Esme shakes her head gently. “Killing is not something I ever want to get used to.”
“Nor would I want that for you,” I tell her. “But when someone tries to hurt you, you have to defend yourself. Do you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t feel guilty about protecting yourself,” I say firmly. “Don’t give them that kind of power over you. They will take advantage of it.”
She nods slowly, pushing back her tears. She looks stronger somehow, as though hearing my story has helped give her closure.
“Thank you,” she says. “For sharing that with me.”
I lean down and kiss her forehead gently. She turns her face up as her lips seek mine out.
To my surprise, there’s heat in the kiss when our lips meet. A certain understanding that’s cemented itself between us in the last hour.
Not pure passion, like it’s been every time before. Not just fire and lust.
Something more. Something deeper. Something more solid and real.
Her hands reach up to hold my neck. I grab her around the waist and pull her onto my lap so that she’s straddling me.
The moment she’s on me, my cock turns rocks hard and she grinds on it softly while my fingers twist into her hair.
I part her lips with my tongue and push inside of her, desperate for her sweetness, desperate to lose myself in her body. She whimpers and writhes against me.
I pull off her shirt and throw it to the side of the car, before I spread her out against the air mattress.
Her fingers rake over my shirt, pushing it off me. Then I pull of my pants and boxers and settle over her, my fingers twisting into the waistband of her panties. She raises her hips for me and I pull them off her slowly, my eyes lingering on her pussy.
Once she’s as naked as I am, I settle over her again.
Our bodies fuse together.
Her skin feels like silk. I bend my head down to her breasts and kiss them gently while her hands trace patterns on my back.
She parts her legs for me and I can feel my cock press against her slit. She’s slick with want already and I fucking love that I can do that to her. That she can do that for me.
She raises her hips just a little, but I don’t enter her yet. I cup her breasts with one hand and suck the hard nipple that sticks out at me.
I do the same for the other. When both are wet and taut, I pull myself up a little and start kissing her deeply. My hand snakes down between her thighs and I push two fingers inside her, exploring her depths and priming her for my cock.
Esme shudders against my fingers. Her nails dig into my back. They urge me deeper.
“Artem,” she gasps, as my fingers rub her clit and massage it slowly. “Artem, please… I want you inside me.”
No man can resist those fucking words.
I pull my fingers out of her and replace them with my cock. I slide into her smoothly, but she still gasps from the pressure of being joined with me.
She’s so wet that it hastens my own orgasm, but I want to draw this out. I play with her nipples as I lose myself in her moist depths.
When I feel myself on the brink of coming, I pull out and turn her on her side. Then I press my body against her and enter her from behind. Her ass works against my hips, a steady wind that tests my resistance with each stroke.
I reach over her body and start playing with her clit. She arches her head back into my chest. Her soft, downy hair brushes over my skin as she moans to climax.
Seconds later, I feel little bursts and whimpers as she explodes on my cock.
“Come with me,” she groans.
I let myself go at once, releasing my own orgasm seconds after hers.
Breathing gently, she turns back to face me, with a soft expression on her face.
She says nothing. I don’t, either.
It’s not necessary. Our bodies are doing the talking now.
Esme falls asleep with her hand on my chest. For a long time, I just lie there and stare at her.
The chaos of the Bratva seems a far-off problem, one that I’m becoming less and less inclined to care about.
This, right here… this is what matters now.
My fingers trace the swell of her breasts and then the curve of her stomach.
It feels like, if we stay here in the desert, we might have a chance at something. A future. Happiness. Fuck, I don’t know what to call it.
But something. Something real.
I have one last, hazy thought before my eyes close and I drift off into sleep: is something like that possible for a man like me?
58
Esme Picacho Del Diablo, Mexico
“There it is!”
The porch of the lodge comes into view. Seconds later, the rest of the structure follows.
It’s a slope-roofed building with weathered wood siding. The chimney is leaning over at a precarious angle.
As we drive closer, I see how neglected it is. The structure looks sturdy, but it feels like there’s a layer of dust and mold that’s crept into the foundations.
When Artem parks, we get out of the car and look up at the lodge together.
“Doesn’t look very habitable, does it?” I say, biting my lip in dismay.
“Actually, I think it looks kinda perfect,” Artem tells me.
“Yeah?”
“You were right,” he nods. “This is the perfect place for us to lie low for a while. It’s off the beaten bath and there aren’t any major hiking trails that come this way.”
“There’s also poor cell phone reception,” I point out.
“We’ll manage. The village is only a thirty-minute walk down from here, and it’ll take half that time by car. We can get whatever food and supplies we need from there. And in the meantime, we can clean this place up a bit.”
I purse my lips
