Page 36 of Conceal

She works her tits up and down my cock, and I can already feel my orgasm building. Edging myself for the last hour probably wasn’t the best idea.

And then she makes an already incredible experience even hotter. She opens her mouth and lets a pool of spit drop from her tongue into the valley of her breasts. It’s filthy, and so unexpected, my cock swells even more.

The hand on the back of her head slides down to cup her neck, as my breathing turns ragged. Then she lowers her head and takes just the tip of me into her mouth, and I’m done for. My orgasm barrels through me like a freight train, ass clenching, thighs shaking, as I groan out loudly.

She pulls back, jerking me through it, letting me paint her chest and tits with my cum. A little drips from her chin, and the sight of it makes me feral. I’m barely finished coming when I grip her under her armpits and pull her into my lap. She squeals, startled, but doesn’t complain when I wrap my arms around her and hold her to me. I know it’s illogical, but seeing her painted with me feels like claiming her in a way no one else ever has. It makes me want to burn the world down to protect her. It makes me want to tell her father that she’s mine now, and I don’t give a shit what he thinks. It makes me want to drag her away from her family, this world, and keep her.

Her back shakes beneath my arms, and I realize she’s giggling. The little minx just titty fucked me, jacked me all over her chest, and now is giggling?

I let her lean back to see what is so freaking funny in the moment, but she just looks down at my shirt, which is now painted in my own cum from where it’s rubbed off of her. I couldn’t care less.

But I rip my shirt off and use it to wipe off her chest, even though I hate watching my cum slide off of her skin. I want her to wear it all day, every day.

I’m about to ask her if she wants to come again, and to lie down so she can sit on my face, but she yawns a deep, chest-breaking yawn. I look outside; the snow is still coming down sideways, and just now the chill in the cabin is noticeable.

I’m about to boss her around again, but change my mind at the last minute. “Do you want to curl up under the blankets? Lev can add some more wood, and we can try to sleep?”

Her smile softens, and I know I made the right choice in asking her instead of telling. I haven’t been a partner to a woman in a very long time, but I’m not too old to learn.

She drops a kiss to my lips, and I find myself chasing her mouth when she pulls back again and gets off my lap, and slides into the waiting arms of Mikhail. She snuggles into his side, and he wraps the comforter around them both.

Lev and I share a look and a silent conversation. He adds wood to the fire, goes to my room, and brings me my gun.

I may be injured, but they’re still going to have to go through me to get to her.

Chapter twenty-five

Lev

Asoft moan pulls me out of my sleep. The dream in which I was reliving everything we did the night before. I’m hard already, but when I open my eyes and see Mik and Tati moving together under the comforter, I close my eyes and groan. I can’t see a damn thing, but I know they’re fucking. Her eyes are screwed back in her skull, and he’s grunting softly in her ear. They’re on their side, and he’s taking her from behind.

I open my eyes again to see Roman simply watching them. I look outside and see that the snow has stopped falling and that the horizon is just starting to pinken as the sun rises.

I rub my hands down my face, willing my body and head to wake up. The fire is still smoldering, but the cabin has a chill in the air. I shrug on my sweatpants and head to the kitchen. Searching through cabinets, I find a metal French press and empty two bottles of water into it. I nestle it onto the coals and slide into a pair of worn boots by the front door. When I step outside, there’s maybe six inches of snow on the ground.

I scoop some into a Ziploc bag before stomping back inside, frustrated with myself, frustrated with Tatiana and Mikhail. Frustrated with Roman. Frustrated with the whole damn situation.

When I come back inside and stomp the snow off my boots, Tati and Mik must be done, because they’re whispering sweet nothings to each other. Both of them look up at me, concerned.

“Are you mad?” Tati asks, and I immediately understand what I’ve done. I’m frustrated, stomping around here like an ogre. I’m sure she’s worried about me being jealous. My shoulders slacken a little.

I toss the bag of snow at her. “You must be sore.”

I know they’ve been circling each other for over a decade, but Mik should know better. She sits up a little on the mattress, and the comforter slips from her chest, revealing her pale skin, rosy, tight nipples on display. I sit on the fireplace and check the water in the French press. I know we need to talk, to open up and communicate and be vulnerable and all that shit that I hate, but I don’t want to. I’d literally rather do anything else.

But isn’t that what I’ve always done? Avoided anything real by hiding behind sarcasm and teasing? But nothing’s really changed. Yes, I’ve tasted her, and felt her, and God, do I want more, but it’s not like any of us are under the delusion that this can survive her family. But, maybe, if she’s trusting me with her body, I owe it to her to try to be vulnerable too.

I watch as she slides the bag of snow under the comforter and between her legs, wincing with a hiss. She breathes through the cold, but when her blue eyes find mine again, her face softens.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“I think we need to establish some rules,” I find myself saying before I can think better of it. I’m not the dad of our little group - Roman is - but the heat in his eyes makes me think his logical brain isn’t quite on right now.

“Rules?” Tati replies, looking concerned again.

So I rush to reassure her, counting on my fingers. “Your health and safety are number one,” I narrow my eyes at Mik, who at least has the decency to look reprimanded, even if his grin isn’t entirely guilty. He presses a kiss to her shoulder in apology. “... two, there can be no jealousy.” My eyes are still on Mik’s. “No one owns her more than anyone else. If this isn’t working, we talk about it; we don’t let it fester.” Now, I look at Roman. “If one of us needs to be reassigned, we ask for reassignment.”

He nods, understanding what I’m saying without me having to spell it out. If being with Tati distracts us too much from our job of keeping her safe, we remove ourselves from the situation. Her safety matters more than our comfort or desires.