Fuck,does he look pretty like that. With his mouth filled with my cum and those tear-struck eyes lifted to me, wide and unguarded, he feels like mine. That thought should scare the shit out of me. I've never wanted to claim another person. Never wanted to be exclusive. But then I never met a person who didn't know who I was before they tried to impress me. With their money, their status. With their body.
Tracing the line of Jonah's throat, I feel the hitch when he swallows.
“So delicate, krasavchik. So pretty. You're so good to me.” My thumb presses lightly beneath his jaw. “Do I taste good?”
His cheeks flush. He nods, barely. The submission hits harder than it should. Hauling him up, I take his mouth in a bruising kiss, groaning when I drag myself across his lips.
“All the bad things I want to do to you,” I breathe against his skin.
“Not now, Viktor.” His voice shakes, but he tightens his grip on my arm. He's pulling me in and pushing me away at the same time. Jonah's fingers spread as if to feel my heartbeat. “Your legs are shaking. Let me get you back to bed. Please.”
Reaching past me, he turns the water off. He might be right, but my dick doesn't agree. Despite the mind-blowing orgasm he just gave me, I'm definitely up for another round.
“I could fuck you against the tiles,” I propose. His breathy chuckle is both infuriating and cute.
“Later.” Grabbing towels, he presses one into my palms. “If you faint in the shower, I have a bigger problem. Please.”
Fuck me. I'm a goner for his pleas. I want to hear them all the time while I have him on his knees, crying, begging me for more. But I stumble when I step out of the shower. He's right. My knees wobble, and my vision blacks out for a beat. Jonah sits me on the edge of the toilet, facing me. His fingertips trace my jaw.
“Your pupils are blown. Did they sedate you again?”
I shrug.
“Tell me what happened.” His thumb stills beneath my cheekbone. “I can take it.”
“I can take it,” I scoff. I feel both annoyed and touched by his genuine concern.
“Yes.” Jonah's eyes are still wide. His lashes are damp. His face is all soft curves and concern.
“You do realize that if I tell you what's really going on here, your chances of surviving drop to almost nothing?”
“Um—yes?”
“Okay. If you insist.” I let out a slow breath. I shouldn't tell him. The more he knows, the more fragile his position becomes. But then I could save him. Again. And again. And again. He's becoming a habit I don't want to break.
“Sergei brought me to the basement for a meeting. Meaning, he shot me full of drugs, then invited the men who served my father. Men who are supposed to serve me as his rightful Pakhan.” My mouth twists. “Only that piece of shit has been sitting on my throne for far too long. He told them he wanted anassessment. Said he was worried about my recovery. Worried I might be impulsive. Unstable.”
Jonah follows me into the bedroom. “Assessment? What kind of assessment?”
“You know how these things go.” Pulling back the sheets, I gesture for him to climb into bed first without arguing.
“No, I don't.” He watches my face, fingers worrying the sheet. “But I want to. So he drugged you before the meeting, then made you defend yourself?”
“Da.” My jaw tightens. “And I couldn't get the fucking words to leave my mouth.”
“What did your uncle do?”
A humorless laugh slips out of me. “What he always does. Spoke for me. Smoothed it over. Said I was weak from the hospital, that he'd handle things until I was ready, that the family couldn't afford another misstep.”
Jonah's motion stills on the towel. “He wanted to make you look… sick?”
“He wanted them to doubt my sanity,” I say flatly, “so their loyalty cracks.”
The realization sits in my gut. Sergei didn't just steal the throne. He's trying to make me forget who I was before he touched me.
“Did any of them speak up?”
“No.”
