"You can," he says. "And you will."
I sink down onto him, taking him deep, and we both groan at the sensation. This angle is different too. Deeper. More intense.
I start to move. Tentative at first, finding my rhythm. His hands guide me, helping me rise and fall, setting a pace that builds pressure with every motion.
"That's it," he encourages, voice strained. "Just like that. So fucking perfect."
I lean forward, brace my hands on his chest, and ride him harder. Faster. Chasing the pleasure that's building again despite thinking I had nothing left.
His thumb never leaves my clit. Circling. Pressing. Driving me higher.
When I come this time, it's with his name torn from my throat, my body convulsing around him, pleasure crashing through me in waves that seem endless.
He follows immediately after, his hands tightening on my hips, his body arching beneath mine as he comes with a groan that I feel in my bones.
I collapse onto his chest. Both of us gasping. Both covered in sweat. Both trembling with aftershocks.
His arms come around me. Hold me close. His heart pounds beneath my ear, gradually slowing as we both come down from the high.
Neither of us speaks. Words feel unnecessary. Inadequate for what just happened.
His pulse is still racing beneath my ear, he is still inside me, when I realize the truth I've been running from.
I don't want space. I don't want distance. I don't want to be careful or reasonable or any of the things I thought I needed to be.
I want him.
And Maksim. And Zakhar.
All three of them. However that works. Whatever that means.
The revelation should terrify me. Should send me scrambling back behind the walls I've spent years constructing.
Instead, it feels like freedom.
Like finally breathing after years of holding my breath.
25
ZAKHAR
I'm going to kill Robert Morrison.
But first, I'll gouge out his eyes with a spoon. Because his gaze keeps lingering on Victoria's cleavage, traveling the line of her dress with the particular entitlement of men who think money makes them untouchable.
Then I'll cut off his hands. Because they touched her arm for too long when he greeted her, his fingers sliding along skin that doesn't belong to him.
And finally, I'll remove his lips. Because he dared to kiss her hand like some kind of gentleman when we all know he is far from it.
These thoughts loop through my mind while Victoria, Maksim, and Morrison trade pleasantries at the bar lounge of the Windermere Polo Club. We're waiting for our private suite to beready for lunch. The Founder's Suite, naturally. Nothing but the best when you're courting a future senator.
The lounge smells of leather and citrus cologne and old money. Ice clinks in crystal glasses. Low murmurs of wealthy patrons discussing things that matter to wealthy patrons. Through the open terrace doors, I hear the distant thud of hoofbeats from the polo field.
Morrison laughs too loud at whatever Victoria says. The sound grates on my nerves like metal on bone.
I've been avoiding her for a week.
Since the meeting in Maksim's office. Since I learned what happened to her. Since I understood exactly how rough I'd been with her in the security room, how I'd bent her over the desk and spanked her and made her come while my hand circled her throat.
