Chris pushed his hands down Nikita's front, rubbing the outline
of his dick, getting another growl out of the man. Without warning,
Nikita took control, spun him around and pushed him up against the
wall, face first and dazed. Chris was too thrilled to resist. And way too
hard. If Nikita wanted to fuck him against the wall, he was welcome to
it. Before he realized, his wrists were crossed and zipped together with
plastic restraints.
“Hey!”
“So you don't run away again,” Nikita said close to his ear, his
warm breath tickling. His hands opened Chris's belt, the buttons of his
jeans, and freed his dick. Chris felt like he'd come if Nikita kept
touching him like that, no-nonsense, not even particularly tender, just
100 percent raw need. The Russian didn't bullshit once he'd made up
his mind.
“Not… running,” Chris admitted, feeling Nikita's splayed hand
between his shoulder blades keeping him pressed into the wall. He
imagined Nikita fumbling out of his trousers with one hand, and
grinned. “Can we use… lube. Spit works, but you're kinda big.”
“Yes.”
Chris pressed back as Nikita rummaged through his pockets,
patting him down with an altogether professional skill. “Ass pocket.
Left side.”
Nikita found it, and within moments was pressing into him. Chris
pushed back, taking the fat head with reckless abandon. He wanted all
of it, soreness be damned. Nikita wasn't one for foreplay, either, unless
you counted whips and chains and hot wax. Nikita made him feel every
single inch as he thrust in, working his way into his body as if Chris's
consent or comfort didn't matter. Yes. Too goddamned hot. He choked
on his breath when Nikita began to fuck him, crushing his body against
the tiled wall, hands in the small of his back, balled into fists with the
tension and need.
“You want to be used,” Nikita growled into his ear. “That's what
I'm doing now. Using your ass. Maybe I'll pull out and come in your
face.”
Chris laughed, because, yeah, he could simply do that, and Chris
knew he'd love it. Getting down and dirty while outside, people waited
for their bags and carried on with their day. Surreal, but oh so good.
“That… enough for you?”
“No.”
The fucking paused only for a moment as Nikita wrapped a hand
around Chris's dick to jerk him off in time with his thrusts. That very
nearly finished him immediately. Chris pushed back harder, using
every ounce of strength he possessed to get them both off. Not that he
had many options.
In that mismatched race, though, Nikita lost it first, coming inside
him rather than in his face, and Chris thought, damn, that was probably
kindness in this guy's world, before he just stopped thinking and came
with a few more pumps.
He rested his sweating face against the tiles for a few moments
and noticed how Nikita's right hand rested flat against his chest, the
other hand on his hip, an oddly tender gesture for the big man.
Christ, he'd begun to be able to read him. Little bits like that that
wouldn't have seemed important with any other guy or any casual fuck.
And why was being held while tied up more significant? Chris shook
his head, tried to gather his wits. He wracked his brain for a snarky
comment to break up the unease gripping him. His thoughts froze, and
the unease melted away when he felt Nikita's lips on his neck.
“I meant it,” Nikita said. “Where's your hotel?”
No. No way. John and Andrei were there too. Speaking of which,
they might still be outside. “Where's yours?” Shouldn't Nikita pull out
and leave him to clean up? Why wasn't he? Chris squirmed a bit to
make that point, but Nikita didn't move.
“Renting a flat.”
“Longer assignment, then?”
“It's sparse.”
Thanks for not answering the question. “How much do we
need…?” Chris asked, ironic eyebrow lifted. “Can't take you into my
hotel, my man. I got too many eyes watching.”
Finally, Nikita pulled away and then loosened the plastic strip
holding Chris's wrists. And why did that feel like losing something?
wash basins to wipe himself down.
Nikita did the same, shoved his dick back into his pants and
zipped up.
“This is it, then.”
Shit. No. He didn't want that. Still, Chris kept his jaw clenched,
his mouth shut to trap the pathetic words that proclaimed his neediness
for the stoic Russian. “Yeah, well, work comes first, right?”
“Always,” Nikita replied with a cold, appraising stare.
Chris rinsed his hands, dried them, and reached for his bag. Nikita
continued to stare at him. Damn but he wanted to fold under the weight
of that stare. What the fuck was it between them that struck him this
way? It was such a turn-on, but fuck, it killed his pride. “I'll catch ya
later, then.”
“Unless I catch you first.”
Chris's cock twitched. “We'll see.” He turned and left while he
had the will, before Nikita Kazakov's powerful stare froze him in place
once and for all. He walked quickly though the terminal, never looking
back, not wanting to figure out what the hell was attracting him to this
domination bullshit.
Chris kept moving at a clip until he got outside. Son of a bitch.
Those bastards left him. They'd gotten their bags and headed to the
hotel without him. Fuckers. Wudarczek must be playing “Fearless
Leader.” Total wuss, but always trying to run the show. So what if he
was head of this operation? Didn't common courtesy come into play?
Bastard. Chris waited a few minutes, scanning the area one last time to
see if a rental or taxi with his erstwhile comrades pulled up, but it
didn't. Shit.
“Follow me.”
Chris turned, and there in the doorway of the terminal was Nikita,
a set of keys dangling from his powerful hand.
“I have a ride. It's cool.”
Nikita stared, clearly seeing through the bullshit. “Come,” he
ordered.
Chris felt he actually could, from the way that command slid
down his spine and gripped his balls from behind. What the hell was
wrong with him? Why was he liking this shit? Still, he picked up his
bag and slipped back inside the terminal to find Nikita a few dozen
yards away.
That son of a bitch hadn't even waited to see if he followed. He'd
gone right on his way absolutely cocksure Chris would do his bidding.
Um, Skippy, that's exactly what you are doing, Chris's wounded
pride reminded him.
Okay, so technically he was, but it wasn't like that at all. He was
no one's bitch. He was following because he needed the ride.
When they arrived at the lot where Nikita's rental was waiting,
the Russian stowed his gear in the trunk, tossed Chris's into the back
seat. “What's your hotel?”
“The Concorde.”
Nikita snorted. “The heart of old West Berlin, it figures.” He
glanced over and grinned. “Come East, young comrade, it's where the
action is.”
Holy shit. Kazakov was fucking flirting with him.
And he liked it!
Suppressing a grin, Chris flipped him the finger and settled back
in the passenger seat. “So where is your favorite kind of action? That
kind of club where Katya hangs? It's all right but pretty seedy if you
ask me.”
Nikita glanced over before pulling from the lot onto the street.
“There are one or two places I'm keen to visit, time permitting.”
“So what brings you back here? Kind of soon to show your face,
isn't it?”
“They don't actually know my face, unless someone enlightened
them.”
Chris sat up. “Don't go there. I got your ass out of that apartment,
just in the nick of time as I recall.”
“So you did.”
The lightness of spirit the Russian's unexpected flirting had
brought died swiftly in the silence that fell between them. It always
Andrei. Fuck.
The last thing he needed was to be dropped at the hotel and have
John and Andrei hanging around outside.
“Do me a favor,” Chris said when they came to a stoplight. “Drop
me at the Balzac Coffee on Hardenbergstrasse.”
“Why?”
“I'm jonesing for a caramel fucking latte, okay? What's it to you
anyway?”
Nikita pulled through the intersection when the light changed. He
remained silent as he picked up the pace, winding his way through the
congested streets. Finally he deigned to reply. “I was curious. I'm on
my own time 'til later.”
Chris glanced over and then refixed his attention to the road
ahead. He was flirting again. Even extending a fucking invitation?
“Jet lag makes me miserable,” Chris said by way of apology.
Nikita laughed. God, what a deep, sexy laugh he had, humor
tinged with a coating of cynicism.
“You came from Switzerland. It's hardly a lag-producing trip.”
Whoa!
“How the fuck do you know where I came from? What else do
you just happen to know?”
Looking over to deliver a smirk, Nikita made a sharp left and
sped down the street, pulling to a stop near the coffee shop. “I'd tell
you, but we're out of time. Enjoy your coffee.”
Chris glared. He wanted to punch the info out of Nikita but knew
it was futile. The big guy wouldn't talk. Not now anyway. With a
muttered “fuck you,” Chris pulled his bag from the rear seat and got out,
slamming the car door shut.
That Russian bastard had the balls to stick his hand out the
window and wave before disappearing back into traffic.
Chris decided to get that coffee after all. He stopped halfway
through the front door. Shit, he'd told the Russian where he was staying.
Why the fuck had he told him the truth?
Chapter 9
“SPARSE” didn't begin to cover the place Nikita used as a base for
operations. A one-room apartment chosen for anonymity as much as
the one narrow bed and the walls that accommodated his way of
planning a mission. What he needed he carried in one bag, and it was
back to a diet of protein shakes and take-away.
Sometimes he wondered what it might be like to have more than
that—but not on his salary, not with his job. Smashing up a criminal's
place was part driven by envy, he figured, but he didn't investigate that
emotion further. No consequence.
There was an exceedingly cheap gym around the corner. They
issued “day passes” and were open 24/7. The types working out there
were bouncers, the jobless and unemployed, social security cases, and
students. He fit right in with the bouncers.
Chris Gibson, at least, had given his game away, and Nikita felt
he was relaxing somewhat and far too much for his own good. Naming
the hotel had not been a smart move. It could have been a ruse, but no,
it had come out too easily. A true slip of the tongue.
If Chris had come from Switzerland, it was likely he'd been
briefed by GORGON. Now it seemed likely that GORGON had killed
Andrei (why, he didn't know) or Chris had been moonlighting as a
hired hand for the Russian mobsters. Who wouldn't jump at the chance
to pick up five million for a little side assignment?
But the fact that Chris was now here—on GORGON's orders,
most likely—could mean that Chris was taking an interest in Shkadov.
That was why he had been on the scene when Zaitsev had lost his head.
Which meant they were likely after the same target. Interesting. Maybe
they could strike a deal, but not before Nikita knew what was going on.
Chris would have to give more of his game away, but for the moment
Nikita just fit in all the bits of information that he had and compiled a
working hypothesis, which he'd test later.
He finished his workout, had a bite to eat, then went for a long
shower, remembering the way Chris had felt against him, that stubborn
resistance, the way he always tried to squirm out of any tight spot.
Chris tied up, gagged, blindfolded, opened up with a spreader bar that
kept his ankles apart while he knelt, chest on the ground, wrists chained
to his ankles… yes. He could see that, and wanted to see it, soon. Chris
fired his imagination up like no other partner.
Katya was totally different. With her there was no struggle
involved, just the fascinating game of finding and exploring and then
pushing limits, that utter trust. Chris would never get there, even
though something in him seemed to scream “please force me” or
“please get me there.” Nikita didn't doubt that when he did get Chris
there, it would be mind-blowing.
Though not quite mind-blowing, Nikita found the next few days
utterly fascinating as he watched Chris Gibson at his hotel, unaware
that a bribed maid, an acquaintance of Katya's, had planted a tiny
camera in the room he shared with another man, no doubt another agent
of GORGON. Chris had played that camera trick on him first, after all.
He got hard at first seeing them together, expecting to be given
quite the show, but it became evident in minutes that there was no love
lost between them. Surprising, really, considering the attractiveness of
the spectacled bookish man who was endlessly poring over documents.
Documents Nikita couldn't see from the camera's vantage point. He
regretted not providing a sound-capable device, but the decision had
been spur of the moment when Katya had introduced the Ukrainian girl
to him.
He did, however, get a glimpse of Chris jerking off in the early
morning hours, his companion asleep and unaware in the second bed.
There had also been a brief encounter with an Asian who must have
been a lover at one time. The concern he showed to Chris was palpable
even with
out sound and the soft kiss he planted upon Chris's cheek
when leaving an unmistakably intimate gesture. He exited via a
connecting door to an adjoining room. So GORGON had sent a full
team. Interesting.
This afternoon had been interesting as well, with Chris returning
to the room alone and pounding his fist into the wall in frustration. He
stripped down, changed into workout clothes, and stormed from the
room.
Nikita had driven to the hotel, and now, sitting in a dark corner of
the hotel bar, he saw Chris return to the room, his expression still tense,
his taut muscles glistening with a sheen of sweat. He stripped as he
walked across the room and disappeared into the bathroom.
Nikita exited the bar, taking the stairs up, letting himself in with a
passkey acquired from room service.
A bath was running in the bathroom, and Chris was on the floor,
doing push-ups like a man possessed, like he had to bleed the energy
and strength from his body some way. Nikita put the “Do Not Disturb”
sign out and allowed the door to click audibly shut.
“What is it now, John?” Chris asked, the frustration and anger
thick in his voice. He glanced over his shoulder, saw Nikita, and
paused, and then got to his feet, looking just as angry and lost as he had
the last times.
“Nothing. Just checking on you.”
“How the fuck did you get….”
Nikita was before him in an instant, his knife in his hands, the flat
of the blade clicking innocently against his thumbnail. “Turn the water
off before it overflows.”
“Fuck you.”
“Have it your way, then.” Nikita turned to leave.
“Wait.”
Nikita stayed facing the door until the water stopped.
“What do you want?”
Nikita gave him a long look, taking in each sweaty, hard inch, his
gaze lingering on the cock that had grown enormously in just a few
seconds. “I want what we both want.”
“Not now. Not here.”
Nikita grinned and tapped the knife against his thumbnail once
more. “Afraid your roommate will appear? Can't say I'd mind. He's
attractive enough. Strikes me as straight, though. Not a problem, you
understand. I'm sure you could bring him around.” Teasing, testing
limits. Feeding Chris some of his own bitter medicine.
“I don't want to. Not now.”