Chapter 12

Isaak stared out of the bus window as they were driven up the hill, and then his eyes fixed on a woman having her portrait done. People spoke words that he didn’t understand, but it was exciting. His legs ached, and he was hot and hungry, but he was hoisted onto male shoulders as they climbed steps, and he had never felt more happy or safe than he did now.

“What do you see, Isaak?” a male voice asked and he looked out at the lights of a strange city yet he felt at home.

The taste of sweet crepe was a rare treat, and he held it on his tongue and tried to resist the urge to just swallow the whole thing down.

He could hear his mother laughing and happy, but in a moment, it all changed to tears. Sobbing, terrified tears that were starting to wake Roman. He wanted to get to his mother, to beg the bastard to stop, but he knew that would only enrage him further. The best he could do was to stop him coming in here for Roman’s tears angered him so. Isaak lifted his whimpering brother from the shallow wooden crib and held him, trying to quell his own panic and not scare his brother, telling him to hush that it would all be okay while not believing his own words.

Kate opened her eyes as Isaak jolted and then lay there quietly as his galloping heart slowed down. She guessed he would not appreciate her knowing he was coming out of a nightmare.

It did not surprise her—often in her work, people told her they had very vivid dreams as they started to unearth their past.

It had been vivid. Isaak had actually felt as if he were back there for a moment.

The feel of Kate in his arms brought comfort, and he buried his face in her hair as the vague scent of neroli chased away the stale alcohol smell of the family home, and Isaak slipped back into sleep as his body awoke to her.

Kate watched. One hand was on her arm but the other moved down his stomach. Her throat was tight as he slid it into his hipsters and rearranged his cock.

She lay there staring at the outline as Isaak stirred to get comfortable, his hand came to rest on her breast that had again slipped out of its lacy confines.

Even asleep he seduced—his hands idly stroked her soft flesh. Soft flesh that now felt heavy to Kate and she watched as the head of his cock nudged its way out of the hipsters, inching its way up Isaak’s flat stomach.

She lay watching, fascinated. Warmth spread in her sex as Isaak’s hand left her breast and his palm circled the head for a moment before giving his cock two long slow strokes through the fabric, then his hands slipped in.

She heard him swear softly in Russian as he started to properly wake and his hand moved out and came to rest on his stomach.

Kate wanted it to return.

She could hear his tense breathing, and his hand on her hip pressed in a little as his mouth moved across her curls, and he inhaled them again and then with a soft sigh indulgence won and the hand on his stomach answered his body’s call.

She was unbelievably turned on, almost as turned on as she had been when his mouth had been exploring her.

He slid down his hipsters enough that it sprung up and Kate fought from licking her lips, and she fought, too, the urge to touch it, instead just watching the erotic beauty of Isaak caressing himself and she lay there silently gazing as he gave it two long slow pulls and then again ran his palm over the head, and still it grew. But then he halted, pulling his hipsters ups, but that could not cover it. She felt him try to untangle from her but Kate did not simply roll away.

“I’ll be back,” Isaak said.

“Stay.”

“Kate…” He didn’t even try to explain where he had been heading off to, instead Isaak lay in a rather uncomfortable situation, hoping she wouldn’t notice, or just that it would go down. Yet he could feel her eyelashes on his chest and the trip of her breathing, and he realised that she, too, was turned on, and then she pulled her head back and he saw the glitter of her eyes.

“Show me…”

“Kate.”

“Show me what you’d do if I wasn’t here.”

“If you were not here then I would not be in this situation,” Isaak said, because it was the turn of her to his body and the scent of her that had him aching with arousal.

“Please.”

He had said she should not be ashamed of something so natural, and so it was time to walk the talk. In fact, for Isaak it was an incredible turn-on knowing she was watching and that she was near.

She watched his hand move down and he stroked himself through his hipsters. “First up, I would not be wearing these.”

He slid them down and in an impressive move, kicked them off and then he lifted her chin, and his mouth searched hers. “I’m so turned on,” he said, his mouth seeking hers, kissing her with a frantic edge, and as his hand left her face, she terminated the kiss, turning her head to see.

Her leg moved over his thigh as he stroked himself, her lips parted and she could feel the hair on his chest tickling her lips. She wanted to kiss his chest yet she wanted to watch. Briefly, she tasted one flat nipple, and the sound of him moaning his approval as she sucked and licked had a pulse quivering between her legs, and so she sucked more. She liked the salty taste of him and the scent of him—the sensual sexy scent of him—and the sound of his hand and the feel of his tension building.

His other hand moved from the curve of her hip, roaming her buttock as her own hand moved to his stomach, trailing the snake of hair.

“Feel,” Isaak said halting, and she ran her fingers down his thick length and tried to imagine how she would ever get that inside, yet it felt alive—both hard and silk, and slowly she stroked it.

He wanted to tell her to go harder, faster, yet he was locked in the bliss of her tentative hand on him and her slight startle as he started to drizzle pre-come.

He turned and kissed her, and Kate felt his hand close over hers as his kiss deepened. How badly she wanted to see, yet she was locked in his kiss, a deep sexy kiss that felt as if he was swallowing her, his tongue taking her mind to between her legs as he turned to his side. Her leg moved over his thigh and she could feel him, stroking himself against her, and she pulled back a fraction.

“I won’t,” Isaak breathed then returned to deep kisses. Kate was kissing him back but she wanted to correct him, for she knew that he could. She was open to the cock nudging at her entrance. She was trying to push down, to offer consent, to beg him to fill her, as Isaak resisted from doing just that, and then there was a low carnal moan from him that finished her and she arched in his arms, hot, sweating, alarmed by the intensity of her orgasm and the sudden still of Isaak. Even his tongue paused, and then he moaned again deep into her mouth, and she felt the jerk of him, the hot pulse of him showering her sex, and her receding come gathered and crashed back again as he stroked the last drops over her.

“Isaak…” She didn’t know how to say how badly she’d wanted it, she just lay there, hot, sated, breathless as he massaged it in, and she lay there, eyes closed in pleasure as his fingers explored her, warm and wet from their intimate spilling, and she knew—Kate just knew—that soon they’d be lovers.

It was what she wanted, Kate told herself as she lay in his arms.

Yet why was she trying not to cry?