Hidden Truths: Chapter 15

“Where are we going?” I ask as we’re walking toward the bike.

“You’ll see.” Sergei smirks.

I narrow my eyes at him and reach for the bag he’s carrying. “What’s inside?”

He moves the bag out of my reach. “No peeking.”

“Are we going on a picnic? Did you pack ketchup?”

“We are not going on a fucking picnic.” He straps the bag to the back of his bike and passes me the helmet. “Why would I take you on a picnic?”

“Because girls like that?”

“Bullshit. No girl wants to sit on grass and eat off a plastic plate while trying to shoo away the ants and flies.”

“Well, when you put it that way.” I shrug and get on the bike behind him.

Sergei starts the engine, and I quickly wrap my arms around his waist, clutching him with a mad grip. That first tug when he takes off is the worst. Even after the numerous times he’s taken me for a ride, I still need a couple of minutes to adjust to the idea being on the back of a motorcycle. I can’t help it. The thought that vehicles with two wheels shouldn’t exist won’t leave me. But then, I remember it’s Sergei driving, so I relax and let myself enjoy the adrenaline surge.

I have seen him ride the bike alone. It’s fucking madness. I keep thinking he’ll crash into something. When I saw him doing that idiotic thing on one wheel last week, I almost had a heart attack. He never tries that when I’m with him, though, thank God.

We drive along the highway for about forty minutes before he takes a turn onto a side road, and then to a narrow dirt path leading between the fields. I’m convinced we’re lost when he slows down and parks. There’s nothing around except grass for miles.

“Are we lost?” I ask when I remove my helmet.

“Nope.” He smiles, takes me around the waist, and lifts me off the bike. “Let’s go.”

He unstraps the bag from the back, takes my hand in his free one, and leads me across the field on our right. A hundred yards in, we reach a roughly made wooden table, standing in the middle of nowhere. A bit farther, I notice several metal stands with paddles on each side, placed at varying distances from the table. Practice targets.

“I didn’t know what you liked,” Sergei says and puts the bag onto the table.

I watch with wide eyes as he starts taking out different handguns and lining them on the wooden surface. Two Glocks. A Sig Sauer, smaller model. A Beretta. And two more pistols—I don’t recognize the manufacturer, but they look like military issue.

“Take your pick.” He nods toward the assortment of weapons.

I raise an eyebrow. “You brought me to a shooting practice?”

“It’s better than picnic.” He smiles. “And I want to see you shoot.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You didn’t believe me when I said I know how to use a gun?”

“Of course, I believed you.” He leans down and presses his lips to mine. “But I want to see if you can actually hit something.”

I smile into his lips. “Okay.”

He turns me around to face the table and stands behind me. “How about the Sig? That one would be the easiest for you to use. Do you know how to turn the safety off?”

He’s so sweet. “I don’t like Sigs.” I reach out and take the Glock 19. It’s relatively light and has a dual recoil system. I check the magazine. “I’ll do a round of six. And then you. We’ll see who’ll end up with more hits.”

Sergei bursts out laughing. “Deal.”

The first target is rather close, so I decide to go for the second one. Coming around the table, I lift the gun and aim for the top left paddle. My first shot is a hit. I make the next three too, then miss with the fifth one. Crap. The sixth one strikes true. I put the safety on, lower the gun, and turn around to find Sergei gaping at me.

“Well, it looks like I managed to hit something, huh?” I smirk.

He stares at me for a few heartbeats, then grabs me around the waist so suddenly, the gun falls from my hand. Lifting me up, he plasters me to his body and our mouths collide.

Violent, desperate kisses, then . . . “There is nothing sexier than a girl who knows how to handle a gun.” He takes my lower lip between his teeth, biting it lightly. “When did you learn to shoot?”

“Dad started teaching me when I was eleven.” I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my hands in his blond strands. He has the most beautiful hair I have ever seen. “Now you.”

Sergei laughs and puts me down on the ground. He reaches for one of the guns I didn’t recognize. While he’s checking it, I walk around him to stand at his back. I wait until he lifts the weapon to take aim, then place my hands on his hips. Slowly I glide my hands along the waistband of his jeans to the front, then lower until my palms rest over his crotch.

“Angelina?” He looks over his shoulder at me. “What are you doing?”

“Didn’t they train you to work under duress?” I smile and massage his dick through his jeans.

A corner of his mouth lifts. He looks back at the target and sends the bullet flying. It’s a hit. I need to up my game. I press my breasts to his back, undo the jeans’ button and lower his zipper. He shoots again. Another hit. Damn. I slide my hand inside.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had sex in a field,” I say and take out his cock, stroking it, enjoying the way it instantly gets hard. A shot rings out. I look up at the target. “Oh. Looks like you missed that one, baby. Am I distracting you?”

“No,” comes his clipped answer.

“It’s okay. It can happen to anyone.” I duck under his raised arm and stand in front of him. Another shot rings out, but I don’t turn to check to see where it landed. Instead, I drop to my knees and lick the tip of his cock.

Sergei groans.

“Don’t mind me. Please proceed.” I grip his now fully erect cock with my right hand, stroking him while my left hand slides under his shirt.

Whispered grumbling. Another shot, followed by a stream of Russian curses. I smile and lick his cock again. There is a thump in the grass next to me where Sergei throws his gun, and the next moment, I find myself lying on the ground with his body over mine.

“You little trickster.” He bites at my chin while his hands are fumbling with my shorts. “Three misses out of five. Don’t you dare tell anyone.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” I say, then gasp when his finger slides inside me.

He circles my clit with his thumb while his finger thrusts even deeper, and I feel my wetness spilling all over his hand. My back arches when he slides in another finger, stretching my walls, and I almost come, but the devil abruptly removes his hand.

“I have an amazing idea I’d like to discuss,” he whispers next to my ear, then bites my earlobe.

“Now?” I snap and grab his cock. “The only discussion that’s going to happen at this moment is between your dick and my pussy.”

Sergei’s arm wraps around my waist, and he rolls us until he’s beneath me, with my body draped over his chest. I straddle him, positioning myself above his hard length, and slowly lower my body until I take him all in.

“How do you feel about getting a tattoo?” he asks and grabs my butt cheeks.

“Not happening,” I breathe out as I ride him.

“It can be a small one.” He squeezes my ass and lifts me up, holding me above his cock. “I’ll teach you to shoot a sniper rifle in exchange.”

His pale blue eyes watch me with a mischievous glint. I reach out and stroke his jawline with my finger. “And what would you like me to tattoo on myself, you maniac?”

Sergei’s lips widen in a smile, and the next instant he slams me down onto his cock. I gasp, and bite my lower lip when he starts thrusting up into me.

“Nothing special,” he says, quickening the tempo, “just a couple of words.”

I throw my head back and enjoy the feel of him pounding into me from below. Sergei’s hands slide under my shirt and rise to squeeze my breasts. I look down at him and run my hands up his corded arms, feeling his muscles bunch beneath my fingertips. “Which words?”

Sergei grins. My God, he is so beautiful. I hope I’ll never see that vacant look in his eyes ever again. He slams into me again, and I scream as I come, but keep rocking my hips, riding the orgasm until I sag onto his chest. He moves his hands to my hips to hold me while he continues to thrust into me at a punishing pace. After a few more hard strokes he finds his release.

I cross my arms over his chest and place my chin on my hands, watching him. His eyes are closed, his breathing labored. He hasn’t answered my question, but I adore the absolute bliss I see on his face.

“What words do you want me to tattoo, Sergei?”

He opens one eye. “Does it matter?”

“Of course, it matters.” I scrunch my nose at him and shake my head.

“I was thinking something along the lines of Prinadlezhit Sergeyu Belovu.” He closes his eye again. “On your lower back. What do you think?”

I gape at him, but once I’m over the shock, I blurt out, “You’re not branding me as your possession.”

“Why?”

Why? I snort. “Would you ink Prinadlezhit Angeline Sandoval on your body?”

“Sure. Why not.” He shrugs, then opens his eyes to look at me.

I stare at him. He’s serious. A warm feeling explodes inside my chest, spreading until it fills my whole body. Pulling myself up so my head is right above his, I bend to whisper into his ear.

“Alright,” I say, “but you’ll do it first.”

“Deal,” he growls, grabs me at the back of my neck, and claims my mouth.