Hidden Truths (Perfectly Imperfect #3)

“I’m not,” I say and reach for the body wash. “I’m probably the most boring person I know.”

I watch as he takes my chin between his fingers and tilts my head up.

“You are the farthest thing from boring, baby.”

“Your brother said I look like a librarian.”

“I have no idea how a librarian is supposed to look, but if it’s like this…” His free hand rests on my shoulder and travels down my chest, squeezing my breast, then moves lower along my stomach, and finally stops between my legs. “Then, librarians are mind-blowingly sexy little things.”

He dips his head and presses his lips to mine while his hand circles around to my behind. “With the sweetest, perky asses,” he says into my mouth and slaps my butt lightly.

“If you say so.” I smile, then yelp when he bites my lip.

“I do.”

I smirk and squeeze a little of the body wash onto my palm.

Sergei groans. “Not the strawberry.”

I look down at my hand and see that I grabbed one of mine. Smiling deviously, I squeeze out some more. As I’m washing his chest, being gentle around the spot where the bullet hit him, I take a closer look at the tattoos covering his skin. Most are macabre scenes, done in great detail. Here and there, however, nestled between numerous skulls, mythological creatures, and glimpses of apocalyptical landscapes, are words written in Russian.

I trace my finger along the tail of a winged snake on his breastbone and follow it to his shoulder. Sergei turns around, giving me his back, and I continue along the creature’s body that ends over his shoulder blade in a giant head with gaping jaws. I’ve noticed only one scar on the front of Sergei’s body, a short horizontal line at the side of his neck, but there are several on his back. One round mark near the snake’s head on his shoulder, and one more on his hip. I brush each one with my fingers, then lean forward and place a kiss on his upper arm. There is a sharp intake of breath, and the next moment, I’m pressed to the wall with Sergei’s mouth devouring mine, and his hard cock throbbing against my stomach.

“That didn’t take long.” I brush my hand down his length. “Are we trying to break some record? Because I’m not sure I can keep this pace.”

“Don’t worry. Stamina comes with practice.” He turns off the water, takes a towel from the shelf, and puts it around myshoulders. After wrapping me up, he lifts me in his arms and carries me out of the bathroom to bed.

“This feels familiar,” I say and bury my face into the crook of his neck. “You smell differently this time, though.”

“And whose fault is that?”

Smiling, I lick his neck, then bite the skin there slightly. “I wasn’t complaining.”

Laying me down on the bed, he climbs above me. “Now, it’s my turn to taste.”

Instead of leaning in to taste my neck as I expected, he moves down my body, takes my legs and places them over his shoulders, and I watch as he lowers his head and licks my pussy.

“Perfection,” he mumbles, then laps it a few more times, making me gasp. He sucks on my clit, and tremors overtake my body. I want him to continue, but at the same time, I feel like I’m going to implode if he doesn’t get inside me again. When he adds a finger, I whimper and grab at his hair, as my core shudders. Sergei removes his mouth from my pussy, and I groan in frustration, but in the next instant, his cock fills me completely. His body weight settles on top of me, and his heart pounds against mine. He wraps an arm around me and caresses my cheek with his other palm. I pant and hold his gaze as he drives into me.

My pussy is rubbed raw, but I don't care. Every thrust, every ache, every time his cock stretches my walls feels like a proof of life. I was so afraid for him tonight. I will never forget those twenty minutes. I’m so sick of watching everyone I care about die.

With one hand clutching him for all I'm worth, I bring my other up to cover his on my cheek. My eyes prickle. He's here. He's alive. Sergei impales me again, burying his cock to the hilt. His heartbeat speeds. Another thrust. Alive. Alive. Alive.

Chapter 14

Words whispered in Russian. A movement next to me. More words, faster and slightly louder. I open my eyes, still a bit groggy as sleep refuses to release its hold, and it takes me a few seconds to register where I am. The morning light bathes the room in a soft glow, and the only thing I hear is Sergei’s mumbling. I turn around and find him lying on his back next to me, jaw set in a hard line and eyes closed tight. I sit up in the bed and press my palm lightly to his cheek.

“Sergei?”

His eyes snap open at the same time as his hand shoots up and wraps around my throat. I gasp, grab his wrist with both hands, and pull, but it doesn’t get me anywhere.

“Dasha!” Sergei sneers, his face an image of hatred.

There’s no time to think about who Dasha is, because even in scarce light, I can see that his eyes are vacant. I suck in my breath and will my body to stay still. He’s not hurting me, but I’d be lying if I said that having his huge hand wrapped around my neck wasn’t slightly alarming.

“Sergei, it’s me. It’s Angelina,” I say in a calm voice.

I let go of his wrist, place my palm on his cheek again, and very slowly start moving my hand to the center of his face.