Ruthless Stranger by Maggie Cole

5

Aspen

Fire blazesfrom my toes to my head. Mr. Stranger Danger swiftly palms the back of my thighs and positions them over his shoulders. There's no room to move between him and the glass, and his mouth is a whirlwind of tormented pleasure.

Every move he makes seems calculated. Since he positioned me against the window, he's made me soar from his cock and thumb, which were both better than anything I could have done without him. But his mouth...oh my God.

Everything is dark from the blindfold. I'm not sure if it makes things more intense, or if it's because no one has touched me in so long, or if Mr. Stranger Danger is just phenomenal in his O game. But everything about him makes my body buzz with adrenaline. And the scent of him should be bottled up and sprayed in buildings. It's that intoxicating.

The stranger has already spent more time and paid more attention to me than Peter did in the last five years of our marriage. And I'm dying for this man's tongue, lips, and teeth to ravish me.

But he teases me further by scraping his stubble on my inner thigh then kissing both of them, saying something in whatever language he speaks.

I could ask him, but it turns me on more to not know anything about him.

And if what he did to me is a preview of the rest of the night, I'm going to owe my friends for life.

Tingles race through my legs and pulse into my loins, creating a throbbing sensation that makes my inner walls spasm. "Oh God, please," I beg him.

"Please what?" his deep voice asks with his sexy accent. His lips hit the inside of my leg before he lets out a deep, feral groan while licking a drop of my juice from the middle of my thigh, running his tongue as close to my sex as possible without touching it.

My flutters spin faster. I slide my hands over his broad shoulders and grip his thick hair. "Please."

"Tell me what you want me to do," he commands then flicks his tongue on the same spot but not where I want him.

"Yes...please...do that!"

He grunts. "Where?"

My proper self is gone. Desperation for him consumes me. If he wants to hear me speak dirty, then I will.

What word do I use?

"My pussy. Please."

He groans again then flicks his tongue across me. He's a cobra, and I'm his prey. He utilizes gracefulness and speed, controlling my body's every reaction. Right before I'm about to orgasm, he slows down.

"Oh God. Please. Don't stop."

Instead of giving me what I want, he becomes the King Cobra, nibbling on my clit with his teeth.

"Oh...fffff...oh...oh God!"

He grips my hips tighter and sucks me. A pattern of licking, sucking, and biting makes me break out in a sweat.

Dizziness, heat, and adrenaline ricochet in all my cells. Words fly out of me, fast and loud, competing with his deep groans, which make me believe he's enjoying it as much as I am. And that's new for me. Peter never expressed any form of enjoyment the few times a year he would go down on me.

The self-consciousness I've always felt during this act is nowhere to be found. It's as if the stranger has completely removed it. His hunger for me seems limitless. For the first time since forever, I feel wanted. But I don't remember it feeling this intense with Peter, even when we first got together.

My cries get louder, flowing out as I dig my nails into his head, holding him as close to me as possible while my hips circle fast, desperate for him to give me my release.

He unleashes a tidal wave of pleasure. As soon as the tide breaks, another one, more forceful than the last, crashes through me. He mumbles foreign words from time to time. I don't understand any of it, but his voice is full of power and lust.

I think I can't take anymore, but he continues to destroy every limit I have until I'm so limp, I'm hanging over his head, still shaking, the blackness of the night never changing.

He sets me down, but his body and the glass hold me up.

His torso is a wall of muscle, pumping hard with his warm blood and flexing against me. His soft chest hair is a contrast to the hard pecs beneath them, and when he stands next to me, it's next to my face when my stilettos are on.

How tall is he?

I slide my hands over his six-pack. So this is what one feels like. I continue around his back then slip them down to his ass, which is just as contoured as the rest of him.

Is he a fitness model?

Oh God. How is it possible I'm with him right now?

Within seconds, he scoops me up in his arms and takes me to the bed. He speaks in his other language but keeps saying the word, krasotka. It's the only one I hear repeatedly.

My insides still quiver, but I reach for him, needing to feel his flesh against mine.

His warm breath, full of my arousal, hits my ear. "Do you want me? Or have you had enough?"

Is that an actual question?

"I want you. Please." My raspy voice comes out in a plea.

His lips twitch. I feel it against my cheek.

I grasp his head, trying to find his lips, but he doesn't let me have them. I don't know why he isn't kissing me on the lips, but I don't ask him. It seems wrong to ask anything when I don't even know his name. If this is a boundary for him, then I'm not going to push. But I'm dying to know what it feels like to slide my tongue against his. Instead, I kiss him on the cheek, lowering my head until I'm in the curve of his neck.

He quietly grunts and runs his hands down the sides of my torso.

"Please let me have you," I mumble into his hot skin. The tip of his cock touches my entrance.

He pulls back. "Let me get a condom, krasotka."

It's a good thing one of us is being responsible.

All I can think about right now is how much I need him inside me.

He moves one arm away from me then takes my hand. "Put this on me," he commands then guides me to his swollen cock.

Is he enormous, or am I imagining it?

I do my best to roll the condom over him. When I think it's on, I ask, "Will you check I got it on okay?"

He pauses then kisses my forehead. "Yes. You did good, krasotka."

I let out a breath and nervously joke, "Score one for me!"

He chuckles. His laugh is deep and sexy, like everything else about him. "If we're keeping score, you've been on the board with points since I first touched you."

My ego soars, and I bite my smile. Everything about this night is my fantasy, but I want him to feel the same intensity of pleasure he is giving me. Part of me wants to rip the blindfold off and see what he looks like, but he made it clear if I did, he would leave, which is the last thing I want.

I put my hands on his face, tracing my thumbs over his lips, wondering again what it would be like to kiss him.

He dips down and sucks on my breast, sending a new heat straight to my core. I arch my back off the bed, moaning, then slide my hands to his ass and pull him over me. I blurt out, "Don't make me wait any longer."

I'm not sure who this woman is tonight, but the ability to give my trust to this stranger and let him freely do whatever he chooses is the opposite of my planned out, straight-and-narrow self. And I've never begged any man before. In some ways, I always felt awkward during sex. It was all about Peter mostly, and everything was over quickly. The stranger rushes nothing. He seems focused only on attending to my every need and desire.

He grabs both my shins and pushes my ankles toward my lower body. He dips his finger into my sex, gliding in and out a few times as his hot breath hits my knee, sending a trail of tingles down my thighs. He removes his digit and lurches over my frame.

Every sensation I could have erupts in me the moment his cock pushes into my body, sliding against my walls in a heavenly concoction of pleasure.

He mutters something in his foreign language, slowly moving his erection in and out of me, allowing me to take more of his length with every thrust.

"Yes...oh...," I breathe as heat annihilates my body.

He speaks more words I don't comprehend, and his hand takes both my wrists and pins them above my head against the headboard. His teeth lightly dig at my collarbone.

My flesh singes under him as his muscles ripple over me. I don't need to see his body to know it's a perfect ten. But I blurt out in a whisper, "I want to see you."

He freezes but then reminds me, "No, you don't. That isn't what you wanted." He strokes my cheek with the back of his fingers.

He's right.

"But—"

"I won't go back on my word. Just relax and feel, my krasotka."

"Okay." I nod then lose myself again to everything—the woman's voice wailing out a song, his intoxicating bergamot and cardamom scent, the feel of his hardened body pounding into mine, and his lips trailing on my neck. He touches something within me, and for the first time ever during sex, I climax, becoming unglued in a way I didn't know was possible.

"Oh my...oh…what...oh!" I scream out.

Our skin erupts in sweat. The sound of our fornication and sweet smell of sex is potent and, like everything else tonight, explodes into my senses.

He tightens his grip on my wrists, thrusting harder, and my body spasms around him, unable to stop.

"Krasotka," he growls then says something else in his native tongue.

When he unleashes the power of his body further on me, pushing me into another state of bliss, I think I might blackout when white stars erupt.

He collapses over me then releases my wrists while both of us are still breathing hard, and my insides continue to be a quivering mess.

I'm not sure what I expected, but the next thing he does surprises me.

He rolls over and pulls me into his arms, speaking his foreign tongue, stroking my hair, and kissing my head. The beat of his heart thumps in my ear. I reach up and stroke his cheek, still not able to see anything.

It's intimate and more than I ever got from Peter. It strikes me and chokes me up, making me happy the blindfold is still on.

The rest of the night, every time I wish the blindfold would come off, I remember this moment and don't ask or attempt to pull it off.

Not a minute passes where his focus on me waivers. When our breathing calms and hearts beat normal again, he says, "I want to take a bath with you."

My pulse quickens again. "Okay."

He kisses my head again. "Stay here. I'll come get you in a few minutes."

"All right."

He gets off the bed. I immediately miss his arms.

Something moves next to me.

He pats the bed. "Slide under the covers."

I move over, and he tucks the blanket over me, then leans back to my ear. "Don't fall asleep."

"If I do, just wake me up," I tease but also mean it.

"I'll be back." He kisses my cheek and leaves. He isn't gone long before he slides his arms under my body and carries me into the bathroom.

"Do you always carry your women around?"

He snorts. "Nope. Just you."

I try to hide my smile but can't. He sets me in the warm water, and I scooch forward. He gets in behind me and tugs me back against his chest. He asks, "How long are you in Vegas?"

"Two nights. My friends brought me here."

"Oh?"

Great. Why did I say that?

After a few minutes goes by, he says, "You're celebrating a breakup?"

My chest tightens. "How do you know that? Did my friends—"

"No. Just a hunch."

I release a breath and admit, "Divorce." Heat crawls up my face. I always feel a sense of embarrassment around my failed marriage. I shouldn't. Peter is the one who cheated. But the fact he chose another woman over me still hurts.

"Ah, I see." The stranger traces my jawbone. "You feel shame over this?"

I turn to look away, but there's nowhere to hide. My blindfold hasn't moved. You would think it would allow me to camouflage my emotions, but strangely, it makes it more challenging. I quietly reveal, "He chose someone else."

"He cheated on you?"

I can only nod in answer.

The stranger puts his mouth on my ear. "He's a fool. And a coward."

I'm not sure why I care what Mr. Stranger Danger thinks about me or why his words mean so much. But I don't respond, and I think he misinterprets my silence.

"For what it's worth, I know what it's like for the person you want to love you, not to."

I turn to him, shocked that a powerful man such as he could ever be vulnerable enough to admit that or that it would be true. I still can't see him, but I feel his warm breath merging with mine. "You do?"

"Yes."

I lean closer to him, so close to his lips, but he turns, and I kiss his jaw.

He doesn't want me to kiss him because of her.

He's still in love with her.

A hint of jealousy flairs in my belly, but I remind myself this isn't a relationship nor is it ever going to be. I can't expect him to have any feelings for me, plus, we just met. Well, and I don't even know what he looks like.

I flip over, straddle him, then put my arms around his shoulders, stroking the back of his head. "How long are you in Vegas?"

"Same as you. Two nights."

"Why are you here?"

"It's my brother's bachelor party."

I tilt my head, biting my smile. "Is he going to be mad you ditched him for me?"

The stranger tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. "No. There are ten of us. I'm sure I won't be missed."

"I would miss you," I blurt out then my cheeks turn to fire.

I turn away. "Sorry. I should be quiet. I'm super bad at this."

He pulls my chin back. "At what?"

"Conversing with men, apparently."

"I don't think so. I rather appreciate your honesty." He leans into my ear. "Plus, you're naked, sexy as hell, and sitting on me. You can say whatever you want right now, and I won't think anything but perverted thoughts."

I softly laugh. "How many brothers do you have?"

"Three. I'm the oldest."

"That's nice. Any sisters?"

"No. How about you?" he asks.

"Only child. All I have are my friends."

"You seem to be close."

"Yes. I would be lost without them."

He drags his finger over my breast then rolls my nipple. "I'm glad you have them."

I take a deep breath. "Are you close to your brothers?"

"Extremely."

"That's nice."

He slides his hand away from me then puts something against my lips. "Try this."

A chocolaty scent flares in my nose. I bite into the hard shell, and juice from a strawberry drips down my chin. The sweet and creamy flavors mix, melting in my mouth.

He leans forward and licks the juice off my face, and I think he might finally kiss me, but his lips only hover near mine.

"Are you a dangerous man?" I blurt out. I'm not sure why I ask or chose this moment to do so, but everything about him screams power and dominance. Yet, I also feel protected with him. As soon as it comes out of my mouth, my cheeks once again flare with embarrassment.

"Sorry, I—"

"Yes. I am. You can feel it?"

I'm surprised by his admission and question. I bite my lip and nod. My heart pounds faster.

"But you're not scared of me?"

"No." It flows out of my mouth before I can even process it, but it's true. I knew the minute he stepped next to me, he wasn't an ordinary man. "What makes you dangerous?"

I should shut my mouth.

What is the point of this?

He lowers his voice. His lips are still near mine, and he continues to stroke my cheek. "I'm not going to answer that. But I'll admit if we hadn't made this arrangement, I would have stayed away from you even though I wanted you."

My stomach flutters with a combination of nerves and excitement that he wanted me from afar. "Why would you have stayed away?"

His lips brush against mine. "You're too good to be drawn into any part of my world."

What is his world?

Neither of us moves, and the tension in the air increases. The longer we stay frozen, the harder it gets to fill my lungs with air. I curse myself over and over for asking him. After tonight, I'll never see him again and don't even know what he looks like.

But my desire for him doesn't waver. It grows, burning hotter until every ounce of my blood pounds in my veins.

He finally breaks the silence, saying things I don't understand, while his erection grows under me. Then he moves me so fast, I don't realize it's happening until we're out of the water and I'm straddling him on the ledge of the tub with my heart beating faster.

He quickly slips a condom on and yanks my knees past his hip bones.

I moan, sinking on him, taking every inch of his glorious cock as it stretches and fills me. I wrap my arms around him, using his shoulders as leverage, and get as close to him as I can.

His large palms squeeze my ass, guiding my circling hips. "Krasotka," he growls.

I still don't know what it means. But I like that he calls me it. It makes me think I'm special to him. I shouldn't want to be. He just admitted to me he's a dangerous man. I'm not sure what he's done for him to define himself as one.

All I know of him is how he's treated me tonight and made me feel right now at this moment. The only experience I have with him is intense pleasure and kindness.

He thrusts me faster on him as our chests beat into one another.

Pleasure pools everywhere, with every slide of his body against mine.

"I love how you make me feel," I whisper, barely audible.

"So good, krasotka," he agrees in his deep, gravelly voice, which only makes me happier. His arms tighten around me. His lips speak more words I don't understand, near my ear.

We erupt together, our cries echoing against the marble, labored breath, and bodies trembling.

It's a good thing I won't see him after tonight. Our chemistry is too hot. The potent attraction I feel toward him isn't something I would be able to turn off. And the fact he revealed he's dangerous and I'm still in his arms is exactly why it's good I won't have contact with him ever again. Because if I had to tear myself away from him tonight, I wouldn't be able to.