Nikolai: The Complete Collection

5. Nikolai

5

NIKOLAI

T ick, tick, boom. Carmichael is a dead man walking.

Celebratory kiss or not, I warned him what would happen if he got within an inch of Justine. He failed to take my threat as literal. I’d kill him now if his quick departure didn’t present a perfect opportunity to sample the lips that have been teasing me the past forty-five minutes.

I could have ended the game sooner by giving Justine Judge Santos’s contact details, but not only is my trust low after my Russian operative confirmed Carmichael’s claim about Erik being an FBI agent, but I’ve also grown a sudden fascination with this side of the law.

The saying, “you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink,” doesn’t resonate with Justine. Not only did she lap up every drop in the dish I left out for her, but she’s also watching me via hooded eyes, pleading for another serving.

I told you she was thirsty.

My crew calls me The Snake because of my ability to sneak up on my targets unaware. By the time they know I’m coming, my knife is already halfway across their throats.

Justine is too smart for that. She senses my presence long before I can brush away the weighed-down curl hiding the scar I spotted earlier.

As she stills, her breathing turns choppy and loud. She stares at the chair I left neatly tucked under the table, her scent imposingly strong. I want to arch her over the table, hike her fire-engine red skirt over her thighs, then eat her cunt as I’m sure it’s never been eaten, but I can’t. This room has eyes, and I’m not their handler.

Usually that fact wouldn’t bother me. Gangbangs are more about the number of eyes on you than how many participants there are, but for some reason, a voice in my head is begging for me not to treat Justine like I do the whores at Clarks. It thinks she’s special, that she should be treated like a princess, and for some fucked-up reason, the devil on my shoulder agrees with its less evil counterpart.

There’s no doubt Justine is threatened by me. The misting of sweat on her skin proves this without a doubt, but she doesn’t fear me. She’s afraid she finds me attractive and is cautious about the trouble I bring to the table, but curiosity is still her strongest emotion of them all.

It’s for the best. My persuasive techniques almost always end with body parts being sunk into a deep watering hole.

When a creak sounds through my ears, I look up. My endeavor not to railroad Justine into submission flies out the window when I spot her race for the door. She can’t trust herself to be alone with me, and for once in my life, I’m inclined to agree with her.

A squeak pops from her mouth when I reach the door a mere second faster than her. I slap it shut with my palm before using my other hand to silence her squeals. She’s not screaming to alert the guards she’s in danger. She is shocked about how agilely I moved.

“My crew calls me The Snake. So do the Ангелs I bed.” I take a moment to relish in her scent before leaning into her even more. “But you, my sweet Justine, you can call me Сатана.”

The nicknames I chose are perfect for us. She’s an angel seeking chaos, and I am a demon seeking peace. Together, we will be explosive.

After burrowing my nose into her molten-red hair, I squash the fear I feel pulsating through her veins with my body before warning myself to slow the fuck down. My eagerness is making me rush, which will only give me half the thrill. With this being the most playful I’ve felt in years, I don’t want it over quickly.

“I won’t hurt you, Justine.”

My eyes bounce around the room, confused as to who spoke those five words. They projected from the direction of my mouth, but my voice was unlike anything I’ve ever heard. It was almost protective like Justine has my sworn pledge that she’ll forever be safe.

She doesn’t. But it isn’t her life at risk. It is her sanity.

When her squeaky breaths stop whistling through my fingers, I press my lips to the shell of her ear. “If I remove my hand, will you squeal?”

My stomach’s response to the moisture sliding down her cheeks when she shakes her head is new. I usually see tears as a sign of weakness. Everyone uses them—men, children, women determined to break you. My mother was the worst of them all. Even while throwing me to the wolves, she shed crocodile tears, so I should be more angered by Justine’s tears than frustrated by them.

With my past weighing down my faith, I snarl, “Don’t break my trust, Justine,” before lowering my hand from her mouth to the vein fluttering in her neck. When she keeps her word, I get honest. “I thought we had a connection, but when I came to offer you assistance, you bolted for the door without even saying goodbye. It’s rude to run off without first issuing a farewell. That’s your second strike of the day. One more, and I don’t think we can be friends. You might be too naughty for me.”

She sucks down a big breath before raising her sinless eyes to my corrupt ones. “I wasn’t meaning to be impolite. I was just rushing to have these documents lodged with the court before 5 p.m. Unless you want to spend the next three nights in lockup, you need to let me go.”

The growl her scent rumbled in my chest escapes when I murmur, “I think the pleasure would outweigh the penance.”

I grind my stiffened shaft against her ass to ensure she can’t mistake what I’m referencing. It sparks more than need in her eyes.

She’s begging to be resurrected from the dead. To live. And fear isn’t rousing her pleas. It’s me.

“I’m flattered you think I’m worth spending three nights in a concrete cell…”

Her reply shifts to a moan when I bring my lips close enough to her ear, tiny beads of condensation are left in the wake of my zealous breaths. When the scent of her hungry cunt lingers in my nostrils, my zipper bites the head of my cock. Despite an audience, he wants to sink into her heat.

“I don’t think you’ll be worth three days in lockup. I know you’ll be worth it.”

I bite her earlobe, wordlessly warning her how close to the edge I am. I’m teetering dangerously, trapped between wanting to rule my empire and slaying anyone responsible for me not taking her now—Vladimir included.

Pretending a hard and fast fuck in one of Las Vegas PD’s many holding rooms is worth scarifying the vengeance I’ve been striving for since I was sixteen is fucking ludicrous, but it’s also the most honest I’ve ever been. That’s how bad I want to hear Justine screaming my name. I climbed the mountain, I reached the summit, now I’m dangling one foot over the cliff edge to prove my life is edgier than it is mundane.

I could have both her and my revenge, but that would need a commitment from both sides of the fence.

The angel and the demon.

Heaven and hell.

Her and me.

I’d have a better chance of coercing her to dance with the devil if I hadn’t marked her with my teeth.

After soothing the angry red welt on her fleshy skin by sucking it into my mouth, I ask, “Do you want to leave? Or shall you stay and let me play?”

Shock is the first thing registered on her face. It’s quickly chased by innocence. “Leave.”

Her reply is short, but it does little to douse the fire roaring in my gut. I can smell the excitement slicking her skin and feel the lusty heat blazing through her body. She wants this, but she’s just too afraid to admit it.

“If you truly want to leave, Ангел , all you need to do is say goodbye.”

Goosebumps follow the trek my hand makes when I drop it from the throb in her throat to the one between her legs. I don’t touch her without permission. Rape is Vladimir’s pleasure of choice, not mine, but I keep my fingers a mere inch from the area I feel growing more heated with every second she spends pinned to the door.

“You have to the count of five.” I’m being lenient. Usually I don’t issue a warning before ending someone’s life, but since this is different—I more want to steal her life rather than cut it short, and I’m open to trying something new. “If you haven’t bid me farewell by then, I’ll start my weekend by discovering if you’re a true redhead. Five... Four... Three?—”

“Goodbye.” Her voice is as impish as the devil on my shoulder goading me to listen to him.

You don’t ask , he says. You take.

“Louder.” Because if an angel can’t steer me in the right direction, she won’t leave this room in one piece.

Justine’s throat works hard to swallow before she mutters, “Goodbye, Nikolai.”

I groan. It’s full of disappointment.

I’m not the only one disheartened. When I step back, unpinning Justine from the door, her sigh has the devil on my shoulder calling me a soft cock.

I’ll show him.

“Turn around. No one says goodbye without a farewell kiss. Not even your boss could leave this room without putting his lips on you.” My tone is the one that generally comes out of my mouth—it’s gruff and full of command. “Hurry, Ангел . The courts close in five minutes, not only trapping me in here for the long weekend but also costing you the chance to have Carmichael I’m-going-to-gut-him-alive Fletcher defend your brother.”

Justine sucks in a sharp breath, shocked I know about her brother’s incarceration. I don’t know why. I haven’t taken my eyes off her for a second, so I know every word she and Carmichael shared.

“Now four and a half minutes.”

Unsure about the authenticity of my threat, she spins around to face me. Since I’m standing so close to her, she can’t rotate without grinding herself against the area of my body still maintaining its own pulse.

When her eyes lift to mine, cockiness thunders through me. If she wants me to believe her wish to flee me is legitimate, she needs to have a word with her eyes. They’re flaring with hope, although it’s barely seen through the yearning clouding them.

Smirking, I tap my index finger on my right cheek. Not needing further prompting, Justine leans forward to press her lips where I’m pointing.

Incapable of reeling in my domineering personality, I crank my neck to the side in just enough time to force her mouth onto mine.