The Enemy in My Bed by L.K. Shaw
Chapter 12
Pierce
What the fuckwas I thinking telling Mila about Francesca? This whole game has nothing to do with me and everything to do with her. I somehow keep forgetting that. It’s time for yet another reminder. Rising from my chair, I cross the distance between us to loom over her. Her head tilts back and she eyes me warily. She should, too. I inhale deeply. There’s the faint scent of fear wafting off her. As well as arousal.
Once again I find my mouth tipping up on one side. “I smell your fear, you know.” I say.
“Fear you cause,” she accuses.
I cock my head. “Are you more scared of me or the fact that you enjoyed what I did to you the other night? Or maybe you’re scared because you want it to happen again.”
Even in the fading light, it’s not hard to miss the pink crawling up Mila’s neck into her cheeks.
“I don’t think you’re as scared of me as you want me to think, mia piccola fata. That’s almost a shame. I like the fear.” With the speed of a striking snake, my arm lashes out, and I capture her throat within my palm, not squeezing, just holding. Reminding her I’m in control.
Mila’s eyes go wide, and her pupils dilate. Her breath catches and that little whimper spills from her lips. In seconds my cock is rock hard, begging to be released from its confines.
“Jesus, I really do love that sound you make.” With my grip still firmly on her, I pull Mila to her feet.
Beneath my hand, her pulse races. We stare at each other. I wait for her to beg—to plead—for me to stop, but she only keeps looking up at me. She doesn’t even fight. It’s as though she’s accepted that I’ll do whatever it is I want to do to her. The twisted part inside me wants her to participate in her own downfall.
My hand glides from the front of her throat to palm the back of her neck. I dip my head and brush my lips across hers. She remains stiff beneath me, but I’m not deterred. I keep my kiss gentle. Because of our height difference it’s an awkward gesture.
I flick my tongue against the seam of her mouth, coaxing her to open. I hold back a smile of satisfaction when she does so with obvious reluctance. It’s as though she can’t help herself.
I explore for several minutes, tasting her, learning her flavor. She’s sweet, with a hint of coffee and chocolate, like the tiramisu she just ate. I’ll never enjoy another piece without tasting Mila’s own unique flavor as well. Her body sags against mine and those tiny fingers of hers reach up and grasp the fabric of my shirt. I’m not even sure she’s aware.
My free hand reaches down and cups the barely-there curve of her hip. It’s understandable how she’d been mistaken for a boy with her slender build, but she’s most definitely all woman. One I’m ready to see all of.
I grab her around both hips and lift her off the ground, forcing her to wrap her legs around my waist. She squeals and jerks her lips from mine staring, for the first time, level into my eyes. Her lips are swollen, and those large blue orbs have darkened to almost black with arousal. Her chest rises and falls with rapid breaths, pushing those perfect breasts almost directly into my face. I’m anxious to wrap my lips around the tight nipples poking through the thin fabric of her shirt.
Circling the coffee table, I lower us both to the floor and resume our kiss. Only it’s no longer gentle and coaxing. It’s rough—deep—and demanding. I want to pull every response from her. Feelings and emotions she didn’t even know she had—I want to own them all.
I force my lips from hers and glide them along her jaw and neck. My fingers find their way to the hem of her shirt and drag it up to her chin exposing those tits to my view. Before she can protest, I take the right one into my mouth. I suck the tight bud and lash at it with my tongue.
Mila chokes out a gasp, and she clutches my head, holding me to her. I feed from her breast with long pulls. She scores her nails along my scalp, and I growl low in my throat. She shudders from the vibration. I bite down on the hard nub making her cry out. I pull back and admire the bright red mark decorating her skin. The need to mark the rest of her beats inside my chest.
I finish pulling the shirt over her head and toss it away before giving the same attention to her other breast, marking it as well so they match in color. My gaze lifts to meet hers. It’s hooded with arousal. And some other emotion.
Keeping my eyes locked on her, I tug at the waistband of her pants and panties. She raises her pelvis, and I slide them down her legs. They join her discarded shirt. I stare down at her nakedness, drinking in those perfectly sized breasts, her flat belly, and bare, wet pussy. Her clit peeks out, the flesh engorged and begging for my touch.
I cover Mila with my body and claim her mouth again. She opens sweetly for me, her tongue meeting mine without me demanding it from her. I palm her breast and capture her moan, swallowing it down. The kiss goes on, going deeper as my arousal increases. Beneath me, Mila pushes herself into my hand. Needing another taste, I dip my head and pull the sweet little tip back into my mouth.
A part of me wants to tell her how good she tastes. How good she feels. To ask her to touch me like I’m touching her. But that’s something lovers do. This thing between us is about fucking. About me getting what I want. I’ll make sure Mila comes, but there won’t be any tender words exchanged.
My cock aches. I’m dying to get inside her. I want to feel how tight that pussy of hers is. She’s so small, it’s no doubt going to fit me like a glove. My hand glides down her belly until I reach her clit. Mila arches into my touch. I repeat the stroking rhythm I’d learned she enjoyed the other night. Every sound she made is branded in my brain.
I keep stroking until her body tightens and she cries out in pleasure, her back arching off the floor. While she recovers, I grab my wallet from my pocket and retrieve the condom. Mila watches while I unbutton my pants and pull out my cock. I tear open the foil wrap and slide the latex down my length.
Our eyes meet, and there is something in Mila’s expression that hits me so square in the chest it nearly takes my breath away. She blinks, and the tears I swear had hovered there disappear. I can’t look at her any longer. I grab her hips and with almost no effort at all flip her onto her stomach.
With one hand, I yank Mila onto her knees while I snatch a pillow off the couch and shove it beneath her. She doesn’t make a sound of protest. My muscles loosen a fraction. No more sad blue eyes staring up at me. Seeing me. Begging me for things I have no intention of giving.
My body tightens again at the first full look I get of her entire back. Of the damage someone did to her. I will find out what happened, and who did that to her, but it’s a topic for another time.
I shove my leg between hers, widening her, and grip her cheeks, spreading them apart, showing me everything from her dripping wet pussy to her puckered asshole. My mouth waters for a taste. I imagine taking her every way. In every hole. Making her beg. I swipe my thumb along her slit gathering her juices then dip it into her soft opening. Mila moans and pushes back against me. The thick digit disappears deep inside her pussy.
She clenches down on it, trying to pull it in further. I pump it a few times until it’s glistening with her juices, then withdraw it. She makes a sound of protest I ignore. Instead, I glide it upward until I reach her other hole. Mila flinches and tries to pull away, but my fingers tighten their hold on her hips keeping her in place.
With a light touch, I do nothing but circle her asshole, not entering it. Just adding a slight pressure every so often. Minutes pass, and she finally begins to relax the rigid line of her spine. I almost think she pushes back against the sensation, but maybe I only imagined it. I line my cock up with her pussy and slowly enter, letting her adjust to my size.
Watching my thickness stretch her wide, along with the sight of my thumb still rimming her back entrance, is the fucking sexiest thing. I pull my cock almost entirely out and slide it back in. Mila definitely rocks her hips. I drag it back out again and at the same time press my thumb against the puckered flesh and slide it in, stopping at the first knuckle.
She jerks at the double penetration. My hips roll and begin a steady pulsing motion that I alternate with my thumb. Every time I drag my cock out of her pussy, my thumb pushes back into her asshole, going deeper each time until she’s taking the whole thing. Her fingers clutch at the rug. I increase my pace until I’m slamming into her, the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh and our heavy breathing filling the air.
My thumb stays locked deep inside her ass. I can feel my cock through the thin skin separating them. With my free hand, I reach around and start fingering Mila’s clit. Her cry of pleasure joins my groans. It only take a few flicks against the sensitive bundle of nerves before her whole body shudders and goes rigid. I don’t slow my thrusts or stop rubbing her clit, and a second orgasm rolls through her.
A tension builds at the base of my cock and I drive myself into her pussy a final time before my own release explodes out of me. I growl low in my throat. Tiny tremors still rack Mila’s body, and her inner walls flutter around my length. I pull in several deep breaths and withdraw both my thumb and cock. Her ass is bright red with fingerprints from the fierce grip I’d had on her.
Satisfaction and contentment roll over me until reality returns and I remember who this woman is. Who I am. Without a word, I rise to my feet and head to the bathroom to discard the condom. I clean my cock off, wash my hands, and button my pants before returning to the living room. Mila is already dressed and curled up in her usual spot on the couch staring out the French doors with a blank expression. I return to my chair, lean back, and thread my fingers over my lap.
“Did Mikhail ever mention any weapons? Or where they might be stored?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer me. Just keeps staring into the backyard.
“Mila.” My tone is sharp.
She blinks and turns her gaze to mine. “I don’t recall hearing him discuss any storage places. Only where deals would be taking place. And occasionally he talked about attacks he planned and how he was going to steal weapons from those piece of shit Italians,” she says without emotion.
I study her. She doesn’t act like she did that day in the warehouse room. Completely despondent. But she’s definitely not herself. Why would she be? You just fucked her on the floor and the first words out of your mouth are about Mikhail.
“What about the women?” I ask, ignoring that useless voice in my head.
She wrinkles her forehead. “What women?”
I level a look at her. “The ones he was trafficking.”
