“Do you like touching yourself?” he asked hoarsely.

“Sometimes,” she whispered, as he placed a finger at her entrance.

“When do you touch yourself?” He slowly started to slide one finger inside her up to his knuckle.

She whimpered.

He pulled his finger out, and paused. “When do you touch yourself?” he repeated.

“When I’m alone,” she said. “When I’m in the shower. When I’m thinking about you.” It was true, and she felt brave and sexy telling him. Saying the words out loud.

He slid two fingers into her, and her head fell back in submission to the waves of need pulsing through her. “When you’re touching yourself, what do you imagine I’m doing to you?” He reached down again and started tonguing her clit again. Heat spiked through her spine.

“I’m going to come!” she said, surrendering her body to the familiar tipping point.

But he stopped. “No, you can’t come until you’ve told me what I’m doing to you when you’re masturbating. I want to know.”

Desperate for her release, desperate to have him inside her, she gave in. “I close my eyes and think of passing you in the street. We look at each other but don’t say anything. You push me into an alley and hitch up my skirt so if anyone was walking by, they’d see us, and you’d shove your hand in my panties and stroke me until I came.”

“I can do that. Do you like the idea of being caught, of being watched?” He stood, knelt on the bed, picking her up and laying her on the bed.

“Yes,” she choked out, almost but not quite embarrassed. If she was going to give herself to David, for one night, or two, or maybe forever, she may as well expose herself totally to him.

He wrapped his hand around her neck in such a way that it was almost dangerous, almost brutal. He kissed her hard on the mouth, his tongue dominating hers, but she felt only desire for him. Already, this was so much better than her fantasies.

She opened her legs, begging for his touch, and he slipped his hand there as if it had belonged there their whole lives. It probably had.

He stroked her, using her lubrication to dance his fingers around her clit, and smooth across her ass. He pressed for admittance, and she returned the pressure. He seemed to laugh to himself a little as he moved back to her clit.

“The good thing is, I like watching.” He ran a finger around one of her nipples.

But she couldn’t take that much more. “Please. Please I want you so badly, David. I need you inside me. I’ve waited…”

At her words, his dick elevated even farther. “Your wish…” he said, grabbing his pants and taking out a condom.

He knelt again between her legs and drew her thighs over his. He rested his dick at her entrance. “You know what’s good about this? I get to watch you take my dick inside you.” He pressed against her until she felt the tip of him inside her. “I get to watch your pussy open for me, your clit beg for me.”

At his forceful words, she nearly came, attaining a plateau of need higher than she’d ever felt before.

He kneeled up and started thrusting inside her, hard, fast. It hurt, but in an amazing way. With every thrust he groaned as if she were bringing him to life. She watched the expression on his face change into one of blind, out-of-control need. Seeing her look at him, he licked his finger and pressed against her clitoris, dragging it with every thrust.

Heat splayed across her belly and up to her breasts, and she instinctively cupped them in her hands. As he thrust, his gaze rested on her hands. He liked to watch, did he? As excitement took her conscious movements, she removed her hands, except for her fingers. She played with her own nipples, pinching and twisting them, igniting a blaze of fire that jagged into her, taking her to her climax. The pressure on her clit increased with his thrusts and exploded in her spine, causing her to groan as it pulsed through her.

David took two more thrusts and groaned, “Molly,” as he closed his eyes and tipped his head down, taking heavy breaths.

Sweet Jesus. She never imagined it would be like that. How could she let him go now, knowing that he could do that to her? Knowing he could lift her to a level of need she’d never, ever felt.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She felt his fingers lightly stroking her sides, almost tickling. His touch flickered over her nipples again, puckering them again.

“You’re so beautiful. And you have a filthy mind,” David said smiling. “I love that.” His fingers drifted south until they were touching her clit again, so lightly. She took a jagged breath as he held the condom on as he withdrew from her.

He went to the bathroom and suddenly she felt vulnerable. Was that it? Was it once and done for him? What was she thinking about? She’d told him that this was all she wanted. But that was before… She should have kept her mouth shut. Molly. Get a grip. He’s said that he’s not reliable, or at least not ready yet. She looked for the edge of the sheet so she could cover herself.

David emerged almost immediately and paused. “Don’t hide yourself from me. I want to see you. All of you. Always.”

Always? Maybe this wasn’t over for him. She pulled back the sheet and lay back down.

He lay on top of the bed next to her and swung over onto one elbow. “I fantasized too. But it didn’t come close to the reality of touching you.” His hand tracked down her side to her hip. “Of fucking you.”

Her breath hitched, and he smiled a very smug, confident smile. He was a god in bed. It was like he knew everything about her, every place to touch her, everything that would get a response from her. He dragged her against him and draped a leg over hers.

She closed her eyes, satiated, safe, and protected.

After about ten minutes, Molly moved. She couldn’t bear to be still. Crazy because she’d been dreaming of post-sex euphoria with David for months. And she wanted to stay wrapped in his arms, basking in the wickedness he’d brought out in her. But she was also antsy. Restless. The visit from the Russian had shaken her, and all she really wanted to do was switch on the television and see CNN announcing that the authorities had caught the person responsible for Dr. Doubrov’s death.

She rolled over the bed and reached for the remote and proceeded to punch the buttons until the familiar CNN logo showed up. What she saw made her bolt upright. Rolling text on the screen below footage of a burning storefront said, “Anarchists cause mayhem in Greek capital with G20 leaders’ meeting just weeks away. Russians blame America for assassination of Minister Doubrov.” Her heart started racing as she tried to figure out what it meant.

“David. Look.” She hit his leg, eyes still on the rolling text of doom.

“I see it.” He was already sitting up next to her, and she hadn’t noticed. They listened to the CNN anchor’s measured tones explaining that the burning store was a Russian business, and that Moscow had insisted that Athens close down until the authorities found those responsible for what they called “a western-sponsored attack on the people of Russia.”

Molly whimpered. Literally a whimper came out of her mouth. She stretched her fingers out, trying to get rid of the numb coldness that had settled there in the previous few minutes. They shook.

David wrapped a warm arm around her and tucked the duvet around her. “Stay there. Keep warm and let me make a few phone calls.” His calm, low voice reassured her.

Slightly.

David stepped out on to his small balcony and called Mal, because who else? He seemed to always have his ear to the scuttlebutt, no matter where it came from. He called it bullshit filtering.

“S’up.” Mal answered with.

“I just saw the news. Is Russia stirring the pot, or is…”

“Is your country actually plotting the downfall of Russia?”

David used a visualizing technique he learned in therapy and imagined himself kicking Mal shitless.