Leo grabs my hips, and I start to grind up and down on his cock. His eyes are dark and focused. He watches me move on him with singular focus, but I feel too good to be self-conscious. I’m lost in it already. I roll my hips, pleasure zinging through me with every movement. Heat pools low in my belly and my body begins to tremble.
“Leo,” I breathe. I say his name like a prayer. Like a plea. “Leo…”
“Come for me, kukolka,” he says.
With that, my body gives in to the pleasure. I clench my thighs around him and arch my back. I cry out as I spasm around him so many times that I start to wonder if this orgasm will ever end. I’m lost in a haze of lust and need and sensation, and a warmer, deeper emotion that swims beneath all of that. I grind against him until I have nothing left.
When I collapse on his chest, Leo wraps his arms around me and rolls me onto my back.
I’m sure I’m completely spent, but as usual, Leo knows better. He drapes my legs over his shoulders and wrings more pleasure out of me. His thumb circles my center, and before I’ve fully come down from the last orgasm, I’m crying out again.
This time, Leo falls with me.
Afterwards, we lie together in silence, staring at the ceiling and immersed in our own thoughts. We wait just long enough to catch our breath, and then we fuck again.
Four times that night, I lose myself to orgasm. Four times, he comes, marking me in every possible way. I fall asleep naked on top of him, exhausted and spent.
When I wake up, he’s gone.
Secretly, I’m relieved. I take a bath, wash my hair, and dress carefully. Jeans. A long sleeved, tight-fitted white sweater. A thick jacket to stave off the cold. I take a satchel with me, but there’s nothing inside it apart from a little cash and an extra change of clothes, just in case.
I tie my hair back and head downstairs. I know the staff’s movements now, so it’s easy to avoid them and slip outside.
The vehicles are parked off to the side of the gravel drive that winds up to the cabin. I hide in the brush and watch to see if they’re being manned yet. I wait through fifteen minutes of frigid stillness before I approach.
Some of Leo’s men head into the village for supplies most mornings. When I’m sure they haven’t yet disembarked from the warmth of the cabin to the jeeps, I climb into the first car in the line and hide underneath the same tarp I used last time I pulled this stunt.
Another fifteen or twenty minutes of silence passes with me mummified in the back of the car. I can’t feel my nose, my fingers, my toes, and every breath hurts like an ice pick in my throat.
At long last, I hear the thump of oncoming footsteps. The doors crank open, men chattering to themselves in Russian and English as they load up.
A few more agonizing breaths later, the engine roars to life, and blessed warmth fills the cabin.
I close my eyes during the drive to the village, absorbing every bump of the unpaved roads as softly as I can. When the car stops and the engine dies, I wait for the slamming of car doors.
Once everything is quiet again, I remove the tarp and peer outside. I don’t see anyone around, so I get out of the jeep and make a run for it.
I head into the nearest café and order a coffee that I don’t plan on staying long enough to drink. While I’m waiting, I scan the people sitting at the small tables. There’s a couple at the window table and an elderly man reading a newspaper in one of the center tables. I can see his car keys dangling against the waistband of his belt.
I pretend as though I’m heading to the bathroom and then I make a detour around his table. I have to dip low to retrieve the key, but I manage to snag it without him noticing.
I get a look from the couple as I head out the door, but I don’t turn back to see if they suspect anything.
When I press the unlock button on the fob, the headlights of a small blue car flash only a few feet away.
If the owner is paying attention, he’ll see me climb into his car and drive away. I have to move quickly. I start the engine and rip out of the street parking, not daring to check the rearview mirror.
I drive fast, speeding down mountain passes, listening for a siren that never comes.
The car doesn’t have navigation, but I don’t need it. I know where I’m going.
It takes me almost three hours to get there. I make a stop halfway to switch cars, more for peace of mind than anything else. And then I keep going.
After a year away, being back in the city—and free—feels strange. But I move through the streets like I never left.
I pass by all my old haunts and head to a bar I know is tied to the Mikhailov Bratva. It was part of my training with Anya. Know the land. Know your enemy.