I ignore her.
The second orgasm hits before she’s recovered from the first. Smaller, harder, wrenched out of her oversensitive body while she sobs and tries to push me away. I pin her hips to the couch and keep going, keep licking, keep fucking her with my fingers until she’s incoherent.
“One more.” I pull back just long enough to look at her face. Wrecked. Ruined. Exactly how I want her. “You’re going to give me one more.”
“I can’t—”
“You can.” I thrust my fingers deep and watch her whole body jerk. “And you will. Because I told you to.”
She’s crying now, actual tears, not just watery eyes. Her mascara is running down her cheeks and her lips are swollen from biting them and she looks absolutely destroyed.
Beautiful.
I drop back between her thighs and eat her pussy like it’s the last meal I’ll ever have.
She screams. Fights me. Begs me to stop. But she doesn’t say red, doesn’t say the one word that would actually make me stop.
The third orgasm takes everything she has.
She goes silent when it hits. Mouth open, back arched, frozen in place while her cunt pulses around my fingers in waves that seem to go on forever. Then she collapses, completely boneless, breathing in ragged gasps while I gently pull my fingers out of her and lick them.
I sit back and look at what I’ve done.
She’s a mess. Hair tangled, face streaked with tears and ruined makeup, thighs still trembling with aftershocks. There are marks on her hips from where I held her down. Her pussy is swollen and red and dripping wet, still twitching even though I’ve stopped touching her.
Good.
I find a blanket and drape it over her, then sit down and pull her into my lap. She goes limp against my chest, too exhausted to fight, too wrung out to do anything but let me hold her.
“You did so well.” I press my lips to her hair and breathe in the smell of her sweat and sex. “Three times. I knew you could do it.”
She doesn’t answer, just breathes against my chest while her body slowly stops shaking.
My cock is still hard, still aching, still desperate for release.
She falls asleep in my lap within minutes, exhausted and wrung out and completely vulnerable. I hold her while she sleeps, stroking her hair, watching her breathe, and try not to think about how fucked we both are.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
It’s Luka.Alexei Petrov called a meeting with the eastern captains. Tomorrow night. You weren’t invited.
I stare at the message for a long time.
Petrov. One of Vadim’s old guard, a man who’s been watching me with barely concealed contempt since the day I took over my father’s seat. He’s never challenged me directly—never had the balls—but calling a meeting without me is a declaration.
My arms tighten around Anya without meaning to. She murmurs something in her sleep and burrows closer against my chest, and I force myself to relax before I wake her.
I have seventy-two hours to produce an antidote, a captain plotting against me, and a woman in my arms who’s going to hate me when she finds out what I’ve really been doing.
I text Luka back.Find out who else was invited. Names. Addresses. Everything.
Then I put the phone away and press one more kiss to Anya’s hair.
“Sleep, solnyshko,” I murmur against her skin. “Tomorrow I might have to kill someone.”
She doesn’t stir.
I hold her until dawn, and I don’t sleep at all.
