Page 47 of Kept in the Dark (Hitmen of Ulysses #2)
Dimitri
It’s not a last resort; it’s a first-round draft pick.
I turn the lock on the door, expecting the sound to echo and reveal my intentions, but it is lost among the squeaking of rubber mats against sneakers as Nicole makes her way across the gym.
This was not my original plan—the plan was to work out.
We have been fucking several times every day at this point for over a week, and though it is excellent for cardio and one’s core, I must not neglect my strength training program.
But Nicole saw me tie on my sneakers and wanted to come with me.
And then she came out in those damn tiny shorts and…
well, the plan changed. And when I offered to train her, and her eyes flashed with a different kind of interest, it cemented the derailment.
My heart is pounding, and it has nothing to do with the lingering effects of our warm-up.
I gesture over to the bench where I normally complete my chest presses.
The pleather creaks as she settles onto the seat, and my eyes are glued to the shifting of muscles under golden skin—thighs, abs, shoulders. My cock stirs against my leg.
I remove most of the weight from the bar, setting it on the ground, leaning against the frame to be easily reachable. “This one is simple. Lay back with your head here, place your hands here and here, and push the weight up from your chest.”
She does exactly as I instruct. “Like this?”
“Yes, good. Can you hold it up like that for a moment? ”
“Yeah,” she says, her voice strained.
I adjust the brackets down. “Okay, you may release the bar.”
When she eases it down, the bar settles with a clank on the much lower braces. She tilts her chin up as the metal kisses her skin and shoots me a puzzled look.
“One more thing.” I move quickly, removing the clips and then adding the heavier weights back to each side.
“Dimitri?” she asks, confused. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to lift that.”
Once I have finished, I nod. “Correct.”
Her sharp inhale is filled with sudden understanding. She is in no danger of the barbell falling on her neck, but she cannot sit up. She is laid flat, immobilized by too much weight for her to lift away.
With a forceful breath out, she pushes against the bar. It rolls forward, then falls back into place with another loud clank. “Dimitri, what… What are you doing? Let me go,” she finishes with a laugh.
“I will. When I am ready,” I reply casually, moving around to the end of the bench and settling onto my haunches between her splayed legs, which hang off the edge of the bench.
I grip her waist with both hands and watch as the skin around her middle dissolves into goosebumps.
Her nipples suddenly poke through the bright, stretchy material of her bra.
She has some freedom of movement, and if she really wanted to get away, she could, but she will not.
I know she will not. Her grip on the bar has gone from pushing at it to holding onto it for support, and the protests she is making are half-formed, undercut by the dilation of her pupils and slight rolling of her hips in excitement.
I reach out and shove her bra up, revealing her breasts from underneath the blue fabric, then hook my fingers into bike shorts and panties, dragging them down.
She wiggles her hips to help me with a soft, needy noise.
“What if someone comes in?” she manages as I tug her shorts down around her ass and thighs .
“I locked the door,” I reply. I hope the confidence in my tone will convince her to take me at my word. “Lift your legs.”
The tight shorts get stuck around her sneakers, but they pull off with some maneuvering.
Then she is bared for me, mostly naked, laid out on a weight bench.
I swallow, memorizing the erotic sight. I will have to replace this bench—unbolt it from the floor and steal it away—because no one may use it but the two of us now.
Her breasts are heaving, rising and falling with her quick, excited breaths. I kneel next to her, reach down to cup both at once, and she moans loudly. Flicking across her nipples with my thumbs, I admire how eagerly they respond, hardening from the sensations.
“I don’t think I—” she cuts herself off, groaning as I bend forward and take one into my mouth. I swirl my tongue around the peak, enjoying the texture of her pebbled skin and the musky, salty flavor of skin and sweat. I take the very tip between my teeth and bite down gently.
“Ah!”
I pull back, blowing cool air, and she groans as it beads even more tightly against the sudden, wet cold. Bending forward, I give her other nipple the same treatment until she is writhing against me, squirming and panting.
“I don’t think I want you as my trainer anymore,” she manages.
“No?” I ask teasingly, lifting my head. I tweak the one that was just in my mouth, and she jerks against my hand.
“This is very… oh God… unprofessional!”
With a small, dark smile, I rise, only to sink back to my knees at the very end of the bench, finding my place between her legs and staring. The skin glistens, some moisture pooling onto the faux leather under her slit. I place my hands on her hips and tug her just a little closer.
Her head comes up, and she tries to see what is happening without choking herself on the bar. The tone of her false outrage changes into something sharper. “What are you doing? Dimitri, wait. ”
I pause, eyeing her with something halfway between curiosity and suspicion. “You are too sore or tired?”
“No. I’m…” she trails off and laughs again, though this time it is an entirely self-deprecating noise, like she cannot believe I am going to make her say it out loud.
But I am. And I am going to keep making her say things out loud so there can be no confusion and no embarrassment between us.
“I got all sweaty on the treadmill, and I probably smell. I need to shower before you—”
“Of course you have a smell,” I say, pausing and staring at her naked skin in a way that makes her inner thighs tense, as if she is trying to close her legs. “I like it. Very much. Now, hold still.”
“Dimitri—” she begins, even sharper this time with irritation.
“Do it,” I command.
Her squirming takes on a new urgency. She is pushing at the bar again, wiggling like she is trying to roll off the bench. I slide my arms under her knees, sandwiching her legs in the crooks of my elbows so she cannot go anywhere and will not hurt herself trying.
“You will not deny me. Your desire smells sweet, my med . I cannot wait to have it in my mouth.”
“Dimitri!” she cries at the swipe of my tongue. Her hips still, then buck upwards, seeking more of the pressure against her clit.
I will never tire of the sound of my name on her lips. I hum against her heated, soft, wet skin. “Like a sour fruit on my tongue. Not so sweet, but tangy.” I wet my lips using her liquids and create a circle around the most sensitive place on her body, and suck gently.
Her nails scratch gently against my scalp as she reaches down to hold my head in both hands. I am pleased she has realized she retains the use of her arms, even if she cannot move from her position on her back easily.
“Fuck,” she hisses. “Oh… fuck. You’re good at that. Keep going.”
Good. She is learning to be more direct and vocal about what she wants.
I rumble my approval of her surrender, feeling how it vibrates my mouth against her sensitive skin.
The flavor may be hard to describe, but the feeling is not.
Her clit is a slick bump, much like the head of my own cock, only much smaller—like the tip of a nose, spongy and stiff, but pliable.
It resists under the pressure of my tongue, popping back against my lips every time I release it. A button to press again and again.
Her noises are music to my ears, and I steal away the memory of each gasp and moan.
I know now that the true signal of her impending orgasm is when her noises quiet and give way to heavy breaths of concentration.
The high-pitched sounds help me find the preferred rhythm and place, but it is the silence afterwards and intense focus that tell me it is correct.
A light layer of sweat builds on the surface of her skin, and her muscles tense.
She starts squeezing against me, as if she would press into my ears with her thighs.
Her fingers continue to brush against my short hair, massaging my scalp mindlessly for something to do with her hands.
My body answers with a shudder of its own, the sensation drawing downwards along either side of my spine.
My cock is already hard against my leg, thick with desire for release—both from its prison of fabric, and the all-consuming need to come.
All the while, my tongue follows the pattern her body tells me it likes.
If we were in our bed, and I could prop up her hips on a pillow, I would work in a finger or two to ensure she is open and ready for my cock.
But the angle has her pelvis tilted down, and it would be too much pressure to work in a single finger.
She is slick with her desire for me, but gravity is not working in our favor.
“Oh… my…” she breathes, and I must steady myself, as her excitement instinctively makes me want to move faster. “I’m… gonna…”
Her pussy clenches, tightening around nothing, and I can just see at the top of my field of vision how her stomach rolls and pulses with her release.
She jerks, writhes, grabs my head even harder, and rides out the pleasure on my face like this was always her idea.
I smile against her, slowing but maintaining contact as she comes down from the high .
As her body relaxes back, her legs falling loose in my arms and her hands folding across her stomach, she laughs and makes a pleased humming noise with an exhale. “That was really hot.”