That makes him pause. He lifts his head, grey eyes searching mine. For what, I don’t know. Proof that this is real? Evidence that I’m not just saying what he wants to hear?
He’ll find it. Because it’s true.
I need him. Not just his protection or his name or his connections. I need Sergei—the killer and the father, the monster and the man. The dangerous combination that’s become my addiction.
His mouth finds mine again, slower this time. Deeper. More possessive. His hands work my bra free, and his thumbs brush against my nipples, making me arch off the bed with a gasp.
His mouth trails down my stomach, his tongue dipping into my navel. My hips rock instinctively, seeking friction, seeking more, seeking everything I’ve been missing for seventy-two hours.
“I missed this,” I whisper as his fingers hook into the waistband of my pants. “Missed you.”
He strips my pants and underwear in one smooth movement, his eyes darkening as he takes in the sight of me—spread out on his bed, bare and wanting and completely his.
“Sergei—” My voice cracks when he settles between my thighs, his breath hot against my pussy. “Please?—”
He licks me. One slow, deliberate stroke from entrance to clit, and I come apart. My hands fist in the sheets, my back arching off the bed, and he doesn’t stop. He works me with his mouth—tongue, lips, teeth—building me higher and higher, until I’m begging, incoherent, lost to sensation.
“Please, Sergei, I need—you?—”
He slides two fingers inside me, curling them just right, and I shatter again. My thighs clamp around his head, my body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure washes over me. He keeps going, relentless, until I’m sobbing his name, oversensitive and wrung out.
Only then does he rise over me, his body covering mine, his weight grounding me. I can feel his erection pressing against my thigh, hard and heavy and ready.
“Now,” I gasp, my hands sliding down his back to grip his ass. “I want you inside me. Now.”
He enters me in one slow, deep thrust, and we both groan. I’m so wet, so ready, and the feeling of him filling me, stretching me, is better than memory—better than fantasy, better than anything.
“Izzy.” My name is a prayer against my lips. “My Izzy.”
He starts to move, setting a rhythm that’s both familiar and brand-new. Hard thrusts followed by slow withdrawals. His body’s learning mine again. Mapping every response. My legs wrap around his waist. I pull him closer. Deeper. My hips rise to meet each stroke.
His hand slides between us, his thumb finding my clit, rubbing in tight circles that make me clench around him. The added stimulation pushes me toward another peak, the pressure building, the pleasure sharpening until it’s almost pain.
He has us changing position without breaking his rhythm. He flips us over so I’m on top, straddling him. He guides my hips, showing me how to move, how to take what I need. I ride him hard. My breasts bounce with each movement. My head’s thrown back as pleasure overwhelms me.
He sits up, his mouth finding my nipple, sucking hard. His hands grip my ass, controlling our movements, and I’m lost once again—completely undone by this man, this killer, this Wolf who’s somehow become my entire world.
“Come for me, Isabelle,” he demands against my skin. “I want to feel you.”
That’s all it takes. I shatter with a cry that’s half pleasure, half agony, my inner muscles milking his cock as I ride out the orgasm.
He doesn’t follow me yet, instead he moves us again until I’m on all fours on the bed, my ass in the air. He kneels behind me, his hands gripping my hips as he thrusts into me from behind. The new angle is intense. His cock hits that spot deep inside that makes me see stars. He slaps my ass. The sharp sting sends a jolt of pleasure through me, then again, harder this time. I cry out, my hands fisting in the sheets as he sets a punishing rhythm, driving into me over and over. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the room. It mingles with our ragged breaths and moans.
He grabs a fistful of my hair, pulling just enough to arch my back, changing the angle once more.
“Fuck,” he groans, his hips moving faster, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chases his own release. He’s getting close, and the knowledge sends a fresh wave of arousal through me.
He slams into me one last time and buries himself balls deep as he finds his release. I feel him pulse inside me. The hot flood of his cum triggers another smaller orgasm. My entire body’s trembling. I’m spent. Fully and utterly done.
We collapse onto the bed, a tangle of sweaty limbs and ragged breaths. Sergei pulls out of me with a groan, and I feel his cum trickling down my thighs.
For a long time, the only sound in the room is our breathing gradually returning to normal. Sergei’s arm is heavy across mywaist, his face buried in my hair, his heartbeat a steady rhythm against my back.
I should move. Should clean up. Should check on Mila. But I can’t bring myself to break the connection, to lose the feeling of his body wrapped around mine, of his breath warm against my skin.
“You bailed me out.” His voice rumbles. “Two million dollars without blinking.”
“It’s just money.” My fingers trace the tattoos on his forearm. “You’re worth more.”
