Page 47

“Knives. Bullets.” He shrugs, casually dismissing the savagery like it’s long gone.

My hand lingers on the paper, right where the small, smooth, round scars mark his upper chest.

“And cigarettes.” I nod at his chest. “Those ones are like mine, only smaller.”

Dimitry’s eyes narrow. Then he slowly shakes his head, making it clear that the burns are off-limits.

“My turn.” He pours more vodka, crooking his finger at me. I move toward him like a puppet on a string.

The paintbrush slowly strokes down the outside of my swollen lips, and I tremble. It comes up the other side. I’m not sure what’s wetter, the brush or me.

“Spread your legs, Skippy.”

I part them, and he smiles darkly when he sees how wet I am. He dips the brush in his vodka, then touches the flat, smooth side of the brush to my labia.

Oh, fuck.

I clutch his shoulders, barely able to stand. Dimitry follows the paintbrush with his tongue, taking the sting of the vodka with it, leaving me gasping at the multitude of sensations. The brush moves languorously up, so close to my throbbing clit that I’m moaning and clutching his shoulders. He strokes the brush, so close that I’m frozen, quivering, alert to every minute movement of his tongue. If he so much as touches that screaming bundle of nerves I’m going to come like a rocket; I’m so close I can feel it gathering in every cell. But he’s ruthless in his teasing, painting my folds wet with the delicious, stinging vodka and curling it onto his tongue, lathing me into a swollen mass of panting arousal. By the time he’s painted me thoroughly and licked off every drop of vodka, I can hardly breathe, let alone sketch. He dips the brush back into the vodka, then tosses off the shot.

“Mmh,” he rumbles. “It tastes like you.” He licks his lips, staring at my glistening pussy. “And now I get a question.”

I stagger back from him and try to focus on the sketch, but I’m so close to orgasm I can hardly lift the charcoal.

“The man who hurt you.” Dimitry’s tone is deceptively soft. “Is he still alive?”

The vodka and his tongue have muddled my brain, making it harder to think of clever answers. “Yes,” I breathe. I’m starting to realize just how dumb it was to think I might be able to outdrink a man of Dimitry’s size.

Unless I cheat.

The thought slips into my brain like a devil’s whisper, bringing with it a flash of the pain meds I still have in the bathroom from way back, when I couldn’t sleep for the night terrors and took anything I could to drown Bogotá from my mind.

You can’t, Abby. That’s so wrong I don’t know where to start.

“Is he in Spain?”

Is who in Spain?It takes my addled brain a minute to work out we’re still talking about the man who hurt me.

“Uh-uh.” I shake my head at him. “One question. That’s the deal. It’s my turn now.”

How do I do this?My mind whirls, cleverly skirting the murky moral waters of what I’m about to do.

I reach for the glasses. “And after what you just did with that paintbrush, I’m washing these first.”

Dimitry grins wickedly. “Never picked you for the shy type, Skip. And I like my vodka Abby flavored. In fact, I think it’s my new favorite way to drink.” He tilts his head to one side as he watches me. “On the upside, you walking out of the room means that I get an eyeful of the rear view, and I’m always a fan of that ass.”

I let my eyes drop deliberately to his straining cock. “That looks painful,” I say lightly. “I’m going to have to do something about that.”

His cock leaps in response. I give him a coy look as I turn around, poking my ass toward him so he can see just exactlyhow wet and swollen I am. His sharp intake of breath tells me I’m definitely working with an advantage.

One I intend to use.

Rightly or wrongly.

I don’t have a choice,I tell myself.I need to know what I’m getting myself into.

Under cover of the running water, I quickly grind up a good few of the painkillers. My guess is that it’s going to take more than the average dose to put Dimitry down. When I return to the bedroom, I put my glass down and pour his, grateful for the colored glass that disguises the slight cloudiness caused by the crushed-up pills. I pour my own drink and clink my glass to his.

“My turn,” I say huskily as he drinks. Not taking my eyes from his, I put some vodka into my mouth, then plunge my lips over his cock.