I didn’t break eye contact, but my face flushed with heat, probably going as bright red as my ass already was. I kept my gaze locked on his, my fingers moving faster, a more urgent rhythm, building the pleasure, chasing the release.
My breathing stopped, my hips arching off the bed.
I was so close. So fucking close.
He didn’t move. He just stood there, watching me, enjoying the show. The control was mine now, and it was a heady, intoxicating feeling.
“Come for me, slut,” he commanded. “Let me see you fall apart.”
His words were the final push I needed. The world narrowed to the aching, desperate pulse between my legs, to the heat building in my core, to the image of him watching me, to the sore pulsing inside my ass.
My orgasm crashed over me, a slow, deep wave of red-hot bliss that left me breathless and trembling. I cried out, a long, shuddering moan that was a mixture of relief and defiance. I kept my eyes open, watching him, making sure he saw every second of my climax.
When the waves of pleasure finally receded, I lay there, panting, my body limp, a sated smile on my face.
I had won this round.
But then he laughed. A deep, amused sound that was both infuriating and incredibly hot.
“Impressive,” he rumbled. “But you still came with my cum dripping from your used little hole and my belt marks all over your ass, little slut. Now, get up. We’ve got work to do.”
Fuck.
CHAPTER 8
St. Petersburg, two weeks ago…
Mikhail
Morning came too early in St. Petersburg, dragging an iron-gray sky over the river and freezing the air against the windows of my suite. I had been awake for an hour already, reading through mission notes and re-evaluating everything Revenant had dropped into our laps last night.
A volatile group of freedom fighters. A questionable transfer of drones. An operative who was far more idealistic than Revenant deserved.
Her name was Katerina Volkov, and I hadn’t stopped thinking about her since yesterday.
She was sharp-minded, sharp-tongued, and sharp enough, in fact, that I assumed Viktor wouldn’t need more than forty-eight hours before doing something catastrophically stupid.
I overestimated.
A knock sounded on the door. It had no rhythm, no hesitation, just Viktor’s careless brand of confidence. I didn’t bother calling out; he’d let himself in anyway.
He stepped inside wearing yesterday’s shirt, unbuttoned at the throat, hair annoyingly tousled, and a smirk that confirmed my suspicion before he even opened his mouth. A half-smoked cigarette dangled between his fingers, the smell of tobacco and sex drifting in ahead of him.
“Morning, big brother,” he said, stretching like a cat who’d slept soundly. Ash broke loose and drifted to my carpet. “You look stressed.”
“I wonder why,” I said dryly. “Perhaps because I sent you to escort Katerina to her suite, not sleep in it.”
Viktor blinked innocently. “You didn’t specify the details of the escort.”
I set the file in my hand down very, very slowly.
“You slept with her, didn’t you?”
“Technically,” he said, “she slept with me. Twice.”
I exhaled through my nose, long and controlled, because the alternative was throttling him with my bare hands.
“This is a diplomatic assignment,” I said. “A delicate introduction. She’s idealistic. Not someone to make things complicated with.”
