I Saved the Man He Shot, So the Mob Boss Kept Me novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: The Butcher Block

At three in the morning Lena starts it in the kitchen and takes his mouth on the butcher block; his phone lights with a demand for the nurse.

I had his sweater halfway up his chest before the kettle clicked off.

It was three in the morning on Sunday.

The doctor had come and gone, and Hugh Cullen had slept two full hours with his numbers steady.

I had been awake since Friday morning.

I had not stopped shaking since Friday night.

Nikos stood in his own kitchen with his hands at his sides and let me do it.

"Arms up," I said.

He raised them, and I pulled the sweater over his head and dropped it on the floor.

Under it he was broad and dark-haired and heavy with muscle.

An old white scar ran along his ribs, and a plain gold cross hung on a chain.

I put both my palms flat on his chest.

He was so warm that I leaned in without meaning to.

"Lena," he said. "You've been up two days."

"I know how long I've been up."

"I don't want you doing this because you're tired."

"I'm doing it because you're standing there," I said, "and I want to."

I unbuttoned my fleece and let it slide off my shoulders.

I pulled my scrub top over my head.

I stood in front of him in my bra, in the yellow light over the stove.

He looked at me for a long moment.

Then he made a sound I felt in my knees.

"Come here," he said.

He took me by the waist.

His hands went all the way around it, thumbs meeting over my navel.

He lifted me and set me on the edge of the butcher block that ran down the middle of the kitchen.

The wood was cold through my scrub pants.

He stood between my knees, so tall that my face came level with his collarbone even sitting up on the block.

He put his mouth under my ear.

"Tell me what you want," he said.

"Your mouth."

"Where?"

"You know where," I said.

"Say it. I like hearing it."

"On my pussy," I said. "Please."

He made that sound again.

He kissed me first, slowly, with his hand tight in my hair.

I opened to him and pulled him in by the belt.

Then he kissed down my throat and over my collarbone.

He pushed one cup of my bra aside with his thumb and took my nipple into his mouth.

I gasped and put both hands in his hair.

He sucked hard, and then softer, and his other hand slid up the inside of my thigh.

"Take these off," he said against my breast.

I lifted my hips.

He drew my pants and my underwear down my legs together and let them fall.

I sat bare on the butcher block with my heels hooked on his belt.

He stepped back and looked at me.

"Look at you," he said.

I was five foot two and he was six foot four, and I felt every inch of that.

"You're going to do something about it," I said.

"I'm going to do a lot of things."

He went down on his knees on the tile.

Even kneeling, his head came up to my ribs.

He put his big hands on my thighs and opened them wide.

I leaned back on my elbows on the wood.

He kissed the inside of one knee, then the other.

He worked slowly upward, kissing and biting a little, and I watched his dark head move between my legs.

"Nikos."

"Patience."

"I don't have any," I said.

"I know," he said, and put his mouth on me.

The first long lick went from my entrance all the way up to my clit.

My whole body arched.

He did it again, flat and slow, with the broad of his tongue.

I made a noise I had never made in front of anyone.

His shoulders were between my knees and I could not have closed them if I tried.

He held my hips down with both hands, and he stayed exactly where I needed him.

"Right there," I said. "God, right there."

"Good girl."

I had not known I wanted to be told that.

I did, and the heat of it went straight down my spine.

He closed his lips around my clit and sucked.

His tongue flicked it quick and light, and my heels dug into his back.

"Too much?" he asked, lifting his head.

His mouth was wet and his eyes were black.

"No," I said. "More. Don't stop."

He gave me more.

He slid both hands under my ass and lifted my hips off the wood.

He did it with no effort at all, and he held me up against his mouth with my legs hanging over his shoulders.

I had never been held up like that, with all my weight in a man's hands.

It was the biggest thing I had ever felt, and it made me wet and wild.

"Nikos," I said. "Nikos, don't put me down."

"I wasn't going to."

He licked into me, deep and slow, and groaned at the taste.

"You're so sweet," he said, rough and low. "You have no idea. I could stay here all night."

"Then stay."

"Tell me you like it."

"I love it," I said. "I love your mouth. Don't stop, please, don't stop."

"I'm not stopping until you scream."

He kept his word.

He slid one thick finger inside me while his mouth worked, and then a second.

He curled them up against the place inside me that turned my vision white.

"Oh, fuck," I said. "Oh, fuck, Nikos."

He groaned into me, and I felt it everywhere.

I got one hand into his hair and held him against me.

I rocked up against his face, shameless, the edge of the wood hard under my thighs.

He took what I gave him and gave back more.

The tension climbed up my legs and into my stomach and tightened until I could not hold it.

"Come for me," he said roughly, against my skin. "Let me hear you."

I came with a cry that echoed off the tile.

My thighs clamped around his head and my back left the wood.

He kept his mouth on me through every pulse of it, gentler and gentler.

I fell back shaking and could not move.

He did not let me go.

He lifted his head, wet-mouthed, and looked up the length of my body.

"Again," he said.

"I can't."

"You can. I've barely started."

He put his mouth back on me, softer now.

His tongue was lazy over the swollen, over-sensitive flesh, and I cried out and tried to close my knees.

He pushed them wide with his shoulders and held them there.

"Nikos, I can't," I said. "It's too sensitive."

"You can," he said into me. "I want one more. Give it to me."

His fingers went back inside, slow and deep.

His thumb pressed the top of my clit while his tongue worked underneath it.

The second one came so fast it startled me.

It rolled through me in one long wave.

I bit my own wrist to keep from screaming, and he drank every shudder.

When he finally eased back, my legs hung off the butcher block and would not do what I told them.

For a while the only sound in the kitchen was the two of us breathing.

He rested his cheek on my inner thigh.

His hand stroked up and down my leg.

"You're still shaking," he said, and his voice was rough.

"I know."

"It's a different kind."

"Yes," I said, and it was.

I sat up with a dizzy lurch and reached for him.

He was still in his jeans, and he was hard under them, thick against the zipper.

When I put my hand on him he went rigid.

"You don't have to," he said.

"Stand up."

He stood.

I undid his belt, then the button, then the zipper, and I took him out.

He was thick and long, bigger than my hand could manage.

My fingers did not close around him all the way.

I looked down and laughed, low and delighted, and he said, "Lena," half a warning.

"Don't be careful," I said.

"I'm not going to fuck you tonight. You're dead on your feet."

"Then I'll use my hand."

I slid it down his length slowly and back up, and felt him jump in my grip.

He put one fist on the butcher block beside my hip, and his head went down.

"Like that?" I asked.

"Just like that."

I twisted my wrist at the head and found out he liked it.

He swore in Greek, and I did it again.

I worked him with one hand and kept the other flat on his stomach.

The muscle jumped under my palm, and his breath came harsh.

"Tell me what you want," I said.

"Your mouth on mine."

I pulled his head down and kissed him.

He came apart in my hand with a ragged sound against my lips.

It ran hot over my fingers and my wrist, and he shook with it.

I kept stroking him through the end, until he caught my hand and held it still.

He rested his forehead against mine.

"I don't mind," I whispered. "That's what scares me. How little I mind."

I had expected him to tell me it was all right, that it was shock, that I would feel differently in the morning.

He did not say anything like that.

"I won't tell you it's okay," he said finally. "I'll just stay here."

"That's better."

"I thought so."

He found a dish towel and wiped my hand with his big careful fingers.

Then he wiped the rest of me, with great seriousness, until I started to laugh again.

On the butcher block his phone lit up and buzzed against the wood.

He glanced down and read it, and I watched his jaw go hard.

"Who is it?" I asked.

He turned the screen to me.

It was a number with no name.

Bring the nurse to the hall Monday, it said, or we come for her.

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