“Now, I need it,” I whispered.
“Nothing could make me stop.”
“Nothing?” I asked with a grin.
He blinked and studied my face. “Are you okay? Do you—”
“If you don’t fuck me, I swear, I’m going to spontaneously combust.”
He grinned and lifted my legs onto his shoulders. There was no more talking as he lined up to my hole and pushed. I was on edge already, so when he slid into my body a pleasure bomb detonated in my middle. He nudged my P-spot and the rush of sweet tension was almost a cramp in my stomach—a delicious one that wouldn’t loosen. My cockhead tingled, and I had trouble remembering how to breathe. I cupped the back of his neck with one hand and held on for dear life as he thrust deeply into me. I swore I could feel the pressure in my lower abdomen, and it was a strange but good sensation.
He quivered and shoved the slightest bit farther inside me. “You’re mine,” he whispered in my ear.
And stupid or not, I nodded. “Yes. Ruslan, I need you. Take care of me?”
He groaned. “That’s all I wanted to do tonight.”
I wasn’t ready for what he unleashed. I couldn’t do anything except hang on for the ride. At some point he slid his hand between us and stroked me in time to his thrusts, which were deep, powerful, and just right. My toes curled and my stomach tensed even more than it was already. My thighs clenched.
“Oh, you’re getting ready to come,” he murmured in my ear. “I love it. I want you to spurt every drop for me.”
“Mm-phf,” was about all I could get out with the pounding I was taking.
He laughed and gave me a gentle kiss on the mouth. The sweetness combined with the brutal way he was owning my ass forced me over the edge. Waves of sharp bliss sent me spinning out of control. My cum blasted free from me, until finally one last aftershock sent a few drops dribbling down my shaft. He thrust into my ass a few more times, then stopped, moaning into my ear.
“Asa, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, and all I could do was hold him as he shook through his own moment. It took him a bit to come back to his senses, but when he did, he rolled to his side, holding me tight. My heart pounded hard, and I swore I felt an echo of it in his chest.
He dropped a kiss on my sweaty cheek. This was fantastic, but could I do this with him? A man was killed tonight, but he was trying to shoot us.
Ruslan pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Shh. Don’t think so hard. Sleep.”
I nodded, but I doubted that would be happening anytime soon.
9
RUSLAN
I stared at the photos scattered on my desk, taking in the dead bodies and the bullet holes strewn across their chests and faces, making identifying them nearly impossible. But I knew who they were. I blinked, keeping my face neutral as my gaze slid upward to the two detectives who stood in front of me. One of them, Stewart, was the ringleader of this little charade, while his partner, Ham, went along with whatever Stewart did. They were two sides of a coin, the good cop and the bad cop, and that went as far as their appearances as well.
Stewart was an ugly bastard with thick eyebrows, a thin nose and mouth, an unkempt beard, and scraggly brown hair. He was the kind of man whose face only had two expressions—a twisted scowl or a smug smile. Ham, on the other hand, was neat with short blond hair, a smooth jawline, and unblemished skin. He was shorter than Stewart and had less personality than a cardboard box.
“What is this?” I asked, gesturing to the photos Stewart had thrown at me moments ago.
“I think you know.” Stewart’s shit-eating grin dominated his face today and as much as I wanted to punch it, I kept my composure with a simple cock of my head.
“Sorry, Detective Stewart, I’ve got nothing. Those poor men, though.” I offered him a fake grimace. “Pass on my condolences to their families. I hope you find who murdered them.”
“You’re a smartass, aren’t you, Kozlova?” Stewart’s mouth screwed up and the smile transformed into a sneer, stare narrowed on me. He stepped in closer to my desk, but I stayed still, face neutral.
“I’m nothing but an honest man, Detective.”
“As honest as my spent dick after a night of fucking whores while my wife is home sleeping in our bed.”
I laughed. “Your poor wife.”
Stewart grunted and nudged Ham, who gave a fake chuckle. The moment Stewart turned away, though, Ham’s expression morphed into disgust. It was good to see I wasn’t the only one who hated Stewart.
The man in question leaned over my desk, stabbing his finger on one photo in particular. I didn’t have to see Dobrow’s face to know it was him. The ridiculously cheap suit and gaudy gold chain around his neck gave it away, but I’d also seen his body the day it happened. “This is Timofey Dobrow, but you already know that. He was your biggest competition in the drug and gun trade, and now he’s dead. Funny how that works, isn’t it?”
