Tamsin Beech Ch. 14: Portsmouth

"You only have to move away," Phoebe reasoned. But as she continued to thrust her ass against him, Leonid made no effort whatsoever to step back. He released her arm and placed that hand too against the wall, letting out a soft moan of contentment.

Why did men have to be led? Why couldn't they just admit what they wanted? Losing her patience, Phoebe turned and slid her hand around the back of Leonid's neck.

"We can't. Last night was a mistake Phoebe."

"Like hell it was," she pulled Leonid's face down to hers as his mouth opened to her tongue. As she teased, she felt his hands come up and curve around her waist. His strong fingers spread against her through the layers of her clothes.

"One of us should be keeping watch ..."

Pressing her body against his, Phoebe forced the Russian back. Towards where her sleeping bag and blanket lay crumpled in the corner of the room, "No-one will ken Leo," she whispered, "I want ye."

"But Tamsin ..."

"Tamsin's no' here," Phoebe knew what they were doing was wrong, but could already feel Leonid's erection straining at the front of his canvas trousers . So knew that his protestations were purely for show. She pushed his jacket off his shoulders - letting it fall to the floor, and wound her fingers into his thick, blond hair.

Leonid groaned, his hips jerking forward as his head tilted back. Aching furiously with the need for sex, Phoebe lunged forward again, stretching up to kiss his throat and neck as forcefully as she had his mouth. She felt an extraordinary desire to nibble, and did so, sucking on his skin as her teeth closed and nipped.

Leonid simply groaned again.

"Get it out!" she ordered.

"What? G-get what out?" he stammered.

"Yer cock ferfucksake! Don't pretend yer shy after last night Major Denisovich. Get your cock out. I want to see it."

Looking her in the eye, Leonid obeyed. Unfastening his belt and the laces of his trousers as slowly as he could manage.

Phoebe licked her lips. She'd played back the events of the previous night in her head all day long. Remembering how Leonid's weight had felt on her, how his fingers, tongue and cock had felt inside her as he'd explored. Wondering, hoping, if there would ever be opportunity for a second helping. Tamsin might return to Fort George at any time. And when she did her tall Russian partner would be strictly off limits.

It was just as big and sturdy as she remembered. The shaft thick and veiny, the glans slippery, ruddy and swollen, gleaming in the firelight.

"Don't just fuckin' stand there," Phoebe hissed. She edged backwards and dropped to her grimy sleeping bag, on all fours. Leonid needed no more prompting. Cock swaying, he knelt down, grabbed the waistband of Phoebe's sealskin trousers and began skinning them down her legs.

Phoebe dragged up her base layers and clasped her own breasts through her threadbare sports bra. Her nipples were already hard as pebbles, "Hurry!" she gasped, "get inside me."

To be sure, she'd had comparatively little experience. But Phoebe could never remember wanting a fuck so much in her whole life. Impatient, she dragged down her panties, then reached back for Leonid's erection to pull it towards her.

Clutching her hips, Leonid allowed Phoebe to position him just as she wanted.

"What are ye waitin' fer?"

Leonid pushed inside her with one easy thrust. Stretching her. Filling her. And it was Phoebe's turn to groan. Penetrated, she reached down to stroke her clitoris ...

... and Leonid froze.

"Don't stop," Phoebe panted.

"Ssh. I heard something."

"Probably just the wind. Or snow fallin' off the trees."

Somewhere below them on the hotel's ground floor, something creaked. Not Leonid's imagination. They'd both heard it.

Something or someone was down there moving about.

He quickly withdraw from her and awkwardly tucked his cock back in his trousers, then snatched up his AK12. Muttering her frustration, Phoebe lay on her back and lifted her hips to pull her own trousers back up.

Probably some wild animal she thought. It wouldn't be the first time she'd discovered foxes, badgers or even wolves living in an old abandoned building. They'd creep downstairs, find out what it was and have a good laugh about it.

But the mood had been spoilt. Spontaneous sex was the best kind. If they came back into the room in ten minutes expecting to carry on where they'd left off, Phoebe guessed it would be awkward and about as arousing as watching Finlayson shower.

Another creak sounded. Closer this time.

Phoebe picked up her holster and drew her handgun. If it turned out to be a squirrel, the little bastard was in deep shit ...

BOOM!

The door exploded into splinters as a shotgun blast tore a gaping hole through it. Fortunately Leonid was standing far enough back to be hit only by fragments of wood. Whoever it was outside most certainly wasn't a squirrel.

He thumbed the AK to auto and opened fire.

TAKATAKATAK!

A scream, followed by the sound of a body hitting the floor out in the corridor. Then shouts and the sound of more running footsteps.

Leonid glanced back at Phoebe. Could she handle this? Or would she panic? The young woman had been in the thick of it on Lindisfarne. But that had been against disciplined Coalition troops. With rules and procedures. If the enemy they were facing here was who he feared it was ...

The first Reiver through the shattered door took two rounds in the chest and still carried on into the room, swinging an enormous axe. As Leonid dodged, Phoebe shot him in the side of the head. The impact of his body hitting the floor shook the room.

Two more. One charging with a vicious looking halberd, grinned hungrily at Phoebe with filed teeth and a necklace of human finger bones. The second staying low with another shotgun.

BLAM!

Phoebe hit the halberd Reiver in the neck. Her aim was off. Her mother had told her and told her to always go for the torso. Easy when your hands weren't shaking so much they could barely grip the gun.

BOOM!

Leonid realised what was coming and dove to one side. A moment too late. Shot strafed his shoulder and one side of his face. He rolled and shot wildly back at where he guessed the doorway might be. Shotgun Reiver slammed back into the wall of the corridor outside.

"Y-ye okay Leo?" Phoebe called concerned from across the room.

No he wasn't. He could no longer see out of one eye and his face stung like it was on fire, "Da. I'll be fine. Stay back from the door."

How the fuck had the Reivers found them? Had it been Phoebe's shouting? If they'd turned up a minute later Leonid doubted they'd have heard them at all, "I'm going to take a look," he whispered, "we need to know how many more we're dealing with."

If only one or two Reivers remained, they might be able to finish what they'd started. If there were more, they needed to find a way out, and fast. Phoebe wasn't a born fighter. And it was clear she was terrified.

"B-be careful Leo."

Leonid Denisovich looked Phoebe in the eye and nodded. Then sighting down the AK's barrel he crept out through the ruined door.

The Reiver waiting outside in the shadows had managed to be curiously stealthy for his size. Leonid was dimly aware of movement. A dark blur in the corner of his one good eye. Then the bones of both his wrists were smashed by the Reiver's enormous studded club swinging down.

He collapsed to the floor in more pain than he'd ever thought possible, "PH-PHOEBE! RUN! DON'T LET THEM CATCH Y ..."

Phoebe guessed what the wet, cracking sound that followed might be. Much like the sound of an egg being dropped on a flagstoned floor, signifying that Major Leonid Denisovich, was dead.

Fighting down panic, she blasted away. Shot after shot after shot at the rotten timbers covering the window. If she could make a hole, she could get out onto the roof. Or drop down into the street and get away under cover of darkness.

Leonid was dead.

Phoebe wrenched at the timbers with her bare hands, making her fingernails bleed, frantic. Why the fuck wouldn't the timbers just break? She sensed movement behind her.

Both Hamnavoe and her mother had told her time and time again. Always keep one round back. If all else had failed and capture by Reivers was a distinct possibility that round would be the most blessed, valuable thing on the planet. Always keep one round back.

Sick with fear of what she might see, Phoebe turned slowly to face the room. At least five or six Reivers were crowding in through what was left of the doorway. Maybe more. Wearing their thick armour made from old tyres and vehicle panelling. With their vicious handmade weapons. Their tattoos, filed teeth and shaven heads. Their necklaces of bones and ever present stink of rotting flesh.

Phoebe was shaking. Physically trembling so badly she could barely raise the Grach to press the barrel up under her chin.

They weren't going to take her alive. She glared defiantly at the Reivers, "Not today fuckers," and squeezed the trigger ...

CLICK!

COMING SOON ... CHAPTER FIFTEEN: CROMARTY