Page 20

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 exactly how 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.

“Fuck.” His large hands twine loosely in my hair.

I hold his eyes as I shift the liquid back and forth, swirling it around his pulsating shaft as it grows in my mouth.

I roll the vodka around the broad, blunt head, feeling myself swell as he does, moisture trickling into the crease of my inner thigh.

Then I swallow the vodka, and Dimitry groans, his eyes rolling back in his head as he thrusts into my mouth.

I sink my lips onto him and increase the speed and intensity, hollowing my mouth out and plying the ridge beneath his head until he’s mindless on the bed, his cock surging into my mouth, his hands unashamedly pushing me onto him.

Then, just as he’s getting close, he raises my head. “Not yet,” he says hoarsely.

I stare down at the huge throbbing shaft, moaning softly. I love having him in my mouth. It turns me on more than almost anything else. I’m on my knees, my ass thrust behind me, and I know I’m dripping wet.

Dimitry pours himself another drink and hands me mine. “ I’m fucking cheating,” he says roughly. “I need a drink, or this is all going to be over faster than I want. So you get two questions. Make them quick, Skip, because I’m just about done with playing games.”

I’m just grateful he’s staring at me, instead of at the powdery residue in the glass, which thankfully disappears with the next drink.

I slip off the bed and stagger across to the easel, watching him from the corner of my eye, my entire body pulsing with need. I draw him the way he looks right now, hard and aching for me, his shaft wet and veined from my mouth.

“You have the same last name as Roman. Are you related to him?”

“No.” Dimitry’s answer is short and to the point. His hand stretches out toward me, his fingers curling as if they’re inside me. I tremble, already knowing how they will feel.

Not yet, Abby. Keep him talking.

“Why do you have the same name, then?”

“Because we’ve been together since we were kids.

When he was adopted, I came to Spain with him.

It was easier for us to have the same name on the fake passports.

” His hand wavers in the air, then falls down to the bed.

He stares down at it, frowning slightly, as if he can’t quite work out why it fell.

“It’s your turn, Skippy. I mean it’s mine.

” His voice slurs slightly on my name, and he frowns again as he pours us both a glass and hands one to me.

Despite his lack of coordination, he drinks his shot off. “Come here.”

He pulls himself up to sitting, swinging his legs to the floor, and pulls me between them, holding my ass in his hands.

He turns me slowly, his hands on my hips, and despite the terrible game I’m playing, I can’t help but feel the leap of desire, the heavy pulse beating between my legs.

“Fuck, I love this ass,” he murmurs, taking a pretend bite of it.

“And this pussy. Do you have any idea how fucking amazing you taste, Skip?” Burying his face in it, his lips close over my clit, and I cry out as he works it with his tongue until the only things holding me up are his hands.

“Enough with the game,” he growls. “I need to be inside you, Abs.”

Lifting me by the ass, he spreads me across his lap, and I sink onto his length like I’m coming home.

“Oh,” I gasp as he rocks me against him. “Oh God, Dimitry.”

“This pussy.” He groans, thrusting up into me. “Fuck, I love the feel of this.” He lies back down and surges up into me, rolling my hips so he angles just right, and I’m so wet and so close to the edge I can feel it reaching for me as soon as he drives home.

“The way you clench around me,” he says, his voice rough. “You drive me out of my fucking mind, Abby.”

“Your cock.” I lean forward and put my mouth against his ear, the words coming without thought or plan. “When you’re right inside me— fuck , yes, just like that—when you’re all the way inside me, God, I could come forever...” I sit up again, my movements against him becoming wilder.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like that.” Dimitry grips my hips as I grind against him, meeting my every movement.

“So hot and tight—fuck, Abby. I can feel you coming around me. Oh, Christ.” He plunges up into me fiercely as my whole body seizes, poised on the very brink of the incredible crest, holding my breath and the feeling as long as I can.

Then he shifts just slightly, hitting the spot I can’t fight, and suddenly I’m bucking and screaming, and he’s roaring and exploding inside me, and for an endless moment, nothing in the world exists except this moment.

Then, slowly, we come back to earth, and reality reasserts itself.

Dimitry pulls me down beside him, his eyes closed. “Wow,” he says softly. “Fuck, I must be more tired than I thought. Hey.” His eyes open, but the pupils are incredibly dilated as he tries to focus on the easel. “That sketch is amazing, Skip.”

Now. If you’re going to ask him anything, it has to be now. Another ten minutes and he’ll be out like a light.

“How did you meet Roman?”

Dimitry squints at me. “Is it your turn again?”

I nod. “Yes. And I get two turns, because you had two drinks.”

“Huh.” He smiles dazedly. “Okay, Skip. I met Roman in a halfway house when I was ten.” His voice is slurry. I trace his face, running my hands through his hair. He closes his eyes. “That feels so good, Skip...”

“Why were you in a halfway house?” I croon in his ear, kissing his face, massaging his head.