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A five star hotel in Casablanca. A lazily rotating ceiling fan. White sheets, white bed hangings, white curtains, and Gaby, dark hair and darker eyes and skin like honey.They hadn’t slept at all last night - unless Illya was dreaming, had been dreaming, was dreaming still.Illya traced every inch of Gaby’s body, with his hands and with his mouth, mapping out the dark bruises from the fight in the bazaar, their flight from Rabat. (He gave her fresh bruises, love marks on her neck and breasts that she begged for.) He learned what places made her gasp his name and which made her practically purr, body turning as supple as silk in his arms.She’d ridden his face, gripping the headboard and taking her pleasure from his mouth, until his jaw ached, until his face was slick and all he could taste was her.She opened her legs to him, guiding him inside, told him harder and faster and cried his name as he moved in her.Between rounds, he nuzzled her skin, drunk on the taste, the scent of her.“You taste even better...” he murmured.“Even better than what?” Gaby asked, and he started. He hadn’t realize that he’d spoken aloud.He shook his head.Gaby pushed him gently, asking him to roll onto his back. He did, and then she straddled him, settling herself across his hips, his half-hard cock notched against her pussy.“Illya,” she said, warningly, and rocked. His cock plumped, and she dragged her cunt along it. Illya’s eyes almost rolled back in his head. The tickle of her pubic hair, the wet warmth of her pussy-He put his hands on her hips, shifted to get inside her. She didn’t let him, grinding down harder on his length. He moaned.“Illya, tell me,” Gaby demanded.“I thought about us, about us being… intimate,” he blushed, hotly.“Oh?” Gaby looked down at him imperiously. She dragged her fingernails through the hair that dusted his pecs, across the smooth skin of his abdomen. “Go on.”“I thought about kissing you between your legs,” he admitted. She shifted.“I thought about being inside you,” he continued, at the same time she lifted her hips and took him. She was hot and wet and impossibly tight.He groaned, his fingers spasming on her hips.“What else?” Gaby prodded, riding him. And Illya, the KGB’s best, told her everything, all the details of his fantasies spilling like state secrets.Gaby flushed pink at his words, across her cheeks, all the way down her chest.“I’m sorry,” he managed at the end. He couldn’t untangle the humiliation and lust in his chest.“For what?” Gaby asked, and dismounted. He was still hard, his cock shiny with her slick, slapping against his belly as Gaby pulled away.Illya pushed himself up on his elbows, reached for her.She moved lower on the bed and it wasn’t until she ducked her head and licked up the length of his cock, from root to tip, that he realized her intent.She looked up at him, coquettish, and, not looking away from him, she took the head of his cock into her mouth and sucked. Illya’s back bowed and then he forced himself still.“I’ll be good,” he promised, not realizing he was speaking russian until he heard the words.“Ya znayu,” Gaby replied, pulling off just enough to speak. And then she lowered her head again.She teased the sensitive tip of his cock, and then ducked her head down to take more, caressing him with her tongue as she rose. The air cooled where she had just been, the heat and the caress of chill tearing at his self control.Gaby had one hand on his thigh, a reminder to behave, and with the other she cupped his balls, sending heat flaring up his spine, and then she fisted the base of his cock, working the part she couldn’t manage to get into her mouth.It took every scrap of control not to buck up.With a shaking hand, Illya reached out, gathered up as much of her hair as he could. He wanted to see. He watched as Gaby serviced him, her lips puffy and stretched around him.It was so exquisitely good that Illya didn’t realize he was going to come until he was, until his hips lifted and his spunk spurted into Gaby’s mouth. She didn’t swallow; she let him drip across her lips as she lifted her head, scrubbed the back of her hand across her mouth.With shaking arms, Illya pulled her to him, kissed her, deep and filthy. He sucked at her tongue and her lips, kissed away the bitter taste of his come. He was trembling. Gaby carded her hand through his sweat-soaked hair, brushed her fingers along the scar on his temple, and then, with a satisfied little sigh, she laid her head on his shoulder.