Chris wanted nothing more than to fall to his knees and suck the
big guy off once he finished the last rep and sat up to mop his sweaty
brow and kick back some water.
“Give me another twenty.”
“You sure? You don't want to strain anything you might need
later.”
Nikita grinned a sexy, smirky grin. “Put the plates on, bitch.”
THIS gym had a boxing ring, and after Chris did lifting of his own,
Nikita suggested they go at it mixed martial arts-style. Chris was only
marginally aware that they'd begun to draw an audience. He was far
too concerned with dodging kicks, throwing punches, and getting in as
many licks of his own as he could.
God, this was the ultimate foreplay, and better than that first
encounter he and Nikita had had back in the London house. This wasn't
just a friendly sparring match; this was all-out war, and they both were
fighting to win, because after all:
The loser takes it up the ass.
Nikita landed a kidney punch that sent Chris into the ropes and
gasping for breath.
“Give it up.”
“Not a chance, Nicky. Not a fucking chance.” Chris steadied
himself, pulling determination and willpower out of his ass, and spun
on the offensive, kicking and punching, ducking low, hitting hard,
pounding the big guy into the corner. Chris slowed his attack. Big
mistake. Nikita got in a low blow, went right for the jewels but backed
off just short of bringing Chris to his knees.
“Let's… call it a draw… and get lunch,” he said between heavy
breaths.
Chris nodded. “Works… for me.”
Passing into the locker room, he grabbed the waistband of
Nikita's shorts and jerked him back close enough to whisper. “This
way we both win and can both get it up the ass.”
Chris decided that Nikita's deep laugh ringing off the tiled walls
was one of the finest things he'd ever heard.
WHILE the old Tom Petty song may have taken issue with waiting
being the hardest part, Chris loved the gnawing anticipation brewing
between himself and Nikita as they showered, dressed, and headed out
to grab some food. Sex clearly on both their minds, both of them set on
making the other wait long enough to beg for it.
But the natural buzz Chris had going took a hit as they waited for
their main course and his phone sounded “The Ride Of The Valkyries . ”
What the fuck did the Dragon Lady want?
He opened the text fully expecting to see a big You’re fired! But
instead it read Meet Stefan. Men’s room. Now.
“Oh, what the fuck,” he muttered, snapping the phone shut.
“Problem?” Nikita asked, buttering a slice of crusty bread.
“Probably. I'll be right back.”
Wudarczek was at a urinal, and Chris leaned against one of the
sinks, thinking it was a pity that the guy had such a great dick yet was
such a rotten lay. “What's the deal?”
Shaking off and stuffing himself back into his pants, Stefan took
his own sweet time in washing and drying his hands. “I don't know
who Soong fucked or why, but you're still on board.” He pulled an
envelope from his suit jacket and handed it over.
“Andrei has already left. You and your little friend are on a later
flight.”
He left without another word, only a parting envious glance.
Chris whistled when he peeked in the envelope and saw the two
tickets to Geneva, business class this time. Johnny, I owe you big time.
The waiter was just bringing their orders when he returned to the
dining area.
“You get laid?” Nikita asked when Chris sat down.
Chris winked. “I'm saving myself for marriage.” He placed his
napkin on his lap and cut into the salmon he'd ordered. “It seems you
and I have been pegged to take a little road trip.”
“To Geneva,” Nikita said drily.
“Ohhh. Psychic as well as great in bed. I knew I liked you for
more than one reason.” Chris sipped his wine. “How'd you know?”
Nikita tapped his own cell phone, which was now on the table. “I
received my own call while you were gone.”
“Care to elaborate?”
Nikita pointed at the cell phone as if to blame it for whatever he'd
say next. “There's a lot of… excitement in Moscow over this. I was
ordered to, and I quote, „play along'.”
“You think GORGON told your people they want you?”
“I didn't press. They wouldn't tell anyway, but I'll ask a couple
questions when I get back home.”
Hope that going home thing never happens, buddy, Chris thought,
and pushed some rice onto his fork. The fun of doing a job, the fun of
doing it with Nikita, and the rush of taking him to bed—or to mattress,
or against the wall—in the next half hour or so meant that whatever
came after would be a triple kick to the gut.
Unless GORGON hired Nikita. That was if Nikita wanted the job.
Fuck, there were too many ifs involved. He normally accepted that
people met and parted; just having a good time didn't change that. In
many ways, it even confirmed the pattern and sped it up.
Nikita studied him. “I even know where we're going after
Geneva.”
“Oh.” Chris realized he hadn't responded, had completely missed
the cue. “Do tell, my man.”
Nikita hesitated, then smiled. “We're going to Bari. That's where
the boat is.”
“What boat?”
“Huge, ostentatious bitch, owned by a billionaire. It's where they
think the new auction is being held. I assume somebody up in Moscow
really wants to clean out his closet, so seems I have free rein. To
explain, we're targeting a big hitter now. Shkadov's just a poodle
against him. Maybe they're rewarding me for good service.”
Grinning, Chris nudged Nikita's foot under the table. “How about
I reward you for benching 250 today?”
“Food first.”
“Hot in bed and practical. You're the man of my dreams, big guy.”
“SOMEONE'S been busy,” Chris teased when they arrived back at the
apartment. The mattress had been pulled a few inches from the wall,
giving access to the steel eyebolts fastened into the floor. At the foot of
the mattress on either side, two more large stainless eyebolts were
screwed in.
Chris pulled off his jacket and sat on the arm of the chair to
remove his boots and socks. “What do you have in mind, you naughty
boy, you?”
Nikita fixed him with his badass motherfucker stare. “No jokes,
just do as you're told.”
“Sure,” Chris answered simply. If big pharma could bottle that look and that tone, they just might have the most potent aphrodisiac ever. At least it worked its magic on him. His dick was swelling to the
point of discomfort. And he had to stand and unzip to relieve some of
the pressure.
Nikita was already undressed and more inviting than ever as he
stood with his back turned, pulling some things from a plastic bag.
Chris remembered the
feel of his dick buried deep in that tight ass, and
he wanted to experience it again, though he doubted that was what the
Russian had on the agenda for right then.
Chris had to clamp his jaws to hold in the quip of “Ohhhh kinky!”
at the sight of the rope, plastic zip tie handcuffs, and bottle of lube
Nikita set on the mattress edge.
“What are you waiting for? Strip.”
“Yes, sir,” Chris said softly, not minding the subservient tone that
slipped out. He gave Nikita a questioning look when the other man
came from the bathroom with a can of shaving cream, but he said
nothing.
Nikita let the can fall to the floor, approached Chris, and grabbed
Chris's left nipple, twisting and squeezing enough to make Chris wince.
He grabbed the back of Chris's neck with his other hand, jerked him
into a punishing kiss.
Oh fuck, this was good. Better than good, hotter than hell, and
they hadn't even gotten started.
Nikita broke the kiss, bit Chris's shoulder, slid his hot tongue
down across his pec and then clamped his mouth on the still-tender
nipple. He sucked hard, scraped his teeth over the sensitive flesh, and
made Chris groan when he pulled away.
“Get on the bed.”
Chris did. His pulse raced, throbbed in his cock as he imagined
being bound and at the Russian's mercy.
“Sit up,” Nikita ordered, kneeling on the mattress with the skein
of rope in his hand.
Chris wasn't the least bit surprised that Nikita knew exactly what
he was doing as he uncoiled the rope, wound it around Chris's chest,
crisscrossing it over the back of his neck across his chest again, and
then looped it around his waist and up his arms, two long ends dangling
over his shoulders on either side. He made Chris lie back and secured
the rope ends to the steel bolts, the rope taut under his armpits.
Swallowing hard, Chris bit back a comment about hoping no one
yelled fire. He took several slow breaths and told himself that Nikita
knew what he was doing. He wouldn't put Chris in danger. As if
sensing the unease, Nikita stroked his thigh before jerking his legs
further apart to secure his ankles to the eyebolts in the floor.
Nikita stood at the foot of the bed and stared, his hand slowly
stroking his own dick, thumb flicking back and forth over the swollen
head to spread around the precome. “Do you remember your safe
word?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Nikita gave him another smoldering look and went to retrieve
something from his clothing.
The knife.
Shit. Chris shivered, more with anticipation than fear as Nikita
came forward, dropped to his knees on the edge of the mattress, and ran
the flat of the blade up and down the ropes binding his chest.
“I've decided to shave your balls.”
“Okay.”
Jesus! How good was this guy with that fucking blade? His balls?
Christ!
“You're afraid.”
“Uneasy. You understand.”
Nikita's smile was more calculating than comforting, and it made
Chris's pulse beat quicker. Taking the knife from its sheath, Nikita
studied the dark blade, turned it so the light caught the silvery strip of
sharpened edge.
“You needn't worry, Chris. I've shaved Katya with this. She
found it to be rather arousing.”
“I'm not worried.”
“Good.”
Nikita set down the knife on Chris's bound chest, and reached for
the shaving cream, squirting out a small dollop onto his thick fingers.
He smoothed it over Chris's tight ball sac, wiping the excess on the
edge of the sheet. He ran his fingertips along the length of Chris's stiff
cock, gripped the head, and squeezed, milking a dribble of precome,
which he sucked away.
“It's a good thing you're hard. We wouldn't want it in the way
and vulnerable, now would we?”
“I guess not.”
Nikita's chuckle was throaty and dirty, and Chris shifted on the
mattress, hating yet loving the feeling of being trapped, bound like a
prisoner and subjected to the carnal whims of the intimidating cop
before him.
With a surprisingly gentle touch and short, precise strokes, Nikita
shaved him 'til his scrotum was bare as the day he was born and then
wiped the foamy residue away with the sheet.
“You did well, Chris. Did you enjoy it?”
“Oh yeah.”
Nikita grinned and set the knife down. He stood, looked at his
handiwork, his own cock hard and pointing out, tempting Chris,
making him lick his lips.
Nikita crouched, picked up the knife, and sliced the plastic cuff
holding Chris's legs. He sliced through the rope at his wrists as well
and helped him stand. “Sit down,” he said, indicating the armless
wooden chair near the whiteboards.
Chris did, the ropes rubbing as he moved, the wooden seat cold
against the hot skin of his ass. Nikita came forward, lube in hand, and
drizzled it on Chris's cock, spread it with his fingers. Then he slathered
Chris held his breath, exhaling slowly when Nikita mounted him,
sinking down fast, taking him all in.
They kissed, battling for control as they always seemed to do,
Nikita gripping his shoulders, Chris holding onto the Russian's lean
hips. Nikita wasted no time in gripping the back of the chair and riding
hard and fast, his slick cock bobbing against the ropes still binding
Chris.
“Use your hand.”
Chris was only too glad to oblige, knowing he couldn't last long
at this pace. Nikita came first, his hot come shooting up to hit Chris's
chin, his ass muscles clenching with each spurt, pushing Chris over the
edge as well.
They clung to one another, sweaty, gasping for breath.
Nikita touched his forehead to Chris's and murmured something
in Russian as they drifted back from the high.
After a time, Nikita moved first, helped Chris stand and pulled off
the ropes. They didn't bother cleaning up but lay on the mattress, the
sheet pulled up to their chests. Chris lay on his side, Nikita spooned
behind him, body still damp with sweat, his cock growing soft as it
nestled against the cleft of Chris's ass. Nikita wrapped an arm around
his chest, kissed his shoulder, and nuzzled his neck. Chris gripped
Nikita's hand and closed his eyes, wishing he could banish the image of
Nikita walking out of his life once his job was done.
Chapter 12
THEY had breakfast the day after at the airport, and Nikita couldn't
help but think he'd never had so much fun on a job. There was the dark,
grim satisfaction of busting kneecaps, there was the relief and closure
when he filed his reports, a moment of emotional emptiness and calm.
But that didn't strictly qualify as “fun.”
Now, Chris was fun, and he brought fun along wherever he went.
Nikita still wasn't quite sure about the man's constant refusal to take
anything seriously and assumed it was a mask, but other than that,
Chris Gibson was simply great company.
He'd come to love hearing Chris talk and tell stupid stories about
one of the hundreds of people that he knew (and had slept with). He'd
been thoroughly amused watching how Chris grabbed a dry sandwich,
placed it in his hand, and moved the top slice, mimicking some Stefan
guy's speech—that sandwich-as-hand-puppet act made Nikita almost
spit coffee across the table. And then that smug grin of Chris's, that I’m
irresistible and I know it smirk that made Nikita calculate whether or
not they could have a quickie in the toilets before they left.
Well, on the other hand, anticipation made everything so much
better. Berlin to Geneva was a quick flight, a mere hop across open
landscape and then mountains while Chris caught a bit of sleep and
placed his hand on Nikita's thigh under the blanket. Small gestures like
that—they didn't seem to mean much, certainly not with a guy who
laughed at anything, unless, of course, he was submitting and
playing—but Nikita felt they were significant. He didn't touch in a
work environment, but with Chris, it wasn't just work. Damn, the lines
blurred, and he had no idea if that was good or bad. Possibly Chris was
used to that—with this John guy having been a lover and a teammate.
They arrived, picked up a rental, and drove toward Montreaux,
where Chris said he lived. The place he inhabited was certainly
expensive, and as Chris pointed out, “had the full set of furniture.”
More than that, it certainly hinted that Chris Gibson had been earning
good money.
“Freshen up a bit, and then we'll deck you out.”
“I have everything I need.”
“I can't have you run around with that crappy Makarov of yours.”
Nikita lifted an eyebrow. “The Makarov is perfectly adequate.”
“Not for you. You deserve something better.” Chris patted his
shoulder. “I couldn't forgive myself if you kept shooting with such an
uncool pistol. Especially one with an eight-round mag.” He shook his
head, his expression clearly one of pity.
He did have a nice weapons collection. Like something straight
out of the latest Punisher movie, Chris had a massive, sliding, armored
compartment built into a wall, which had a fair selection of gear: pistols,