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Abby

Thailand

I step under the shower, my heart tripping in a way that has nothing to do with my recent escape, the sultry heat, or the sleepless night.

It’s tripping because of the lone, very large bed in the middle of the hut.

And because not even Thai fisherman’s trousers can hide the fact that Dimitry in the flesh is even hotter than anything my months of fantasies have managed to serve up.

And he’s off-limits , I tell myself sternly. Or at least he is until we’ve had a chance to talk through all the things we’ve managed to so far avoid.

Except that somewhere between Dimitry bursting through my hotel door in a blaze of smoke and gunfire and the long night of exchanging easy banter as we putted slowly down the river, my desire to have any kind of deep conversation has completely left the building .

Oh, be fucking honest, Abby.

I don’t want to talk. All I want to do right now is pull Dimitry’s clothes off and take shameless advantage of that bed.

Which is inappropriate at best , my stern voice says as I lather myself with a delicious coconut-and-lemongrass-scented soap. And utterly irresponsible at worst.

But a light breeze plays across my skin, the sun warms the wood beneath my feet, and the scent of incense from our hostess’s sacred offerings wraps around me in a sweet seduction, all of which makes it far too easy to forget that I’m here because deadly, evil men are chasing me.

I towel off and slather myself in the complimentary lotion, then use the toothbrush I find in the small bag that Luke gave me back on the dock. It’s typically man-practical, with little besides some toiletries, underwear, and a couple changes of clothes, but I’m grateful for that much.

More than anything inside the bag, after so many months of institutionalized living, it’s sheer, unadulterated luxury to revel in the open-air shower. To smell saltwater and incense instead of a hundred other women and the dank, forbidding scent of the Myanmar jungle.

And to feel happiness.

Above all else, it’s that. I know this place is nothing more than a brief reprieve, one that could be shattered at any minute by Rodrigo’s men—or worse, Jacey’s.

But it’s still a reprieve.

One I’m sharing with Dimitry.

After months of feeling nothing but utter despair, the long night of watching his slow smile through the holes in the canvas as we slipped back into our old, easy banter has caused happiness to spring to life inside me like an effervescent fountain .

And I just want to enjoy it. For as long as I can.

I wrap myself in a sarong and head out to the veranda, where Dimitry is sitting with his bare feet crossed on the railing and an empty beer bottle on the ground beside him as he works his way through a second. A tray of some delicious-smelling curry is sitting on the table between us.

“Sorry, but I couldn’t wait,” he says, nodding at his empty bowl as I sit down. “And besides, I wasn’t sure if you’d ever get out of that shower.” I make a face at him, and he grins. “It tastes so good it will ruin Thai restaurants for life,” he warns as I tuck in.

“At least you got the mimosa bit right.” I take a decent slug and almost faint with pleasure. I don’t know that any drink has ever tasted as good as the cheap champagne mixed with boxed orange juice, taken on a sunny morning in an obscure Thai backwater.

It’s because it tastes like freedom , I think dreamily, savoring every mouthful of the delicious food. Not even the world’s most expensive cocktail could taste better than this.

“I’m going to let you finish that,” Dimitry says, “and go take a shower. I’ve spent the last few nights on the floor of a one-roomed apartment, jammed in between Luke and Pete. And, no offense to your father, but that tough old bastard farts worse than an elephant.”

I almost snort my mimosa right out as he passes me. My heart curls when I see Dimitry’s answering half smile. His hand touches my shoulder lightly, the touch rippling through me in a slow, delicious thrill.

I finish my curry, which is even more sublime than Dimitry promised, and put the tray at the end of the walkway. Then I sit down on the veranda, turn my face up to the sun, close my eyes, and inhale the sweet, precious scent of liberation .

I’m so busy feeling liberated that I drift off and barely notice when Dimitry lifts me from the lounger and lays me down in the bed.

I’m lost in a dream so delicious I don’t want to wake. I know that when I swim back to consciousness, I will be on a bunk at SK, surrounded by concrete and depression.

In my dream, it’s late afternoon, and a soft breeze sweet with salt and frangipani caresses my skin.

Best of all, Dimitry’s hard body is sprawled next to my own. I’m lying half across him, one of my legs flung across his, my head buried in the wall of his chest. My hips move slowly against him, sensual arousal flooding my body as I feel him harden beneath me.

I can feel myself swimming toward the surface, leaving sleep behind. My aching body pulses with the need for release. I fight to stay in my dream, to stay lost in paradise.

No , I cry silently. No, please . . .

“Abby.”

My eyes fly open.

A hard wall of chest rises and falls beneath my cheek. One large hand cradles my head.

And a thick, hard shaft is positioned right beneath my swollen pussy.

It’s not just my leg thrown over Dimitry’s.

My entire body is splayed across his. Somewhere during sleep, I lost the sarong altogether.

Given Dimitry’s fierce arousal, his trousers have clearly met the same fate.

And by the way my hips are slowly grinding against his pounding hard-on, my body has clearly decided to make the most of the situation, whether I’m in control of it or not.

“I’ve got you, Skip.” Dimitry’s voice is low and rough. The maddening touch of his hand continues soothing my head. “It’s just a dream. You’re safe.”

I freeze. I don’t dare move.

I certainly can’t look at him.

But there’s no hiding the state my body is in, any more than there’s no ignoring the savage thrust of Dimitry’s cock. He’s holding himself rigidly still, clearly unwilling to jolt me from sleep.

He smells achingly familiar, like smoke and spice, his chest rising and falling beneath my face in slightly hitched breaths that betray how hard he’s fighting for control.

Desire rips through me like lightning.

I move again. It’s the merest shift of my hips, the slightest parting of my legs, but it’s enough to make Dimitry inhale sharply, his hand stilling on my head.

Then his hand twines in my hair, turning my head up to face him.

His eyes are the deep gray of a late afternoon storm, the golden sunlight lending them a glittering edge that sends a shudder through me.

He makes a noise low in his chest that sets the blood racing through my veins.

His hand tightens in my hair, and then his mouth takes mine.

Oh, fuck.

It’s both savage and slow, a mind-altering assault that is utterly consuming. His kiss holds the inherent danger of a great cat prowling behind bars, lethal power concealed behind a languorous exterior.

Dimitry’s kiss steals through my body like the slow dream he woke me from, breathing life into the parts of me I’ve forcibly shut down over the past months.

It takes the raw sensuality of my waking arousal and turns it to an urgent, molten desire that pulls me like a magnet until I’m sprawled completely over him, moving slowly against his rock-hard shaft.

His hands slide down my body and close over my ass, angling me so his cock slides between my outer lips.

He holds still, rocking my ass just enough to massage my impossibly swollen clit as he kisses my mind out, his tongue in my mouth as devastating as his fierce cock pulsing against me.

I want him inside me, but I don’t dare move.

I don’t dare do anything that might break the sensual half-waking state, might somehow bring the outside world into the magical golden-hued world of this bed.

Dimitry’s hands close about my hips, and suddenly I’m on my back and he’s sprawled across me, one large thigh pinning me to the bed as he kisses me on and on.

One hand holds both of mine over my head.

The other begins a slow, deliberate exploration of my body, from the hollow in my neck that makes me breathless on down to my breast. He pauses kissing me long enough to dampen his thumb, then works it over my nipple until I’m gasping into his mouth and straining toward him.

His hand continues its lazy journey downward.

He uses his knee to nudge my legs apart, the fierce heat of his cock like an iron brand on my thigh as his hand splays over my throbbing center.

He groans into my mouth as his finger slips through the swollen folds and dips inside the liquid heat, feeling the undeniable evidence of my arousal.

I want his cock, but he keeps my hands locked over my head in an iron grip, even as his fingers move with a masterful dexterity that has me moaning into his mouth and squirming with need.

He takes his mouth from mine, and I cry out, my spine arching as his fingers stroke me so close to the edge I’m losing my mind.

Dimitry sucks in a ragged breath, and I turn my head to find him staring at me, his eyes gleaming dangerously, face as still and grim as marble.

His fingers move and I arch upward again, my lips parting as I stare at him.

His powerful thigh still holds down one of my legs, but my other is drawn up and spread wide, opening as far as I can for him.

His fingers move with devastating skill as his eyes hold mine, the late-afternoon sun lighting fires in their hollow darkness that burn straight through to my soul.

His thumb slowly rotates my clit, and I cry out, writhing helplessly, my eyes still locked on his, the fire raging between us.

Dimitry holds me there on the edge, his eyes pinning me and his hard expression unchanging, until I’m riding an endless plateau of slow ripples that spread but don’t burst, the exquisite swell of slow sensation only he can prolong indefinitely.

Then he adjusts his touch. It’s the smallest movement, a crook of his finger, the stroke of something inside me that only he can ever find. This time when I cry out it’s half gasp, half shriek, my hands clutching helplessly against the large one holding them.

A muscle tics beneath the white scar cutting down Dimitry’s jaw, and suddenly he looms over me, nudging my legs apart. Positioning himself, he enters me in a silent, powerful thrust that knocks the breath from my body and sends my eyes rolling back in my head, my lids fluttering closed.

My hands are suddenly freed as he moves to lifts my leg, opening me for better access, and plunges into me with slow, strong strokes, holding himself at the hilt every time to make the swell inside me build into a raging storm.

His hand slides under my ass, angling me upward, and suddenly his other hand is in my hair, pulling my head back.

“Look at me.” His voice is low and controlled, but I can hear the fierce edge behind it, the raw savagery he’s only barely keeping in check.

I open my eyes to find Dimitry’s on mine like a dark inferno, the gleaming sun making the fire a living thing which burns away the secrets and lies, the months of loneliness, and the shadows that existed long before that, until nothing is left but the primitive elemental force that first drew us together.

He drives himself deep inside me, and the storm breaks, ripping me apart in its intensity. Dimitry’s mouth captures my scream, kissing me into oblivion as we both crash onto the shore together.