Chapter 163
The red silk slid down her shoulders, pooling around her waist like spilled wine. In the dim glow of the city lights filtering through the tinted glass, she looked like a masterpiece—one that was finally, irrevocably, mine.
She reached for my belt with a desperate, frantic energy, her fingers fumbling against the leather as she tried to free me.
"Wait," I whispered, catching her wrists and gently pinning them. "I want to see you first. All of you."
I let my eyes roam over her. Without the armor of her black gear or the distraction of the dress, Abigail was a revelation. Her skin was like polished alabaster, pale and flawless, mapped with the faint, silver lines of old scars that only made her look more like a goddess of war.
Her breasts were firm and high-pointed, tipped with deep rose nipples that were already tight and aching in the cool air of the car.
Lower down, the blonde silk between her thighs was glistening, a dark contrast to the ivory of her skin. She was drenched, the scent of her arousal mixing with the heavy musk of the Cadillac’s leather.
"God, you’re beautiful," I rasped.
I reached down, my fingers grazing the sensitive folds of her heat. The moment I touched her, her entire body shuddered, a sharp intake of breath catching in her throat. I rubbed her gently, circling the center of her nerves, and a soft, broken moan escaped her lips—a sound that would have horrified the "RedEye" persona she usually wore.
I moved my hand up the flat, toned plane of her stomach, tracing the muscle until I could cup both her breasts. They were a perfect fit, heavy and warm in my palms. As I squeezed, the pale flesh swelled between my fingers, the skin so delicate I could see the faint blue veins tracing toward her heart.
"Lovely," I murmured, watching the way her head fell back against the headrest, her throat arched and exposed. "Just lovely."
"Druski, please," she choked out, her hips hitching upward, seeking the friction she’d denied herself for far too long. "No more talking. I’ve waited... I’ve hated wanting you for so long. Just do it."
"Patience, Abby," I whispered, my voice a low vibration against her skin. "We have all night, and I want to memorize every sound you make when you finally break."
She let out a frustrated, needy growl, but I ignored her plea for speed. I lowered my head, my tongue tracing a path from the hollow of her throat down to the peak of her breast. I took one rose-colored nipple into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the tight bud until she was arching off the leather, her fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me closer.
"Druski... please," she gasped, her voice losing its edge, melting into a soft, melodic whimpering.
I moved my hand back down, sliding two fingers deep into her slick pussy. She was incredibly tight, her muscles clenching around me in a rhythmic, desperate pulse. I found the rhythm she needed, my thumb working the swollen nub of her clitoris with agonizing precision.
She was a storm of ivory skin and golden hair in the shadows of the Cadillac. I watched her face—the way her eyes fluttered shut, the way her jaw tightened as she fought to keep some semblance of control. Every time she reached the precipice, I slowed down, dragging the sensation out, teasing the moisture from her until she was sobbing my name into the dark.
"You’re not a machine tonight," I murmured, leaning up to catch a stray tear with my thumb. "You’re just a woman who’s been starving. And I’m going to make sure you’re full."
I moved my mouth lower, my breath hot against her inner thighs. She buckled, her legs falling open in total surrender. I tasted her—salty, sweet, and intoxicating—drinking her in until she was shaking so hard the car’s suspension began to groan.
Only when she was on the absolute edge of a screaming climax did I finally pull back, unbuckling my pants and letting her see exactly what she had been fighting to kill.
I pulled her flush against me, the heat from her skin searing through my clothes. I didn’t just kiss her—I claimed her. It was a deep, bruising collision of lips and tongues, a desperate exchange of all the words we couldn’t say in the light of day. There was no "RedEye" here, no pornstar—just two people who had spent the night dancing around a bullet, finally finding their rhythm.
Our hands were everywhere at once, a frantic exploration in the dark. I traced the lean, hard muscle of her back, feeling the tension finally leave her spine, while her fingers raked over my shoulders, her nails digging in as if she were trying to anchor herself to the moment.
"Druski," she breathed into the kiss, her voice a broken melody of need.
I didn’t answer with words. I shifted, sitting back against the plush leather and pulling her onto my lap. She straddled me, her legs wrapping around my waist, the red silk of her dress bunched up around her hips like a discarded banner. I guided her down, and as I sank into her, she let out a long, shuddering gasp that vibrated through both of our chests.
I didn’t move for a heartbeat. I just held her there, my hands locked on her hips, waiting for her eyes to open. When they did, they were dark, shimmering with tears and a raw, terrifying honesty.
"Look at me, Abby," I whispered, my voice thick. "No masks. No Monet. Just us."
She looked. For the first time, the ice was gone, replaced by a fire that burned just for me.
She reached down, her fingers trembling slightly as they wrapped around my cock, guiding me to her entrance. She lowered herself slowly, inch by agonizing inch. I let out a low groan as I felt her heat swallow me; she was incredibly tight, a velvet vice that seemed to pulse in time with her racing heart. The sensation was overwhelming—a mix of friction and slick, searing warmth that made my vision blur.
She let out a long, broken moan, her forehead dropping against mine as she fully seated herself. We stayed like that for a heartbeat, two people fused together in the back of a car that was supposed to be my hearse.
Then, she began to move.
She started with a slow, grinding rhythm, her hips rolling in a way that drove me to the brink of madness. I reached out, my hands finding the firm, rounded curves of her ass. She felt incredible—toned, supple, and shivering under my touch. As she picked up the pace, her skin sliding against the leather, I gripped her harder, my thumbs digging into the dimples of her lower back.
She wasn’t a calculated assassin anymore; she was a storm of raw need. She rode me with a desperate intensity, her body arched, her breasts swaying with every rhythmic plunge. She leaned in, her lips finding my ear, her breath coming in hot, jagged gasps.
"Druski... oh god, Druski," she whimpered, her voice a shattered wreck of its former self.
She rained frantic, messy kisses along my jaw, my neck, and then my mouth, tasting like the tears she’d shed and the fire she’d been hiding. Every time her hips hit mine, the Cadillac’s suspension groaned in protest, the tinted windows fogging over, blurring the outside world until nothing existed but the two of us and the wreckage of our old lives.
I reached up and gripped her waist, my fingers sinking into the soft flesh of her hips to anchor her. I took control, reversing the momentum as I began to thrust upward with a sudden, driving intensity.
Every surge was deep and deliberate, a physical reclamation of the power she’d tried to hold over me with that gun. The Cadillac groaned under the rhythmic force, the leather seats squeaking as she was pushed back and pulled forward in a blur of red silk and pale skin.
Abigail’s head snapped back, a sharp, breathless cry escaping her as I hit her deepest points. She wasn’t just taking it; she was meeting every thrust, her legs tightening around my waist, her fingers raking down my back as she fought to stay close to the heat.
The passion was jagged and raw. I leaned in, catching her lips in a bruising, breathless kiss that tasted of salt and adrenaline. I could feel her internal muscles clenching in frantic, uncontrollable waves, her body finally surrendering to the pleasure she’d tried so hard to execute.
"Druski!" she choked out, her voice a fractured rasp against my mouth.
The rhythm became frantic, a desperate race toward a cliff we were both ready to jump off. I could feel the tension in her body reach a snapping point, her inner muscles coiling around me in a tight, pulsating grip that signaled she was already there.
That was the trigger. I let go of the last shred of my restraint, pulling her hips flush against mine as I hit my own climax. It hit with a physical force that made my vision white out, a heavy, surging release that felt like it would never end. I emptied myself into her, pulse after pulse, filling her deep as the Cadillac’s suspension finally went still.
Abigail let out a long, broken sound—half-sob, half-gasp—and collapsed entirely against me. Her head fell into the crook of my neck, her skin slick with sweat and cooling in the pre-dawn air. I held her there, my hands still firmly on her hips, feeling the rhythmic aftershocks of our encounter vibrating through both of us.
For a long time, the only sound was our ragged breathing and the distant, lonely whistle of a train somewhere in the industrial district. The "Black Widow" was gone, replaced by a woman who was currently clinging to me as if I were the only solid thing left in her world.
"You are amazing Druski. I can never bring myself up to kill you again."