Page 67 of Pay the Piper

“It had your last name on the back.”

I come with an inhumane groan, fighting the urge to close my eyes so that I can watch Abby roll her gorgeous greens back in her own pleasure. Cradling her head in my hands, I roll us over so that she can rest against me and catch her breath, still half hard inside her and reluctant to let go. By the time our sweat cools and I finally slip out of her, she’s squirming on top of me and trying to get up.

“Where are you running off to?”

“I have to, you know…clean up. And pee.” Her blush is adorable, and I reluctantly help her stand, restraining myself to a kiss on her temple and a light smack as she waddles off.

“You can pee, but don’t do any excessive cleanup. Trust me, I’ll know if you do. Meet me in the bedroom.”

She doesn’t take long, and I finally undress her, tossing the rumpled robe to the floor and ridding her of the lingerie that both drives me mad with how she looks wearing it and the urge to rip it all off.

“Make yourself comfy. If you have enough pillows now.”

Abby rolls her eyes at my jibe but complies, building herself a nest of no fewer than six and defending her pillow addiction.

“Admit that you like them too! You know it’s cozier in here when you have plenty to lean back on, and prop a book on, and…what are you doing?”

I’ve situated myself back between her legs, spreading them against mild resistance before she complies and lets her knees fall. If the view of her wet cunt needy and waiting for me is my personal Everest, then the sight of her after I’ve used her and left her swollen, red, and leaking is cosmic.

“Well, that depends on your perspective, I suppose. You might say I’m admiring my handiwork or making sure I didn’t do any damage.”

Using both thumbs, I gently pry her open, the evidence that she listened to me and didn’t try to clean herself up seeping out immediately. It’s impossible not to play with, and I slide one long finger inside to feel how much cum I’ve given her.

“It’s pretty deep in there, baby. I was just making sure it was where it was supposed to be. And, I guess you could also accuse me of playing with my food.”

Her eyes are impossibly wide as I move to finish what I started earlier, easing her in with kittenish licks to her clit since she did just get fucked, hard.

“You don’t have to do that. Don’t you want to avoid—”

“Tasting myself? No, Abby. The taste of us together is my favorite in the world. Do you want some? It’s intoxicating. It’s us.”

She nods, and I gladly oblige her, but when she sucks my tongue into her mouth, I pull back.

“If you keep that up, you’re going to get yourself fucked again, darling. And I know you’re sore.”

Her wicked grin as she shifts her hips to slip me inside is both terrifying and the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. I’ve created a monster.

“I’m not that sore. Besides, you’ve given me plenty of lube.”

By the time we’re both sated and clean, with pizza boxes surrounding us on the bed and the credits rolling on the episode of our show we missed while I was gone, I’m convinced I could purr from contentment.

“I’m so happy to be back here with you, lesnaya. You have no idea. It was nice to see some of the people I left in New York, and I’m glad you got to spend time with Ellie and her family, but I hate being away from you.”

Abby burrows further into the crook of my arm, and I can feel her smile against my skin.

“I hate being away from you too. Who did you get to see while you were there?”

“Well, Teddy’s grandmother Muriel came to the game. Of course, she was there mostly to see Thatcher. Apparently, they’re two peas in a pod and used to give Teddy all kinds of headaches when he lived in New York. Then, of course, we stayed at the compound for the New York branch, where we had been working to take it over. Some of the guys I’ve known for years in Thunder Bay live there now, and it was nice to see them. I spent most of my time with Thatcher and Mila, talking about all the snags she’s hit in Russia and—”

“Mila?”

Her confused face pops up from my chest, squinting at me in the low light of the TV. I’m as confused as she is. I know that when I told her about my life and job, I mentioned the most important person in my life. Well, the second most important.

“Yeah, baby. My friend I told you about. She was the Pakhan’s granddaughter when I met her in Russia. We went through some shit and came here. Worked to take over her dad’s Bratva, blah blah, went to New York, and now she’s in Russia for a bit. Thatcher’s girlfriend.”

She sits all the way up, still regarding me with the same confusion as before. Had I blacked out and not mentioned that I had a best friend? The day she found out was so sudden and shocking that it’s possible I left something out.

The shrill ring of my phone makes her jump, and, unfortunately, I know that tone means only one thing. My cell makes noise for very few people, all with custom tones. Abby’s is the soaring entrance of the final movement of Tchaikovsky’s Fourth, the brass fanfare of fate a perfect metaphor for how she entered my life. Mila’s is a ship’s horn, blaring through the fog to warn of danger ahead. Thatcher’s is currently some awful remix of himself singing karaoke, and Teddy’s is the Superman March. That’s what pulls me from bed now, and when he explains that there’s a situation he could use backup for, I agree to meet him and turn back regretfully to my lesnaya.