existed without him.
The smell of his skin is earthy, male, and I inhale it on the way to the bedroom. I’m playing with the idea of licking his clavicle to find out if his scent has a taste, but I don’t get the chance because he’s laying me down in the center of the king-sized bed, my body wet and naked. The fire in Lenin’s eyes convinces me he’s going to pin me to the mattress and attack my mouth, so I’m surprised when he lies down beside me instead, the muscles in his jaw, chest and stomach flexing in the lamp light. He scoots closer, until only an inch of space exists between us, and cups my face in a warm hand.
“It occurs to me we’re both virgins in this situation,” he murmurs. “I’ve never made out like a teenager. I thought this is something that only happens in American movies.”
His mouth is inviting me to come closer and I do, my naked thighs pressing against his clothed ones. “For starters, I don’t think any of the participants are supposed to be naked.”
Lenin winks at me and everything south of my equator melts like chocolate in the sunshine. He runs a single fingertip down the middle of my body, starting at my neck and finishing with a lap around my belly button. “We make our own rules, da?”
“Da,” I breathe.
Lenin is chuckling when our lips meet, but he stops immediately and I sense tension wrack his body. You would never know it from his mouth, though. His lips move slowly over mine, parting them, his breath rattling out. He keeps going, opening my mouth for the taking and his tongue touches the tip of mine, just barely, before retreating. A savoring sound crackles in his chest, vibrating me head to toe. “You like this so far?” he practically growls at me.
“Uh-huh.” Understatement.
His big hand splays on my hip, kneading me there, his gaze sweeping me greedily, darkening when it touches on my womanhood. My body blooms like a flower under his attention, my hands lifting of their own accord to close over my breasts. “Play fair, Margaret,” he warns, his lower body rocking against me, that male organ impossibly stiff where it presses to my thigh.
Spoiler: I don’t play fair.
I can’t even control my impulse to drive him crazy. I simply obey the undeniable urge to test him. My mouth forms a pout and I pinch my nipples, gasping at the corresponding electric zap between my legs. “But it feels so good.”
This time, when Lenin kisses me, he’s almost animalistic. The hand on my hip is shaking and he’s breathing heavily through his nose. Whatever he’s woken up inside me sings like a plucked tuning fork. His hips roll at a steadily increasing pace and my breasts ache at the tips, wetness rushing forth between my legs. With no panties there to catch the moisture, it simply coats my thighs and a low thrum begins there, spreading all through my belly until I’m clawing at Lenin’s shoulders, trying to lever myself off the bed to taste more of him, but he holds me down and lunges on top of me first. I’m pinned. And I love it. Love that I’ve given him no choice.